Views from Brooklyn
by Brown-Eyed Girl 75
Summary: Because everyone deserves a happy ending FLACK/OC DL in later chapters THIS IS A COMPANION PIECE TO MEMORIES OF BROOKLYN BUT ALL READERS ARE WELCOME SOME CHAPS RATED M FOR ADULT SITUATIONS AND LANGUAGE COMPLETED AS IS
1. Welcome to Paradise

**A/N: Hello to all my loyal readers and fans. This story is a companion piece to Memories of Brooklyn and will follow the 'happily ever after' scenario that an overwhelming number of you have expressed interest in. If you are a newcomer, Views From Brooklyn may not make much sense to you without reading its 'sister' but I welcome each and every one of you and hope that you all enjoy. **

**This story begins nine months after Samantha gives birth to Kieran. For those that haven't read MOB, Samantha Ross is the older sister of lab tech Adam Ross and the now wife of Detective Don Flack. What MOB regulars will notice is that the first major difference from MOB is that Speed has stayed in New York and he and Carmen (Carmen Devine, an Aphina creation from her Devine series for those who don't know) are parents to a three month old daughter named Addison. The first few chapters revolve around the preparation for Speed and Carmen's wedding. It is startling how much changes with Speed still in the picture. **

**As always, reviews are welcome. However, while ****positive**** constructive criticism is appropriate, nastiness is NOT. We are all here to have fun and take advantage of our imaginations and our ability to use creative license when working with fictional characters. **

**Lastly, I do not own CSI:NY or any of its characters. **

**CHAPTER ONE: WELCOME TO PARADISE**

"The kids screaming, phone ringing  
Dog barking at the mailman bringing  
That stack of bills - overdue  
Good morning baby, how are you?  
Got a half hour, quick shower  
Take a drink of milk but the milk's gone sour  
My funny face makes you laugh  
Twist the top on and I put it back  
There goes the washing machine  
Baby, don't kick it.  
I promise I'll fix it  
Long about a million other things

Well, it's ok. It's so nice  
It's just another day in paradise  
Well, there's no place that  
I'd rather be  
Well, it's two hearts  
And one dream  
I wouldn't trade it for anything  
And I ask the Lord every night  
For just another day in paradise."

-Just Another Day in Paradise, Phil Vassar

* * *

Samantha Flack paced the living room, cordless phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder, wearing a pink terry cloth bath robe and her hair in hot rollers like it had been for the last four hours. Thomas the Tank Engine was blaring on the large plasma television across the room while nine month old Kieran, in Cars pyjamas and his hair still damp from his before dinner bath, babbled noisily in the middle of the room as he played with a small collection of Little Tikes trucks.

"Don's mom is running late." Sam said into the phone, stopping her pacing in favor or picking up a sleeper resting on top of the unfolded basket of clean laundry that sat on the coffee table. "I don't know, Gus…..she said that traffic was the shits coming in from Queens…." she listened to her close friend Gus Broussard rambling in her New Orleans accent. "I know Carmen will kill me but what can I do? Bring a nine month old holy terror to a five star restaurant? Do you know what he'd do to that place? You've seen my apartment haven't you?…. exactly. He'd demolish it. I'm ready, I just have to take my hair down and put my dress and shoes on and we're good to go. He's in the shower. Well what can I do he worked late! What else is new?"

Sam watched, holding her breath, as Kieran abandoned his toys and crawled over to the couch a few feet from her. He got up onto his knees, put his hands on the cushion and pulled himself, albeit shakily, onto his feet. She let out her breath when he steadied himself and shrieked with happiness and pride. Then had to bolt for him when he clapped his hands and lost his balance and nearly fell backwards. Preventing him from cracking the back of his head open on the corner of the coffee table.

"Sorry, Gus." Sam panted into the phone, her heart pounding in her chest. "Kieran is going to be the death of me. Overnight he learned how to pull up to stand. Literally overnight. Don heard him crying at three in the morning and when he went to check on him, Kieran was standing up in his crib and freaking out because he didn't know how to get down."

Once she was sure her son was firmly holding onto the sofa, she stepped back a few feet and sat down on the arm.

"He's the spawn of Satan, Gus. I'm telling you. He really is. He gives me a heart attack when he stands up. I can just see him falling and splitting his lip open or knocking out his front teeth. Well he's just like his father. Which means he has the big feet that make him so damn clumsy."

"You're lucky you didn't say my lack of brains." Flack said as he came into the living room, dropping his jacket on the couch. Kieran went for it immediately and Flack had to snatch it out of the nine month old's grip.

"That too." Sam teased as he bent down to kiss her softly.

He smelled like a mixture of soap and water and the cologne she'd bought him for father's day. His hair was still damp and he was tucking his light grey shirt into his black dress pants. A deep purple, mauve and silver stripped tie hung loose around his neck. The way he looked and the way he smelled, she was tempted to say drop your pants and lets stay in. She was completely unaware of what Gus was saying as she watched her husband finish tucking in his shirt, then zipping and buttoning his pants and doing up his belt. Her eyes alternating the whole time between that area below the waist and his face, which was serious as he concentrated on what he was doing. Oblivious to the fact he was driving her absolutely insane.

He finished with his belt and went to work on the tie. "What?" he asked, noticing her watching him intently.

"Maybe we should just send Kieran to your parents and stay in." Sam suggested.

He grinned broadly, showing off the dimples in his cheeks. "Is Gus not on the phone?" he asked.

Sam had completely forgotten about her friend. "Shit!" she cursed into the phone. "Sorry, Gus….what were you saying?"

Flack gave his wife a once over, noticing she was still in her bathrobe. "How come you're not dressed?" he asked.

Sam's eyes narrowed at the absurdity of the question and pointed in Kieran's direction.

"Well I'm out here now so go ahead. I'll keep an eye on him 'til my mom gets here."

"Keep an eye on him? He's your son….don't you think…." Sam stopped mid sentence at the sight of her son, on his tip toes at the coffee table, reaching for the laundry basket. He was tall for his age, and made it look so damn easy. "Donald, would you do something about your son?!" she implored.

Flack looked over his shoulder. "He's fine." he said and went back to doing up his tie.

"He's going to pull that basket down on himself and then fall and mangle his face on the coffee table."

"Samantha, relax. He's fine. Nothing is going to happen to him. What are you going to do when he's getting teeth knocked out playing hockey and breaking his arm playing football or gets into fights and gets two black eyes and a busted nose?"

"Does he need to have them when he's nine months old?" she asked. "Do something Donnie before…"

The laundry basket toppled onto Kieran's face, who in turn toppled back into the couch and landed, on the ground, flat on his ass. Kieran was silent for a half a minute, then let out an ear piercing wail that was a mixture of frustration and anger.

Flack couldn't help but laugh. Seeing his son sitting there with a basket full of laundry over his head, frantically trying to pull things off of himself. It was funny. Now if the kid had have been genuinely hurt, then he would have been more sympathetic. But the moment was too damn humorous. He glanced at his wife who was appalled at his reaction.

"Do something!" she cried.

"Sam, he's fine. He's not hurt. In fact, nothing is more hurt than his pride."

"He could suffocate with that laundry on his head." she nearly wailed.

"Oh my God. Get a grip. Listen to him screaming. Does he sound like he's suffocating?"

"Donnie….."

He sighed. "Fine. I'll get him. You need to relax all ready. If he can't take a laundry basket falling on his head…."

"Would you just….."

Flack held up his hands in self defence and calmly finished with his tie and folded the collar of his shirt down before casually strolling over to the couch and plucking laundry of his son's head.

"Whats a matter, Kieran?" he asked, trying to keep the chuckle out of his voice as he unearthed his son's wailing form and lifted him up into his strong, comforting arms.

Kieran sobbed da-da a few times before curling an arm around his father's neck and resting his head on Flack's shoulder.

"Probably broke his tail bone falling on his butt." Sam said.

"He's got a diaper on." Flack reminded her. "He's okay. It just scared him and pissed him off all at the same time. He's got your temper."

"Whatever." Sam snorted.

"Would you and Gus quit your gossiping and just go and get dressed? We're late and Carmen will kill both of us."

"You're mother is still stuck in traffic."

"Worse comes to worse, we take Kieran with us."

Sam looked at her husband as if he'd lost his mind.

"Okay, so maybe that isn't an option." Flack said, having to pry Kieran's fingers out of his mouth. "Just go and get dressed and we'll worry about then. We can always leave him with Mrs Campbell in 606. She's always asking to babysit."

"She's half senile and has ten cats." Sam pointed out. "I mean, we have one and that's bad enough."

It was truly love when Don Flack agreed to let the woman in his life keep a mangy kitten she'd found routing through the trash cans at the back of the building eight months ago. Now that mangy kitten - a grey thing with white paws that had prompted Sam to name it Slippers as opposed to the common, and boring moniker of Socks- ate them out of house and home and took up permanent residence on their bed and forced Flack to get both allergy shots and take heavy daily doses of antihistamines.

"Hey, got any better ideas? Just go and get dressed. Jesus woman. You see Gus nearly every second day? What could you possibly have to talk about for so long? And you'll be seeing her in less than an hour."

"We're comparing ideas on how to kill the men in our lives." Sam said.

"Don't worry, couple years married to you will put me in an early grave."

Sam flipped him the middle finger. "I gotta go, Gus. Before Detective Sargeant starts really bossing me around. See you in a bit. Bye."

She pressed end on the phone and tossed it onto the couch. Then stood watching as her husband tossed their first born high into the air above his head, catching him easily and effortlessly with those big, strong, capable hands. Kieran was squealing and shrieking, a look of pure joy all over his cherubic face. Thick nearly black hair and electric blue eyes like his father. He was a damn cute kid that garnered attention wherever they took him. And comments on how much he looked like his daddy.

From the day she'd met Don Flack outside of the crime lab on that warm late spring day, she'd found him insanely attractive. With his broad shoulders and strong arms and powerful build and his short dark hair tinged with grey and those dazzling eyes and boyish smile, he'd captured her heart immediately despite her reservations on getting involved with someone so quickly. But as she watched him now, blowing raspberries on his son's bare stomach, Kieran giggling with glee, she realized that he became even more attractive in her eyes the moment he became a father. And there was something incredibly sexy about seeing that thick, white gold wedding band on his finger.

"You're staring at me again." Flack said, as he tipped Kieran upside down. The child giggled even louder.

"I was just thinking." she told him.

"About?" he asked, as he returned Kieran right side up and put him on his hip.

"How much I love you." she replied as she headed from the room. "And how you've got the most amazing ass I've ever seen."

He grinned. "I love you, too." he called. "And your ass isn't so bad, either."

"Yeah? Too bad you won't be able to tap it tonight huh?"

"Don't remind me." he said with a heavy sigh.

Kieran let out a musical giggle. "Ma-ma." he said and laid his head on Flack's shoulder.

"She's something else, isn't she kid." Flack commented.

"Ma-ma." Kieran repeated.

"We wouldn't give her up for anything in the world, would we?"

Whether it be because the child understood or because it was sheer coincidence, Kieran shook his head at the question.

Flack smiled and kissed his son's head.

As crazy and hectic as his life was, Don Flack wouldn't trade it for all the money in the world.

* * *

Close to forty minutes later, Samantha finally came back to the living room. Patricia Flack was lying on her stomach in the middle of the living room floor, laughing as her babbling, giggling grandson attempted to climb all over her. Sam was glad that Flack and his father had patched things up when Kieran was born. She had dreaded the thought of Kieran never really knowing either sets off grandparents. Her mother's health wasn't the greatest lately and it was rare that she and the Sarge travelled out of Arizona anymore. And it was a damn shame to think that the baby's other grandparents lived a mere half hour away and they'd be complete strangers to him.

Flack had called his mom and dad that bitter January night to announce the birth of their new grandson. He'd told them what the baby's name was and what he weighed and how long he was and that both mom and baby were doing well despite the rather unexpected, dramatic ordeal the birth had been. But Flack had never expected his parents to show up at the hospital bearing flowers and gifts. He'd gone for a coffee with his old man while his mother visited Sam and the newborn and they'd had a long, heartfelt, often angst filled talk. Flack had admitted to his old man that he was terrified of being a failure at fatherhood. That he'd treat his wife and his kid the same way Flack Sr had treated his family. It was the first time in his life that he'd ever wept in front of his old man. And Sr had simply wrapped his arms around his son and told him he was proud of him. That he was a hell of a cop and an amazing husband and was going to be an even better father. And that he was a hell of a man.

It was the first time Sam had ever met her in-laws. And they had become invaluable to her and Flack's small family. They were loving, attentive grandparents who spoiled their grandson rotten.

Flack was finishing folding the laundry and watching the sports highlights on ESPN and occasionally glancing over at Slippers as she attempted to make herself cozy on the already folded clothes.

"Don't even think about it you little shit." he said. Something in his tone told the cat he was serious and it changed its mind and instead, jumped down and began rubbing itself against his legs. "Nice….you mangy little bastard….you would play nice with me when I have black pants on."

"She loves you." Sam declared, fetching a sticky lint roller off the coffee table and holding it out to him. "You have a way with the ladies."

"So I've been told." Flack said and bent down to wipe his pants clean. "Get your damn cat away from me. Bad enough she sleeps on my pillow and snores like a human."

"You'd be lost without her." Sam told him, gently nudging the cat with her toes to move it along.

He snorted and tossed the lint roller back onto the coffee table. He turned to her to offer up another disparaging remark about the cat, then all words failed him when he saw what she looked like. He gave her a long once over. Multiple times. A devilish grin spreading across his face the more he looked. When she'd said she was wearing a black dress, he was not expecting what was now before him. A one shoulder bandage style cocktail dress that skimmed her knees and hugged and clung to every curve. He knew the dress had cost a small fortune. He'd nearly died when he saw the bill in the empty bag in the bedroom. But seeing her in it…..it was worth every penny.

She'd always had an amazing body, but since the baby - although she'd rapidly lost all the weight she'd gained when she went back to work- her hips and breasts were fuller and she looked more feminine and sultry. And that dress…..he was tempted to ask his mom to take Kieran to Queens overnight and call Speed and tell him sorry, they weren't going to be able to make the rehearsal dinner. Because he was planning on doing all kinds of dirty, wild things to his wife and with no kid in the house, she could go back to the screaming, wake the neighbours porn star noises that turned him on so bad.

She looked stunning. There was no other word for it. Her hair hung to her waist in thick, luxurious waves and she had on just the right amount of makeup. A touch of smoky shadow and eyeliner and a coat of mascara and some blush that sparkled on her cheeks. Flack actually preferred her with no makeup, but she complained she looked too young without it. Diamond hoop earrings and the Cartier Love bracelet he'd bought her after Kieran was born, completed her ensemble. A push present Carmen had called it when she asked him what he was buying Sam after going through the agony of bringing a child into the world.

He'd asked Sam what she wanted and she just shrugged and said something different. A chance passing by an antique store that had the vintage bracelets displayed in the front window had led to the purchase. What intrigued him the most was the story behind the bracelets. They could only be closed and opened by a small screwdriver kept by the giver, and defined ultimate commitment between a couple. 'Captures the elegance of love and the ultimate bond between two people.' the clerk at the Cartier stores on Fifth Avenue had told him when he went to have it appraised. Sam hadn't expected something that elaborate and nearly fainted when she came out of the bath one night shortly after the baby was born and found the bracelet in its red Cartier box sitting on her pillow.

But she'd given him a hell of thank you gift in return.

"I so need a drink." Sam said with a sigh. "What a day…I deserve a lot of drinks, actually."

She carried an overnight bag, a pair of shoes, and a garment bag. All of which she dumped onto the couch.

"Can I help you?" she asked, noticing how intently he was staring at her.

"If my mom and Kieran weren't here, trust me, you could help me right here on the couch. Or over the couch. Or on the floor. Doesn't matter."

"Don't be such a pig." Sam scolded him. "Your mother is like ten feet away."

"There's nothing that could make me blush, sweetie." Patricia declared from her spot on the living room floor where she was now sitting up, entertaining Kieran with wooden stacking blocks. "I've got a husband and two boys. I have heard it all." she glanced over at her daughter in-law. "You look incredible." she praised. "A body like that only nine months after having a baby? You're a lucky man, Donnie."

"Yes," he said as he checked Sam over again. "I am."

He leaned into her, pushed her hair behind her ears and whispered into it. "You have no idea what I want to do to you, Samantha. I'll even bring my cuffs along if you want to play cops and robbers later."

He kissed her ear, then the sensitive spot below and ran his hand over her ass.

"You are a dirty, dirty man, Don." she informed him, even though the simple touch of his lips and his hand on her ass had the power to turn her on.

She grabbed her shoes and slipped into them. Black Jimmy Choo peep pumps that he also knew cost a fair share because he'd been there when she'd splurged. "Are we ready?" she asked, slipping a sheer black wrap with black beads that dangled from the edges around her shoulders and picking up a simple clutch purse.

"Yeah…..finally. Even the laundry is folded."

"Oh you have become so damn domesticated, Mr Flack. But I liked you better when you were mean and aggressive."

"Yeah? How about when we get in the elevator I hit the stop button and go all mean and nasty on you."

"You wish." she said.

"'Cause I can do that. Stop the elevator, pull that little black dress up and bend you over and…."

"Oh my God. Would you just stop in front of your mother?"

Patricia stood up and scooped Kieran into her arms. "Doesn't bother me in the slightest." she assured her daughter in law. "I know what you two are up to."

Flack laughed. "Mom, trust me, you don't and you don't want to."

"Please, Donnie. This child isn't here because of immaculate conception." she reminded him.

"Maybe not. But it did have something to do with the back seat of my SUV."

Pat frowned as she followed them to the door. "Okay. That I did not need to know. You two have a nice time."

"I'll try not to be too late, mom." Flack said, kissing her cheek as Sam hugged and nuzzled Kieran.

"Don't worry about it. I've slept on your couch many a time. And if need be, I brought my overnight bag. I'm staying over tomorrow anyway. Two nights is fine by me and with your father in Atlantic City I've got no one to rush home to. You two just have a nice time and give my best to Carmen and Tim. And tell Tim he can bring Addison over any time he feels ready tomorrow."

"We will." Flack told her. He kissed Kieran's cheek in farewell, then was giving a noisy, wet kiss on the cheek in response. "Be good you little…."

"He's an angel." Patricia declared, cutting the word off before it could escape her son's mouth.

"Yeah…okay." Flack chuckled. "He's evil, mom. It won't hurt our feelings if you say how you really feel. We know he's a terrorist."

"He's no worse than what you were like when you were all your life." his mother informed him. "All these grey hairs, Donnie? They're from you."

"Yeah? Well I'm not even thirty one and look at all my grey hair. And you know what? Every single one has Sam's name on it."

"Yeah…..right." Sam said, and scooping her cell phone from the hall table, dropped it in her husband's jacket pocket.

" Kieran had an early bath and there's food Sam's already chopped up and what not in the fridge." Flack told his mother. "You just have to heat it for thirty seconds. Same bedtime routine. Something to drink….."

"In a sippy cup." Sam tossed out.

"In a sippy cup." Flack said. "One of those oatmeal Bear Paw cookies and then two stories. Not one. Two. He seems to know."

"How many times have I babysat?" Patricia asked.

"If you need anything or he blows the place up, just call." Flack told her.

"I will. And if you two plan on making a pit stop somewhere, please, be safe, it's too soon for another grandchild."

"Mom, ten years from now would still be too soon."

"I am not waiting that long for more grandchildren from you two! Now have fun and don't worry. He's in good hands."

"It's not him we're worried about," Flack said as he opened the door to the apartment and motioned for Sam to go ahead of him. "It's you. Sure your heart can take it?"

"Quit bad mouthing my grandson and get out of here before I kick your ass!" she exclaimed, and shut the door on her son as he stepped out into the hall.

* * *

Sam pressed the down button for the elevator.

"Can you honestly believe we are going to Speed and Carmen's rehearsal dinner?" she asked her husband. "I mean, after all that drama with Matthew's parole did you really think we'd get to this moment?"

"Honestly?" Flack responded. "No. I thought for sure they were done when Carmen broke it off because of all that bullshit. And then for her to find out she's pregnant just after they split? Talk about by the grace of God. I wonder if they would have even gotten back together if she hadn't have gotten pregnant."

"Eventually." Sam said. "They say true love conquers all. And I think that little talking you gave Carmen helped too."

Flack shrugged. "Just made no sense to me. You love someone that much, you should be enough to get you through anything."

"When did you become the sappy, romantic one?" Sam teased. "And are you speaking from experience?"

"If we can make it, anyone can." Flack said.

"We're only in the first year." she reminded him. "Give it some time."

"Please. I'm not going anywhere. I'm in this for the long haul. Even if you do drive me nuts."

"The incredible, mind blowing sex makes up for all of our downfalls." Sam declared.

"Exactly." he agreed.

The elevator finally arrived and Sam stepped in first. Flack couldn't help but notice the way her hips moved and the dress just hugged her ass perfectly.

I am never going to survive, he thought and followed her inside. Setting all her bags down on the floor, he pressed the button for the underground parking.

"Stop staring at me." Sam scolded him. "You're making me nervous."

"A guy isn't allowed to stare at his wife? His amazingly hot, MILF wife at that."

Sam tried not to snicker at the MILF comment. She'd found it offensive the first time she'd heard it used, and directed at her, by one of the stock clerks at the grocery store they frequented.

"I can't help it." Flack said. "You look fucking amazing. When you said you bought a little black dress, I did not expect it to look like that."

"I figured you'd like it when I saw it." she moved to stand in front of him and placed her hands on his sides. "When I tried it on, Stella said it was guaranteed to blow your mind."

"She was right. Remind me to thank her when I see her. You have no idea how beautiful and sexy you look."

She smiled. "You're just a horny, sex deprived husband." she said, toying with his belt buckle.

"Maybe." he said. "But you're incredible. And you're right. I am horny. All the time. It's what happens when you go from two or three times a day to once a week if you're lucky."

"Oh you poor, poor man." Sam pouted dramatically. "I told you you'd suffer after Kieran was born."

"I am suffering, baby. It's been five days. Five whole days. Might as well be a lifetime."

"Hmmm…..too bad we won't be able to relieve some of your suffering a bit." she hooked her finger in the waist of his pants and yanked him closer to her.

"Just say the word. I'll press stop and relieve my suffering right here. Remember that night after the nine eleven charity thing and we…"

"Yes." she smiled and flushed at that memory of that night over a year ago. "And I think you and I should stand on opposite sides of the elevator and…."

He grabbed her by the hips and pushed her roughly against the wall of the elevator and kissed her. His lips were demanding and hungry, his tongue delving into her warm, moist mouth. She moaned into his mouth as his one hand slid around to her back and then down onto her ass, squeezing and kneading it and pulling her tight against him. His other hand slipped over her hip and down her thigh and underneath the hem of her dress. His fingertips trailed up and along her smooth skin and then travelled around and back, finding her ass.

He broke the kiss and pulled back to look at her. "You're actually wearing a thong?" he asked, the realization turning him on even more.

"It's a tight dress. I couldn't wear granny pants with it. Or would you have rathered I wore no underwear?"

He grinned. "Easier access." he reasoned, then slid his hand around to the front of her.

She shuddered against him as his fingers teased her through the lace of her panties and she grabbed him by his tie and yanked him down for another smouldering kiss. Crying out in both surprise and desire when he pushed the panties aside and he teased her clit with his thumb. A few hard strokes and she was spasming against him as a quick yet completely satisfying orgasm ripped through her body.

He removed his hands from her dress and pulled it down and straightened it for her. He stepped back and looked at her. Her eyes were closed as she leaned back against the wall of the elevator, chest heaving. He glanced up at the numbers above the door. "Only two more floors to go." he said in warning.

Her eyes flickered open and she smiled dreamily at him. "You dirty bastard." she teased.

"You so owe me." Flack told her, picking up her belongings as the elevator reached the parking level.

The doors to the elevator slid open, revealing an elderly couple who now stood, in surprise and embarrassment, at the sight of the young couple's slightly dishevelled clothes and their flushed faces.

"Best elevator ride ever." Sam declared, and Flack grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her towards the exit door. "Especially between the last two floors."

The old husband snickered and watched the young woman in the seductive dress go.

The wife snorted and turned to her husband to offer up a snide comment, and was furious by the lustful look in her husband's eyes.

"Give it a rest, Harold." she said. "You'd die of a heart attack just seeing her naked."

"Maybe." he said with a sigh. "But it would be a hell of a way to go."

* * *

Carmen Devine was stressed. It was the night before her wedding to the man of her dreams and all she could think about was what could possibly go wrong. She was narrowing in on Bridezilla territory and was not ashamed to admit it. Everything had to be perfect. She could not accept anything less than that. It was a half an hour before guests started arriving for cocktails prior to the rehearsal dinner. Trattoria Dopo Teatro was a five star Italian restaurant heralded in the Times and praised by food critics all over the country. Located on West 44th Street, they'd rented out the Secret Garden, a private dining room at the bottom of a terracotta stairway and boasted one of New York City's most beautiful interior gardens. As part of her matron of honor duties, Samantha had done an exhaustive on-line search for what she wanted to be the perfect place for her best friend. And seeing as Sam and Flack were footing the entire bill (thanks for Zack's money) as a wedding present, Sam had thrown all the energy she had into her search and tours of the top five places on her lists.

Both women had been in awe at the Secret Garden. Attracted to its stone waterfall and hand painting tiling on the floor and table tops and the intricate designs on the glass paned doors that separated the area from the other adjoining private dining rooms. It hadn't taken any longer than five minutes and Sam was shelling out an impressive amount of money for a deposit. Carmen's wedding and the night before was going to memorable and Sam was going to damn well see to that.

The actual rehearsal for the ceremony had been held a week before because it was the only Friday all parties involved were off in the afternoon or able to sneak away from work for a couple of hours. The only two who hadn't been able to attend was Speed's best man and old friend and colleague from Miami, Eric Delko and the head of the MDPD Crime Lab, Lieutenant Horatio Cane. But they'd called Speed earlier in the day to say that they had arrived safe and sound and couldn't wait to meet his future wife and the beautiful angel they'd brought into the world together.

A beautiful angel in a frilly white dress with pink flowers embroidered on the bodice and lacy white leggings and tiny pink and white shoes that was now feasting on a bottle of formula while being carried around the room by her beaming, proud father. Her hair thick and wavy and the same rich auburn as her mother. She was her mother from head to toe. All she'd inherited from her father was his dark, soulful eyes.

Addison had Tim Speedle wrapped around one tiny little finger. The baby was the light of his life and she and Carmen were his reason for living and getting up day in and day out and doing a stressful, gut wrenching job for a relatively ungrateful city.

Carmen watched them with a soft smile on her lips. Her heart over flowing with love and respect for that amazing man who'd given her the most precious gift she'd ever received. After the disaster with Matthew, she'd never imagined she'd ever get married again, let alone have a family. But now there they were. Her future husband and the child they had created together.

However, her peace and serenity only last a few minutes when the realization that there was so much to do in such a short period of time hit her once again and nearly threw her into a blind panic. Place cards still had to be set out and the tab had to be sorted out before hand with the manager and favors had to be set at every place. And the person solely responsible for the arrangements was absent.

Carmen self consciously fixed the spaghetti straps on her slinky black crepe dress and checked the dainty bracelet style watch on her wrist. "Where the hell is she." She fumed out loud. "She said she'd be here at quarter after six. It's nearly six thirty five."

"She's on her way." Gus assured her, as she finished setting favors – small pewter picture frames with Carmen and Tim's initials engraved at the bottom- and place cards at one of the tables. Gus had barely gotten out of the door in one piece when Adam caught sight of her in her emerald green halter style column dress and her blond hair long and flowing.

"They better not be late because they were off having sex somewhere." Carmen huffed.

"I highly doubt that's the reason." Stella laughed, a vision in her ruby red floor length strapless gown and her curly hair bouncing on her shoulders as she set up another table. As bridesmaids, she and Gus had the duty of helping keep things organized and running smoothly.

"Flack worked later than expected and his mother was stuck in traffic coming from Queens." Gus explained. "She just called and they are on their way. They should be here in ten minutes. Fifteen at the latest."

Carmen sighed heavily and checked her watch again.

"You're going to give yourself a stroke." Speed said, as he came up behind her and pressed a kiss to the back of her head.

"No." she corrected. "Samantha Flack is going to give me a stroke."

"Hey, cut her some slack. Not only did she find this amazing place and do mountains of errands and running around for you, she's also footing the bill. We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her and Flack. And I mean that in more than one way."

Carmen had to admit he was right. Sam and Flack had been there for her and Speed through thick and thin. Never taking sides but always offering shoulders to cry on and sympathetic advice. And if it wasn't for Flack coming down hard and harsh on her during the days leading up to Matthew's parole hearing, this night probably wouldn't be happening. He'd blasted her for the immature and irrational way she was handling things. His stern, almost cruel assessment of her behaviour had brought her to tears. The truth had hurt and after a couple of days licking her wounds, she'd finally picked up that phone and called Tim.

Now, here they were on the eve of the beginning of the rest of their lives.

And standing there, the comforting arm of the man she loved circling her waist and the feel of his cheek pressed against hers, life had never seemed so perfect. And she managed to calm down and relax and let Gus and Stella do all the work.

The sound of heels clicking down the terracotta stairs captured Carmen's attention and she glanced over as Sam and Flack entered the spacious, elegantly decorated room.

"Damn girl." Carmen exclaimed as her best friend approached her and greeted her with a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. She held Sam out at arm's length and checked her over from head to toe. "When we agreed on little black dresses, I never dreamed you'd look like that. Christ, can you possibly get any hotter? Flack, do you realize how damn lucky you are that she looks like this after giving birth to your kid not too long ago?"

"I do." He said and kissed Carmen's cheek. "And I show her and tell her how much I appreciate her every single day."

"I damn well hope so." Carmen shook her head. "Seriously Sam. Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"I'm like a fine wine, Carmen. I get better and better with age. I am thirty-three now, remember? Thirty four in five months."

"You're such an old hag!" Gus yelled from across the room. "And she's right. You look hot."

"So says the woman who looks like a Greek goddess." Sam said. "And look at you Carmen. You're pretty damn sexy yourself tonight. You're nearly making poor Speed cum in his pants."

"It's what happens when we don't see you ladies dressed up to often." Speed said and kissed Sam's cheek in greeting. "Best be keeping an eye on your woman tonight, Flack." he warned. "Especially with Delko here. He's liable to drag her off into a closet somewhere."

"Not before I do." Flack said. "So he can get in line."

"Is that the horn dog of a best man?" Sam asked, prying a dozing Addison from Speed's arms.

"From what Tim's been me about him, he's a total perv." Carmen said. Sam was the one person she felt totally at ease with when it came to caring for Addison. Although Flack had been a natural at daddy-hood from day one and could change a diaper faster than anyone Carmen had ever seen.

"That's okay." Sam laughed. "I can handle that type. I have one of my own at home, remember?"

"I am not that bad." Flack said in defense of himself.

Sam rolled her eyes and Carmen coughed noisily. The cough came out sounding a lot like the word bullshit.

"Oh did I say that out loud?" Sam asked. "I'm sorry, honey. I forgot you were standing right here."

Flack smirked and kissed the side of her head.

"Want to hold her?" Sam asked, slowly swaying from side to side, expertly sending the baby off into a comfortable, peaceful sleep.

"Nope. She's all yours. Knock yourself out."

"Good." Sam said. "'Cause I wasn't on planning to share anyway."

She couldn't get enough of her god-daughter and that soft, fresh scent of baby and the feel of silky virgin skin and the pretty, frilly pink clothes that came with a girl. Although she wouldn't trade her little man at home for anything in the world. Dump trucks and toy cars and jeans and overalls and tiny ball caps and the devil may care attitude that came with a boy. She loved every second of being a mother. Even all the sleepless colicky nights and the trips to the ER for the croup and one nasty case of measles picked up from daycare.

But God, how she missed those infant days. When you could sit and cuddle your baby and not have to fight him to stay for longer than five minutes. Most of all, she missed being pregnant. Despite how badly she had suffered, sometimes she was ready to do it all over again.

Both Carmen and Speed had left to attend to some last minute preparations, leaving Sam to revel in the baby and Flack to stand there watching her, thinking about how damn grateful he was that this beautiful, amazing and loving woman was the mother of his son. And of all the future children they may have.

"What?" she asked, noticing him watching her.

"I was just thinking about how I used to stand in the doorway of the nursery and watch you do that with Kieran when he was tiny."

"Seems like a lifetime ago." Sam said.

Flack nodded. "Other times it seems like just yesterday."

She smiled up at him and he laid his hand on the small of her back and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I really want another one, Donnie." she said.

He blinked. That wasn't something he was expecting to hear. Not when Kieran was such a handful and her pregnancy had been so bad. On one hand he was happy to hear it. She wasn't turned off at the thought of having more kids even after things had been so difficult. On the other hand, the seriousness in her voice and eyes scared the shit out of him.

"You're kidding, right?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"You want another baby? Like, right now?"

"You don't?" she asked.

"Not right now." Flack replied. "That's way too soon. Maybe when Kieran is walking and not such a pain in the ass. I was thinking we'd at least give it a couple of years. You can't be serious that you want another so soon."

"I've thought about it." she admitted.

"Sam, I just don't think we're ready to have another one so soon. We're still getting used to having the one we have. Can you wait until he at least turns one? Or a year and a half, even? So you don't have two tiny ones to take care of? That would be a big burden, sweetie."

"I suppose." she said with a sigh and gently kissed the baby's nose. "I just really miss this sometimes."

What scared Flack the most was that most days, he did too.

"How about we get a puppy?" he suggested jokingly. "I hear puppies are good substitutes for babies."

She laughed and leaned into him as he wrapped an arm around her waist. "I've never heard that." she said. "And who would take said puppy for a walk and to the vet for it's shots?"

"Me. The same way I take the damn cat to the vet and clean its litter box. How in the hell I ever agreed to keep that cat is beyond me."

"Because you love me." Sam declared. "And you live to make me happy."

He smiled and drew her close.

No truer words had ever been spoken.


	2. Live, love, laugh

**WOW! TALK ABOUT AN OUTPOURING OF SUPPORT AND INTEREST FOR THIS STORY! I AM SO OVERWHELMED AND APPRECIATE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU! THIS STORY WILL BE LIGHTER THAN MOB AND BE FAMILY AND FRIENDS ORIENTED AND OF COURSE, MAINLY FEATURE FLACK AND SAM. I HOPE YOU ALL CONTINUE TO ENJOY IT. ONCE AGAIN, REVIEWS ARE ENCOURAGED. BUT PLEASE, NO NASTINESS. LIFE IS TOO SHORT FOR THAT SORT OF THING.**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ALSO DO NOT OWN TRATTORIA DOPO TEATRO WHICH IS AN ACTUAL RESTAURANT IN NYC AND LOCATED AT 125****TH**** WEST 44****TH**** STREET. THEIR ON-LINE GALLERY IS AMAZING!**

**CIAO, BEG 75**

**P.S: ANGELL IS JESSICA IN THIS**

**Live, love, laugh**

"So many people gonna say that they want you,  
To try to get you thinking they really care,  
But there's nothing like the warmth of the one who has put in the time and you know he's gonna be there,  
Back your border when she knows someone crossed it,  
Don't let nobody put you down, who you're with  
Take the pain of protecting your name, from the crutch to the cane to the high wire

I'm in love with a girl who knows me better,  
Fell for the woman just when I met her,  
Took my sweet time when I was bitter,  
Someone understands,  
And she knows how to treat a fella right,  
Give me that feeling every night,  
Wants to make love when I wanna fight,  
Now someone understand me,  
I'm in love with a girl."

-In Love with a Girl, Gavin DeGraw

* * *

As guests began arriving in a steady stream, Samantha waited patiently at the front reception desk in the main lobby of the restaurant. The hostess had called the manager fifteen minutes ago and so far, he'd yet to return her call let alone make an appearance. A year ago, she would have been tapping her foot and huffing and puffing and picking up the phone and calling the man herself. The most impatient woman on earth for the first thirty-one years of her life had been transformed by an eight pound infant who made his debut in the sub zero temperatures during the worst snow storm in New York City history. In the middle of the living room nonetheless. And if being a mother had taught her anything, it was that patience was a virtue. Especially when you had to repeat simple commands over and over again and clean up messes around the clock. And that was just taking care of the husband, never mind the kid.

She loved the man. But sometimes…..

"Whoa…." a familiar Staten Island accent said from behind her. "Mrs Flack. Check you out. You actually look like a girl."

"Watch it, Messer." she shot back as she turned around to face him. "Or I'll gouge your eyes out with my fifty dollar French manicure. And if I don't have perfect nails for tomorrow, Carmen will kill you."

"Why is it you're so tiny yet you scare me more than Flack does?" Danny asked, wrapping her in a friendly hug and pecking both her cheeks.

"It's okay." Sam replied. "He's absolutely terrified of me." she smiled at the shapely brunette detective in a stunning sparkling bronze dress standing beside Danny. She was surprised to see Max and Danny arrive together. Especially when Max had told Flack she had other plans for that night.

"Probably because if he doesn't do what you want, you'll cut him off." Danny said.

"Probably. And most likely because he knows I'll make him do dishes and scrub the toilet. He's deathly allergic to housework, you know."

Danny laughed and held her out at arm's length. "Wow. You look nice."

"Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself. You're actually wearing a tie. I'm impressed."

"Erica couldn't make it." Danny said. "Max changed her mind and said she'd come with me."

"Well I'm sure Carmen and Tim will be happy to see you're both here. The room is the first one on your left when you hit the bottom of those stairs there. Order whatever you want to drink. Tab's covered." she waved her MasterCard as proof to that.

"Hope you still got some of that money left if Erica and I decide to take the death plunge." Danny joked, as he gallantly offered his arm to Max and then lead the way to the stairs.

"You kidding? Don's just hoping there's money left to buy groceries next week." Sam laughed.

Someone whistled noisily.

"Shut it, Scagnetti." Sam called out to the big detective as he passed by her. "I'm married to your boss, remember?"

"Shoulda made my move first and I woulda won that thousand bucks in the office pool." he teased.

"Please. As if. And you couldn't afford me anyway."

"How does Flack manage?"

"We have an arrangement." Sam said. "He pays me in other ways."

Scagnetti laughed. "You look beautiful." he told her, then disappeared down the stairs. "Hope there's lots of pretty ladies down there." he called back to her.

"I stacked the guest list in your favour, Scagnetti. Unfortunately , you have to stay away from Carmen and Gus and Stella."

"That's every hot woman in the place." Scagnetti complained.

"I'll try not and be offended." Detective Jessica Angell quipped as she stepped up beside Sam.

"Is it me or does he hit on everything that walks with a wiggle?" Sam asked, turning to face her friend. She and Angell had long ago put their rivalry and nastiness and pettiness to rest and Angell had evolved into one of Sam's most cherish friends. Although no one could ever come as close to Carmen in that department.

"No wonder he's been through three marriages." Angell said. "That is one hell of a hot dress. Flack must have been all over you before you could even get out of the house."

"Never mind me," Sam said, checking out the soft pink sheath dress with sparkling spaghetti straps and scalloped hem that accentuated every one of Angell's curves. Her dark hair pulled into a loose up sweep and held together by crystal pins. "Check you out. You're gorgeous."

"I tend to clean up rather nice." Angell laughed. "Sheldon's just out finding a parking spot."

"And how's that going?" Sam asked , reaching into an etched crystal bowl on the top of the desk and scooping out a small handful of chocolate covered mints wrapped in silver foil. She took Angell's hand, opened it, and placed a candy inside of her palm. "Too many of those and we won't fit in our dresses." she said with a playful wink.

"I plan on working any calories off with some extracurricular activities later." Angell said, unwrapping the candy and popping it into her mouth. "The kind that takes two people."

"I know that kind very well." Sam giggled and slipped the mint into her mouth. "So you and Hawkes. Spill. It's been three months. You must have something juicy to tell me after three months."

"We're enjoying ourselves." Angell said. "He's a wonderful man. Totally unlike anyone I've ever dated. Or slept with even. I honestly wish I had have noticed him sooner instead of holding onto something that was never going to materialize."

"I thought we were never going to talk about that." Sam said. "Part of our whole, let bygones be bygones thing."

Angell smiled. "We were pretty shitty to each other, weren't we."

"It's a long time ago, Jess. Behind us. It's better that way. And I'm happy for you and Sheldon."

"Thanks. And I'm happy for you and Flack. He's totally different since he met you. Not as mean."

Sam laughed. "I don't know about that…."

"How's Kieran? Haven't seen him a couple weeks."

"He's still causing all sorts of hell. Yesterday, Don left his cell phone on the coffee table and Kieran got up on his knees and grabbed it. So my husband spends an hour tearing the apartment apart looking for said cell phone. He found it eventually. In the cat's litter box."

Angell laughed.

"Needlessly to say, he was not impressed. Couple days before, Kieran shoved half a dozen Mega Blocks down the heating vent in the living room. And last week, Don turned his back on him at breakfast time and when he turned around, Kieran had dumped an entire bowl of Cheerios and milk over his head."

"In other words he's a little shit." Angell concluded.

"Exactly. But he's got Don's DNA too so I shouldn't be too surprised. Christ, I've become so damn boring. Talking about my kid all the time. I need to get out more. " Sam said, then smiled at two gentlemen that walked through the door.

One of medium height and slender build in a black suit and black shirt with blue and white thin stripes and no tie. Short red hair and dark Ray Ban sunglasses. The other man was much younger and was tall, dark and extremely handsome. He looked Latino. And his black well tailored suit showed off a fit body and broad shoulders. The light pink dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top, playing up his dark features.

"Ladies." the red head greeted, slowly removing his sunglasses and folding them and slipping them into the chest pocket of his suit jacket. "Would either of you know where the rehearsal dinner for Speedle and Devine is being held?"

"Just down those stairs there, first room on your left." Sam told him. "Just follow the noise of all the half drunk cops and you'll find it. We'll be heading downstairs in a minute ourselves. If the manager ever gets here." Sam directed the last comment to the hostess.

"He's on his way, m'am." the hostess assured her with a sugary smile.

Angell snickered at the m'am comment, and the fact Sam looked ready to smack the girl for saying it.

"I'm Lieutenant Horatio Caine from the Miami-Dade Crime Lab." he offered his hand to Samantha.

"I'm Samantha Flack." she said, shaking his hand. "I work at the crime lab with Tim and Carmen and this is Detective Jessica Angell. She's with homicide."

"Pleasure." Horatio said, shaking Angell's hand.

"Eric Delko." the Latino introduced himself, offering his hand as well. "I used to work with Speed."

"I've heard a lot about you." Sam said. "Both of you, actually. Thanks for coming all the way from Miami, Carmen and Tim are downstairs. Go down, make yourselves comfortable. Have some drinks. Should be a good time. Just word of warning, watch Addison. The baby. She has a bit of a puking problem."

"A bit?" Angell snorted. "She ruined a brand new Dior suit I managed to get for seventy percent off at Macys."

"It's what you get for wearing Dior to babysit a newborn." Sam told her.

Horatio chuckled. "We'll see you soon, ladies." he said, then lead the way to the stairs.

Both Sam and Angell watched the two men head down to the next floor, then disappear. Then the two women turned to each other and wide smiles spread across both of their faces.

"Hello." Sam said. "Did you see that guy?"

"How could I not. Makes me want to ask for a transfer to Miami."

"Whose transferring to Miami?" Hawkes asked from behind them, then placed his hand on his girlfriend's back and kissed her cheek softly.

"Sam's in love." Angell told him.

"I have two men in my life already." Sam said. "That's enough for me. Doctor Hawkes, you're rather dashing this evening in your suit and tie."

"Had to look at least presentable alongside of this lovely lady." he declared.

"Please." Sam laughed. "Give it a year, and you two won't care what you look like. Ask Don. He's seen me in nothing but flannel pyjamas and baby food stained ratty clothes for nearly a year. And you know what, he's surprisingly okay with it. I think this is the first time he's seen me dressed up in a long time. And he nearly fainted in shock."

"You need to be nicer to that man." Angell teased her, as hand in hand with Hawkes, she headed for the stairs.

"Trust me, he's treated very well." Sam said. "He has no complaints. And if he does, he's lying. Hey, if

I'm not down there in a couple hours time, be a doll and bring me some food!"

The hostess sighed heavily at that snide comment.

"Trust me, sweetie." Sam said. "No one is more irritated then me. This is costing me sixty five bucks a plate. Plus alcohol. You would think you'd people would love someone like me showing up to pay for something like that. So do me a favor and get back on that phone there before I make the call myself. And trust me, you don't want that."

"M'am, I…."

Sam leaned over the desk and snatched the phone off the cradle and held it out. "Please and thank you." she said.

The startled hostess grabbed the phone and dialled the number.

To hell with patience, Sam thought. Sometimes nastiness was just a bit better.

* * *

Carmen stood a few feet from the white wrought iron table. A soft smile curving her lips at the sight before her. Six foot two, over two hundred pounds of tough, smart ass, aggressive homicide detective who was more than capable of putting someone through a wall, sitting and holding a tiny baby girl. Seeing Flack that way for the first time nine months ago had shocked her. She had stood, just like she was now, in the doorway to Sam's hospital room, transfixed at the sight of him smiling down at his newborn son cradled so protectively in his arms. The way he touched the baby's features so delicately, as if getting to know every part of his new son and commit it to memory and talked to him in a soft, soothing voice that Carmen never knew Flack possessed. She'd never seen that side to him before, and it had been so striking of an image it had brought tears to her eyes. And every time afterwards, when she observed him with both Kieran and Addison, she thought about what a beautiful sight it was to see Flack in that way. Although she'd never actually tell him that. Because he'd blush like hell and get that bashful, little boy way that very rarely came over him.

"You're a born natural, Flack." Carmen commented as she pulled out the chair beside him. "By day you're the scourge of the NYPDs most wanted, by night you're the perfect dad. How do you do it?"

"I am far from perfect." he said, smiling down at the baby in his arm. Addison was looking up at him with those big brown eyes and was making content, gurgling noises. "I almost left Kieran in Target last week."

"How the hell did you manage to do that?" she asked, trying to suppress a laugh.

"I left him in the shopping cart. I was talking on my cell phone to one of my guy's and all distracted, and I took the cart back and walked away without grabbing him. I only got as far as the car and realized I didn't have the kid to put in the car seat. I was less than twenty feet away and he wasn't hurt or anything. But I still feel like shit about it. And Sam doesn't know. So please, don't tell her."

"I won't." Carmen promised. "Addie really loves her Uncle Donnie." she mused, running a hand over her daughter's silky hair. "It's really good of you and Sam, Flack. Paying for all of this and taking her for three days . You guys are practically newlyweds yourselves and don't get enough alone time as it is."

"We manage." Flack said. "Kieran sleeps in his own room now so we don't have him to worry about too much. And he can't get out of his crib so he can't wander into the room in the middle of the night."

"You guys actually manage to have sex? Lucky you."

"We don't have it as often as we'd like too, trust me. But we sneak it in when we can. Why? You and Speedle haven't gotten that part of things back in order?"

"We haven't even started getting those things back in order." Carmen sighed.

"Sorry." Flack said sympathetically. "But if it makes you feel any better, I do know how you feel. After Kieran, it was almost four months before Sam and I had actual sex. And I was almost insane by that time."

"What happened to us, Flack? All of us?"

He gently transferred the baby in his arms, so that her tummy rested on his chest, her head on his shoulder. He kept a protective hand on the back of her neck so her head wouldn't fall back, and another on her diapered bum.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"We've all changed. Drastically. We're becoming old married people with children, driving SUVs and minivans. I mean, we used to be able to come and go as we pleased, drink as much as we want, stay out as late as we want, work as many hours as we want. We were free and easy. What happened to us?"

"We became old married people with children driving SUVs and minivans." he said with a grin. "I wouldn't go back to my old life for anything in the world. My wife and my kid….all that matters to me. The time I spend with them? It's golden. And I can't imagine not having either of them."

Carmen smiled and curled her arms around his bicep and hugged herself to him. "You've become such a sentimental bastard, Flack. You ever think of having more kids?"

"All the time." he admitted.

"Really?"

He nodded. "I like the idea of having them close together. Giving them each other to play with. They can walk together to the same school, defend each other on the play ground. That type of thing. And every time I see Sam with Addie, I just think what an amazing mother she is and how much it makes me love her even more."

Carmen stared at him and then looked at the glass of dark coloured liquid and ice cubes sitting on the table top. She leaned forward and grabbed it and took a sip. She grimaced. "You're talking like that and no alcohol?"

"I haven't touched it in ten months." Flack said. "You know that."

"I know. And I'm proud of you. You've done good, Flack. And you know Sam wants a baby like right now, don't you?"

"I know." he said with a nod. "Maybe we'll see what we can do about that. So you nervous? About tomorrow?"

Carmen held out a trembling hand. "Does that answer that?" she laughed. "Were you nervous? The night before you and Sam got married?"

"Night before, afternoon of. I was terrified. I didn't think I would be, because we were having the baby and living together, but marriage made it all so permanent. And I thought I'd never get married. So yeah, I was nervous. Very. What are you so nervous about?"

"My first marriage was a disaster. I thought I knew Matthew and look what happened there. I'm scared of the same thing happening with Tim."

"Hmmm….." Flack said. "You comparing Speed to Matthew like that reminds me of someone."

Carmen frowned. "Who's that?"

"The Sarge. The way he was always comparing me to Zack just because I'm a cop."

"You always have a way of shooting me down, Flack."

"You're lumping all men together, Carmen. That's not fair. We're not all bad guys out to hurt the women in our lives. I mean, I'm not always the best man in the world, but modestly speaking, I'm a damn good husband and father. And Sam and I may fight, but I'd never do anything to hurt her. Or Kieran."

Carmen nodded. Taking in everything that her friend was saying.

"And Speed would never, ever do anything to hurt you or Addie. He loves you both too much. And besides, he knows if he did, I'd kill him and that I know a hundred different ways to dispose of a body. And I'll do it, too. You know it."

Carmen smiled. "I love you, Donald Flack Jr. You know that, don't you?"

"I'm flattered. I really am. But I don't think my wife would be too thrilled to hear that. And Speed…well you are kinda marrying him tomorrow."

"I meant like a brother you moron. You and Sam are my family. You two have always been there for me. No matter what."

"It's because we love you, Carmen. And because you're the only person other than my mother who Kieran isn't a little bastard for."

"He's a doll, Flack. You should be very proud of him."

He smiled. "I am. You know, there's only one thing I regret about the way Sam and I did things."

"And what's that?"

"We didn't have a big wedding like this. I mean, it didn't matter to me. I just wanted to marry her. But deep down, I think she would have liked a huge deal. A church, lots of guests, party afterwards. And I would have loved to have seen her in a white wedding dress. Veil and all. Imagine what she would have looked like with all the dark hair? She's gorgeous now. Can you think what she would have looked like in white?"

"You know, you guys could always do it all over again. Say, ten years from now for your anniversary. Have a big ceremony and a kick ass reception afterwards. Renewal of the vows."

"We could." He agreed with a nod.

"Carmen?" Speed called from across the room, where he was gathered with a small group of their guests that included Mac and Stella and two gentlemen she'd never met. "There's some people I'd like you to meet."

"Go." Flack said. "Do the whole blushing soon to be bride thing. And take your kid. She made a mess and the smell is almost making me gag."

"How do you manage with Kieran?" she laughed, standing up and scooping her daughter up into her arms.

"I don't do shit. Human shit. I just don't. Sam handles that. I've done a handful and I swear to God, my eyes water and I nearly puke. And Kieran's on breast milk and that doesn't smell as bad coming out as the formula crap you're feeding this kid."

"I can't believe she's still breast feeding and he's got those teeth."

"She's been doing the pumping and the bottle thing since she went back to work. But sometimes she still feeds him the old fashioned way. Most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life, I swear."

"God, you are so in love with your family, Flack. God bless you." She pressed a kiss to the top of his head before heading off to join Speed and the others.

"Devine." Danny said as she walked past him, shaking his head and whistling lowly. "You're hot."

"Behave yourself, Messer." She warned him. "Or it might be you I drag to the altar tomorrow."

"Over my dead body." Danny declared and dropped into the chair she'd vacated. "Crime stopper," he said, sipping a bottle of Stella Artois. "You're wife is upstairs with guys hanging off of her every move. You actually let her out of the house in a dress like that?"

"I've got one kid to keep an eye on Danny. And she's a big girl. She is more than capable of taking care of herself. She looks hot, huh?"

"You are one lucky sonofabitch, my friend. What's your poison?"

"Coke."

"And?"

"Ice."

"That's it?" Danny looked both skeptical and surprised.

"I haven't touched booze in months. Why would I start now? Where's Erica? Why'd you walk in with Max?"

"Erica had to work so Max agreed to be my date."

"Why?" Flack asked.

"Why what?"

"Why'd you ask Max? She told me she had plans for tonight and didn't want to come. Then she shows up with you? What's up with that? You're not stepping out on Erica are you?"

"Are you crazy? What's wrong with you? Erica's my world. You know that."

"I also know you, Danny. And you drink too much and you'll find yourself going home with Max and you're relationship over."

"Don't insult my intelligence or my self respect."

"Don't say I didn't warn you." Flack said. His cell phone tucked in his jacket pocket beeped noisily and he groaned noisily and pulled it out to check the caller I.D. "Gotta take this." He said with a heavy sigh and stood up. He flipped open his phone. "Flack." he answered. "Hang on, I have to take this outside."

"You go into work and you'll be sleeping on the couch for the rest of your life." Danny warned him. "And you'll face the wrath of Carmen."

"Better than the wrath of Gerrard." Flack said and headed from the room.

"Don't be too sure about that." Danny called after his friend.

* * *

"Where are you going?" Sam asked her husband, as they passed each other on the stairs. Frowning when she saw the cell phone clutched in his hand. "Please tell me you don't have to go into work."

"Just have to call back one of my guys. Something about missing paperwork and Gerrard having a conniption."

"But you're not going back in, right?" she asked warily.

"I don't know until I return the call." he replied and kissed her softly.

"It's Carmen and Tim's rehearsal dinner." she reminded him.

"Sam, I said I won't know until I call them back. Relax. Go and get a drink and take it easy and I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't throw a fit. You're a big girl. You don't need me around you every second."

"Maybe I wanted you to be around me every second for a change especially on a night that's so special to my best friend. But whatever. You go and take care of your work shit because work shit is what you do best."

Flack caught her by the arm before she could get any further down the stairs. "Don't be like this." he said, his voice gentle and calm. "You know I'm still on a short leash with Gerrard."

"I said for you to go. So go. It's not like I'm going to run off with some strange man. Just try and avoid having to go in. That's all I ask. You know how much this means to me that things are perfect for Carmen and Tim."

"I know." he said and kissed her once more. "What's up with the present?" he nodded a brightly wrapped gift in her hand.

"It's for Carmen. Rick Santucci just dropped it by. You know how he's always had a thing for her. Guess he finally gave up and came to the realization that this wedding is the real deal. I asked him if he wanted to come down and mingle and have something to eat. Not like another person will bankrupt us. But he said he didn't feel comfortable and left."

"Weird." Flack said.

"Hope it's not a bomb. I've heard about these jilted wannabe lovers that just go nuts and do shit like that."

"You watch way too many cop shows." Flack told her. His cell phone beeped once again.

"Go." Sam said, nodding in the direction of the front door. "Go and play policeman."

"Rather play policeman with you." Flack said, watching her ass and hips sway as she made her way down the stairs.

"Take a cold shower." she shot back, then disappeared.

* * *

Flack sighed heavily and answered his phone and headed through the lobby of the restaurant and out into the fast approaching darkness. He found the nearest bench to park himself on and took a pack of smokes and a lighter from his jacket pocket. Shaking a cigarette out, he lit and inhaled deeply while listening to the rookie detective on the other end rambling nervously about Gerrard having a 'shit fit'.

"Well what do you want me to do about it?" Flack finally asked when the rookie took a breath.

"You are the boss, Sargent." came the reply.

"For the last time, Campbell, just call me Flack. No need for anything formal. And you still haven't answered my question. What would you like me to do? I'm about forty minutes away and I have no more clue where the reports are than you do. I'm in the middle of my wife's best friend's wedding rehearsal dinner and I'm off for the next three days. Times like this? These are the times I wish you guys would be more organized like I'm always nagging about."

"But Gerrard is having a shit fit, like I said."

"The DD-5's have to be somewhere. Someone has them gathering dust in their desk. My suggestion? Whoever is there with you still helps you go through all the guys' desks. Including mine. Because my head has been up my ass lately and it could be I've already filed them and set them down and forget to hand them in."

Campbell managed a chuckle. "Okay…..I guess we can do that. Gerrard says he's going to call you himself in an hour if those reports aren't on his desk."

"Well you tell Gerrard I'm on my three day paid holiday and I'm not answering my phone. Okay?"

"I guess." the rookie answered reluctantly. "And if we don't find them, sir? I mean, Flack."

"Then and only then do you call me and I'll come in and smooth things over with Gerrard. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're making me feel old with this Sargent and Sir shit, Campbell."

"Sorry, sir…..Flack."

"Goodnight, Campbell." he said and pressed end. He snapped his phone shut and shoved it back into his jacket and took a long drag from his cigarette.

"Thought you quit." a voice said from beside the bench. Mac had a grin on his face as he sat down beside the younger man. He pulled out his own pack of cigarettes and lit one.

"I did. Only I started up again after I quit drinking and Kieran came along. It's my only vice, Mac. Sam's always on me to quit again but I am hooked all over again. I'm an addict. Plain and simple. Started out half a pack a day, now I'm at almost two."

"Your kid isn't that bad, Flack." Mac laughed.

"Not just the kid. The kid is the least of my problems. He's a damn hellion and runs the house, but he's tame compared to his mother. I love my wife, Mac. To death. But sometimes…."

"Nothing is ever sunshine and roses all the time, Flack."

"I know. She's always on me about how much I'm working since I became Sargent and how I don't spend enough time with her and the baby. And she's right. I don't. But I work all these hours to be able to provide for her and the baby. I want us to have a house one day. And more kids. And if I don't pull in the hours, that's never going to happen. She doesn't see it that way. She accuses me of using work as a way to get out of family responsibilities."

"Is that what you're doing?" Mac asked honestly.

"Hell no. I love my wife and my kid. I want to spend more time with them. But I need my job at the same time. And she just doesn't get that. And now this Dean Lessing shit is on my plate."

Mac nodded. "He's being released next month."

"How is that remotely possible? I don't get that. He planted bombs and murdered someone. He nearly killed me. And he's getting out? How?"

"The doctors at the psychiatric hospital feel he's rehabilitated. He'll be released under strict parole regulations and placed in a half way house where his movements will be monitored. And I've been assured he's on heavy medication to keep him balanced."

"Balanced?" Flack snorted and finished off his first cigarette and dropped it on the sidewalk and ground it out with his shoe. He quickly lit another one. "I have a wife and a kid, Mac. What's going to stop him from finding out where we are and doing something fucked up to them. He must know my name. It was in every paper and on the news. Whack jobs like him cut all the articles out and brag about their handiwork to their buddies."

"It wasn't a personal attack, Flack. He wasn't targeting anyone in particular. Whoever happened to be in the building that day. So I highly doubt he's after you or your family."

"Can never be too safe these days. Mac." the detective reasoned.

"If it makes you feel better, I can have someone tail him to make sure he comes nowhere near your family."

"I haven't even told Sam about it yet." Flack said with a sigh. "You know, I've almost been married a year now and my wife barely knows anything about the bombing. I've told her very little. Only thing I told her about was my injuries and re-hab and stuff like that. I never told her how bad it really was and how you saved my life that day. And she never asks. Once she asked and I told her I'd talk about it when I was ready. And I haven't been ready."

"Maybe it's time to be ready, Flack." Mac suggested gently.

Flack sighed.

Why did Mac Taylor always have to be right?

* * *

Samantha was on her third drink in the span of fifteen minutes. She hadn't been much of a drinker since Kieran had been born. Not only was she breastfeeding which made consumption of alcohol a strict no-no until he was able to take expressed milk from a bottle, she had had no desire to return to her old form of a party girl. She fondly recalled the days of going out with the team and tying one on. Dancing on a table while Danny slipped money into the waistband of her skirt and enticing the guys by leading them into thinking her and Carmen were about to have a lesbian affair. Getting her tongue pierced. And a mountain of other more stupid things she'd rather forget from her days in college.

She didn't miss those days of hard drinking and killer hangovers and she didn't yearn for the booze. Not drinking again had been made much easier when Flack began attending AA meetings for his self proclaimed mini alcoholism. But the stress of planning Carmen's rehearsal dinner and the responsibilities of being the matron of honor had taken its toll. And one lemon drop martini had quickly turned into two. And as she downed her third one and headed for the bar for another, she knew she was in for a hell of a night.

At least things were running smooth now that the bill had been somewhat squared away. She'd paid off the remainder of the balance for renting the room and the thirty guest meals. The only thing outstanding was the bar tab and the night was still young. The guests were mingling and laughing and checking out a display of pictures of Speed and Carmen that Gus and Stella had made up. Speed's aunt and uncle had even made it from Syracuse and were now fawning over Addison.

"What can I get you, doll?" the bartender – tall and muscular with neatly coiffed black hair and dazzling grey eyes- asked as she stepped up to his domain.

"Lemon-drop martini, please." she requested.

The young Latino CSI from Miami she'd met earlier sidled up beside her and smiled warmly. She noticed how dark and sparkling his eyes were. And how damn good he smelled. She needed that drink and fast. To wash away the dirty thoughts running rampant through her mind. You can look but you can't touch, she reminded herself over and over again. Your husband looks at other women all the time. So it's perfectly okay to look at other men.

"So Speed was telling me that you're the maid of honor." Delko commented.

"Matron of honor." Sam corrected.

"There's a difference?"

"A little."

"Well as best man, I guess you and I will be spending a lot of time together tomorrow. Not that that's a bad thing."

Jesus, Sam thought. Is he actually for real? And is he actually checking out my ass? Ten minutes ago he'd been making a play for Angell and got shot down.

"Let me buy you a drink?" Delko asked.

"I already have one, thank you." Sam replied, as the bartender sat the martini glass down in front of her. She snapped open her purse and reached in and pulled out a five that she tossed on the bar as a tip. "And seeing as I'm the one paying for this entire night," she said, turning around to lean against the bar. "I guess technically, I'm buying your drink."

Delko smiled and ordered a rye and Coke.

Sam noticed he had perfect white teeth and amazing lips. She took a long sip of the martini and attempted not to notice anything else.

"So you're a CSI, too?" Delko asked.

"I am. Level two."

"Same here. What's your specialty?"

"Ballistics."

"No kidding? Wow. You don't seem like the type."

Sam shrugged. "I like shooting and blowing things up. I like adventure. I'm a sick, twisted girl."

"You're date doesn't have a problem with you walking around by yourself and chatting up strange men?"

"First, you're chatting me up. I'm just here enjoying my first taste of alcohol since I had a baby nine months ago."

"You have a kid?"

"A son. He's nine months."

"And you look like you do?" Delko chuckled and shook his head and gave her a long once over.

"Second," Sam continued. "He's not my date."

"Really?" the CSI from Miami's eyes lit up. "So you're here solo?"

"No. I mean he's not my date. He's my husband."

"Husband?"

"Mm-hm." Sam took a sip of her drink. "Husband. And he's standing right behind you."

Delko's face fell and he slowly turned and found himself looking into the cold blue eyes of an unimpressed, smirking Detective Don Flack. The CSI looked back at Sam who was struggling to refrain from bursting into laughter and then back at the husband.

"She's yours?" Delko asked.

Flack nodded.

"You got a hot wife, man." Delko said and grabbed his drink. "Congratulations." he said to Flack and left quickly.

Flack watched the CSI go. And smirked even more when he gave Stella a second glance when walking past her and then decided to slip into the chair beside her. Flack knew that Mac was a mere few minutes away from coming back into the room.

"I can't let you go anywhere alone." Flack said to his wife, joining her at the bar. "Let you out of my sight and you're off meeting new friends."

"They seem to find me." Sam sighed. "Well? What's the verdict?"

"No verdict." he told her and laid a hand on her hip as he kissed her. "I don't have to go into work."

"Good. You've been smoking, haven't you." It was more of a statement than a question.

"I only had two. Nothing major. You have your lemon things, I have smoking. It's a win-win situation."

"Lemon drop martinis can't give me lung cancer." She said.

"No. But they can give you liver disease."

"My liver is long shot." She declared and finished her drink off in one long sip.

"Well I prefer to keep you healthy and alive." Flack told her, wrapping both of his arms around her waist and drawing her in close for a long, soft kiss. "I called home. My mom said Kieran tried to shove his Bear Paw cookie in the same heating vent we found all the Mega Blocks."

"Kieran? Whose Kieran?" Sam asked jokingly. "I don't know a Kieran. Whoever he is and whoever he belongs to, he sounds like a little shit."

"He is. He takes after his mother."

"Yeah? In that case, I feel bad for the father."

"Nah." Flack said and shook his head. "He's pretty damn lucky."

"Yes." Sam agreed and pulled him down and into a long, steamy kiss. "He is."

* * *

After dining on a sumptuous meal that included homemade crepes wrapped around wild mushrooms and lobster as an appetizer and either grilled rib eye steak with seasonal vegetables and mashed potatoes or penne pasta in a wine rose sauce, guests sipped alcoholic beverages or specialty teas and coffees and enjoyed cupcakes with navy and baby blue icing that had been catered in. Everyone enjoyed themselves and Horatio and Delko and Tim's aunt and uncle had been welcomed with open arms and quickly became part of the fold. Max and Delko seemed quite cozy at the table they inhabited along with Scagnetti, Horatio and Danny. They spoke in hushed tones with their forehead's nearly touching and Max's arms curled around his forearm. Every so often, a loud peel of laughter would erupt from her and her eyes would sparkle and she'd come thisclose to planting a kiss on the gorgeous Latino's luscious lips.

All of this was not lost on the other guests. Most offered up a smile at the sight and then ignored him. Samantha and Angell, sitting side by side at their table with their respective partners, couldn't help by indulging in little girl gossip at the sight of what they could tell, was the start of an amazing night for Max.

"Unreal." Angell said and sipped her Long Island Ice Tea. Nothing fancy for her. She'd wanted nothing more than a Bud she could sip straight from the bottle, but decided to be a little more feminine. Much to everyone's amazement.

"We need to thank him tomorrow." Sam said, stirring the lemon wedge in her martini. "Not only is she happy and going to get laid later, but it means she leaves our men alone."

"I don't blame her." Angell commented. "I mean, he's massively hot."

"Massively." Sam agreed.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that." Flack said.

She smiled and drained her glass. That had been her fifth. Or was it sixth? Seventh, maybe? She'd long ago lost count and knew by the tingling in her feet and the haziness in her brain that she was going to regret drinking that much in the morning.

"You know I love you bestest." she said and wrapped her arm around his shoulders and kissed his cheek.

"You need to cut her off." Angell told Flack. "Before you're carrying her out of here."

"I am fine." Sam declared and waved a waitress over to order another drink. "And besides, I'm not going home tonight. I am doing the girl's night in thing at the Hilton with Carmen and Gus and…..and……" her brow furrowed as she tried to recall the last name.

"Stella." Flack offered.

Sam's eyes widened. "How'd you know?" she asked.

Flack grinned and sipped his pop. "Lucky guess." he responded.

"You're just so smart." Sam gushed and kissed and nuzzled his cheek and neck and stroked his hair. "I love you. Isn't it too bad you won't be able to enjoy uninhibited Sam tonight?"

"Yes." he said with a heavy sigh and a nod. "It is."

"Probably a janitor's closet around here somewhere." Angell told them, placing an order for another drink with the waitress that came to clear their table. "And two more for her." she said, jerking her thumb in Sam's direction.

"Don't encourage her." Flack said. "Carmen will lose it if she has a severely hung over matron of honor tomorrow."

"I'm fine." Sam insisted, playing with his tie and loosening it off. "I'll be fine. Just a couple more. And than whatever Carmen has stocked in the room. You need to just relax. Angell's right. Maybe there is a closet somewhere. That always relaxes you."

He opened his mouth to offer up a perverted, off handed remark, but was halted when Carmen stood up at the head table and so very lady like put two fingers in her mouth and offered up a shrill whistle that not only shut everyone up in a hurry, but nearly deafened them all.

"Jesus Christ, Devine!" Danny exclaimed. "You mind?"

"Hey, this is my night and I'll do what I want."

"This wedding can not happen soon enough." Flack said. "So you're less of a pain in the….."

"There's just a few things I'd like to say." Carmen cut him off with a cold glare. "Tim asked me to do the talking because he's shy and not very good at that kind of thing and I'm…."

"Loud and obnoxious?" Gus offered up sweetly. "Sorry, hun, but Flack's right. This wedding needs to happen and fast. You're driving us all nuts."

"As I was saying," Carmen continued, ignoring the good natured teasing. "I just want to say a few things on behalf of Tim and I. First, I want to thank Samantha and Flack were paying for all of this tonight. It was a generous wedding gift from them and it cost them a fortune and we're now taking donations of canned goods at the crime lab so they and Kieran get eat for the next month."

"Thank Zack." Flack said. "It was his money."

"Okay…..to Zack Tanner. For dying and leaving Sam money. It was the two best things he ever did in his life."

"That's harsh." Speed complained.

"Second," Carmen continued. "I want to thank each and every one of you for taking time out of your busy schedules and home commitments and personal lives to be here tonight. It means a lot to Tim and I that all of you care so much about us and Addison. And a special thank you to Tim's aunt and uncle Maureen and Ken were drove from Syracuse to be with us tonight and Lietunant Horatio Caine and Eric Delko from the Miami Dade crime lab who made special effort to be able to be here."

"Not a problem." Delko said, snuggling in close to Max. "Lots to see here in New York."

"We know exactly just what you're seeing." Speed said. "Or what you will be seeing."

"Can I finish?" Carmen asked in exasperation. "Last but definitely not least, I want to say a little something about my matron of honor."

"That would be me!" Sam exclaimed, waving a hand over her head.

"Jesus Christ." Flack sighed and wished he'd opted for alcohol after all.

"Samantha is my best friend." Carmen began. "We met each other at the crime lab the day of my interview. She'd only been there less than a week herself, but with all that confidence and attitude that oozes out that tiny body, it was like she owned the place. She's always known exactly what she wants and how to get it and to hell with anyone or anything standing in her way. Yet she is so warm and genuine and makes everyone feel good about themselves and welcomes you with open arms."

"Until you piss her off." Danny called out.

"She can be a pretty tough," Carmen agreed. "But everyone in this room will tell you that they trust her to have their back in the most dire of situations. Sam was the main reason Tim and I met. She was the one that first checked him out on the subway and made me check him out too. I have a feeling she would have scooped him for herself, but she'd already managed to hook a great guy of her own so Tim was all mine. In fact, I think Sam and I managed to snag the two best damn bachelors in all of New York."

"Derek Jeter's my husband?" Sam asked, causing everyone to laugh.

"Sam and I became best friends right away. She's always been there for me when I needed some advice or a shoulder to cry on or to even go and have a good drink. 'Cause as you can all tell, she's very good at the drinking thing. To make a long, long story short, when Tim and I got engaged, there was no doubt in my mind who I would pick to be my matron of honor. And Sam's done a hell of a job. She planned this entire night, helped me tirelessly to plan my wedding and still manage to work, take care of a nine month old be be somewhat of a decent wife to a poor, poor suffering man that just wants her back and all to himself."

Flack nodded in agreement.

"Samantha…" tears welled in Carmen's eyes. "You're my best friend. And I love you like a sister and there's nothing I wouldn't do for you or wish for you."

Sam sniffled noisily.

"Oh here we go." Flack chuckled. "Way to go, Devine. When she starts she can't stop."

Carmen picked up a small box wrapped in silver paper and carried it over to the table where her best friend was sitting. The two women embraced and kissed each others cheeks and Carmen presented her with the gift.

"Now let's have a toast." Speed suggested.

"Wait!" Sam cried as she sat back down. "I don't have a drink!"

Angell held out the lemon yellow concoction. "It's right here." she said.

"Okay….I'm good." Sam exclaimed. "Go ahead, Tim!"

"Gonna be a hell of a reception with all you people." Speed said and picked up his glass of red wine.

"We're harmless but a hell of a lot of fun." Danny informed him.

"Just a small toast in honor of all of you that are here tonight." Speed said. "And to finding love and managing to hold onto it no matter what. 'Cause a lot of us here tonight waited a hell of a long time to find the person we're with and we have to work damn hard to hold things together sometimes. Yet I don't think one of us would want it any other way."

"My kid threw my cell phone in the litter box yesterday." Flack offered. "I can do without that."

"So other than Flack who managed to produce the spawn of Satan…." Speed teased. "To love." He said and held up his glass.

"To love." everyone echoed in sentiment.

"So you wouldn't want me any other way, huh?" Sam asked her husband, leaning into him, her eyes sparkling as she smiled.

"Sure I would."

Sam frowned.

"Naked. At a hotel somewhere far away with no kid and no cell phones. Just me and you."

She grinned and kissed him softly. "That's wishful thinking." she said.

Flack smiled but said nothing in return. His mind already working overtime on turning that wishing into reality.

**Special shouts out to the following who took the time to read and review:**

**Aphina**

**Forest Angel**

**Madison Bellows**

**Brrtmclv**

**Hope4sall**

**Soccer**

**Laurzz**

**Jag Lady**

**Laplandgurl**

**Hardylover7477**

**EvaFlack001**

**Blue**

**And another thank you to everyone adding this story to their alerts!!**


	3. Girls will be girls

**Disclaimer: I do not own CSI:NY or any of its characters. Or The Hilton New York. I do own Sam and Kieran and Slippers the cat. Carmen belongs to Aphina and Gus belongs to Madison Bellows.**

**A/N: Please check out A Tale of Two Girls by Aphina featuring both Sam and Carmen. It's a great read! And leave a review! Thanks!**

**Girls will be girls**

"She can handle any champagne brunch  
A bridal shower with Bacardi punch  
Jello shooters full of Smirnoff  
But Tequila makes her clothes fall off

She don't mean nothing - she's just havin' fun  
Tomorrow she'll say oh what have I done  
Her friends will joke about the stuff she lost  
ya tequila makes her clothes fall off."

-Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off, Joe Nichols

* * *

The Hilton New York was a looming glass and metal structure located at West 53rd street and the Avenue of Americas or Sixth Avenue as the locals knew it as. Neighbouring both Rockefeller Centre and Radio City Music Hall and a mere block from the luxurious, upscale shopping on Fifth Avenue. As he hung a left onto Sixth Avenue, Flack worried that before the big event in the afternoon, his wife just may find her way to Fifth Avenue and max out every credit card she owned and drain the bank account on clothes she didn't need and would probably never wear and would sit in the closet collecting dust. She was a shop-aholic. No. Scratch that. She was a spend-aholic. And the worst area of New York for someone with her addiction was right under her fingertips. Damn dangerous.

At the moment however, her eyes were fixated on Rockefeller Centre. Sam found herself going back to that Christmas Eve one year ago when as a newlywed, she'd stood in the gently falling snow, wrapped in the warm, loving arms of the man she'd just taken as her husband, and stared at the thousands of glittering Christmas lights and the magnificent tree erected in the middle of famed area. There had never been a more perfect night. It had seemed so magical. The lights and the trickle of snowflakes and her new husband beside her and their unborn child making his presence know by sharp kicks to her insides. And that magic had yet to pass. Every time she looked at him, she loved her husband just as much as she had that night. If not more. He'd come into her life at a time when she'd all but given up on love and happiness. And had shown her what it really felt like to have someone cherish and adore you.

"We should take Kieran this year." Flack said, his own eyes drifting over to Rockefeller as they stopped at a red light.

He'd been there numerous times growing up. Mostly for ice skating in the winter and on a couple of dates where the girl wanted to look at the Christmas lights. Because it was romantic, they said. He'd never found anything romantic about Christmas in general. Until he married Sam and it became so much more. And with Kieran's first Christmas approaching, Flack found himself excited beyond belief about the holidays. He couldn't wait to see Kieran's little face light up at the sight of their tree and the presents piled underneath.

"We should." Sam agreed and smiled at her husband and moved across the seat to kiss his cheek.

"What's that for?" he asked, grinning.

"I just felt like it. I'm not allowed to kiss your cheek?"

"Anytime you want." he said. "I bet you he'd like all the lights. You see how his eyes light up when we take him through Central Park during those early evening walks and he sees all the trees lit up. I bet he'd go crazy with Christmas lights. Maybe I can find him skates to fit his feet. If I can't get normal ones, maybe my mom has the bob skates me or Chris learned on. She keeps everything. I'll ask her when I get home."

"You are determined he's going to be your little NHL star." Sam commented.

"That and so much more." Flack mused.

Don Flack Jr was a proud father. There was no denying that. He kept pictures of his son on his desk and in his wallet. From birth to now. And he showed those pictures to everyone. He had clipped a lock of Kieran's hair shortly after birth and put it away in a small sealed envelope that he tucked away in a memory box that also included the birth certificate, birth announcement and the set off footprints and handprints he'd insisted they get done for both safety and posterity sake. He also kept a journal he'd started in the last month of Sam's pregnancy and planned to continue on with until Kieran's first birthday. And Flack had never been one for journals. But as far as his son was concerned, there was nothing too big or too small he could do to show his love and pride. Not just for Kieran, but for the woman who'd suffered nine months to bring him into the world.

"Did you have fun?" Sam asked, as the light turned green and they continued on their way.

"I had a great time. A little bit not my thing. You know, fancy restaurant, all these different forks and spoons you don't what to do with. I mean, how many damn pieces of cutlery do you need? How come you just can't use the same fork for the whole meal and the same spoon for everything. Lick it clean before you use it for something else. You don't need a soup spoon and a tea spoon and a sugar spoon and all that other crap. You just don't."

"You're just saying that because you live in a house where half the time we use plastic cutlery that gets tossed in the takeout bag." Sam laughed. "And we don't usually have three different entrees and appetizers. Unless you count chicken wings and jalapeno poppers and Kieran's discarded finger foods as starters."

"We really need to eat less frozen food and take out." Flack commented, considering her words. "I think Kieran eats better than we do. Quality wise. He gets all the homemade pasta and chopped chicken and fish. We get KFC and Chinese. Something is not right there."

"He's a growing boy. He needs all his nutrients. Us? We're halfway through our lives. Middle age."

Flack frowned. "Middle age? I plan on living past sixty. Middle age is like fifty, sixty, sixty five."

"What!" she laughed. "No one lives to be a hundred and thirty, Donnie."

"Just you watch."

"You won't live that long smoking like you do." she pointed out.

A slow grin spread across his face. "Man, I left myself wide open for that. I should have seen that coming. You are way too sharp for me. Even when you are drunk."

"I am the master." she declared. "Or is it mistress?"

"Baby, you can be my mistress any day. Little role playing. You can wear that little dress there and we can pretend I'm picking you up in a bar or something and….."

"You and your dirty little fantasies." Sam sighed.

"Spontaneity and creativity are the spices of life." Flack reasoned.

"I didn't realize we need help with our sex life. I mean, other than we have to pencil in time for it in our schedules."

"You know, I was thinking about something earlier."

"Uh-oh. So that was the burning smell. You using your brain."

He chuckled. "You so need a slap on the ass." he said.

"Don't get me all worked up and not follow through. So you were thinking earlier….."

"My mom is staying overnight tomorrow so it's not like we have to rush home or anything. So I was thinking that maybe we can spare some of that cash you're tossing around and get a hotel room. Somewhere nice. Classy. Five star. Maybe even at the Hilton. Doesn't matter where it is as long as it's nice and has room service so we don't have to step out the door for anything."

She smiled. "I am rather fond of the idea of lounging around in nothing but a bathrobe."

"A bathrobe? No, my dear. You're going to be lounging around in nothing at all. In fact, you won't be lounging period. You're going to be working hard for your room service and your champagne and chocolate covered strawberries."

"Those too?" she asked excitedly.

Flack nodded.

"Where can I sign up!? Count me in. Champagne, chocolate covered strawberries and naked in a hotel room with you? No cell phones and no kid ruining the mood. Sounds like heaven to me. Best idea you've ever had. What made you decide we needed all this?"

"That little incident earlier in the elevator. I just want to be alone with you. Really alone. No interruptions or anything. Just me and you."

She kissed his cheek once more and leaned her head on his arm. "Have I told you lately that I love you?" she asked.

"Yeah." he replied. "But I love hearing it. And tonight? I just want you to know that you did a great job planning everything. It went over big with everyone. You did great with the whole thing and I'm proud of you. Doing all that for Carmen and still finding time for work and Kieran and occasionally me."

"Occasionally?" she giggled. "What's that mean occasionally?

"You've just been really busy helping Carmen with all the wedding stuff, especially the last month and a bit. I know that's what matrons of honor do and all that and I'm not exactly complaining."

Sam arched an eyebrow.

"Okay. I am complaining." Flack admitted, as he pulled into the short stay lot across from the front entrance of the massive hotel and killed the engine. "I just….I know weddings are important. Especially your best friend's wedding. But I really miss my wife. And I know how selfish that must sound."

"It's not selfish." Sam assured him. "It's honest. And you could have told me all of this some time in the past couple of months. I would have slowed down and spent more time with you."

"I haven't exactly been the poster boy for spousal quality time myself." he said with a sigh.

"You work hard. Your job is important to you and you have a lot of responsibilities dumped on you in the last nine months alone. Not just with work. At home, too. You try hard, Donnie. To balance everything. And I admire you and appreciate you. No matter how much I bitch at you."

"You don't bitch that much." he said, then grinned. "Okay, maybe you do."

She laughed and slugged his arm.

He grabbed her and pulled her across the seat and into him and kissed her. Long and deep and intense. He'd been dying to do it all night and didn't care about the people walking by the car who could clearly see what was going on inside and the fact that Sam was practically in his lap. He couldn't get enough of the woman. In fact, he prayed he never got enough of her and always wanted her as desperately and powerfully as he did now.

"Mmmm….." Sam smiled dreamily when the kiss ended and she found herself staring into those blue eyes and wanting more. "You need to be a good boy." she said, using her thumb to wipe lipstick off his mouth.

"I don't think I can." he told her.

"You don't have much of a choice." Sam informed him, kissed him one last time and then scooting back over to her side of the car. She pulled down the visor above her head and tidied her hair and makeup in the mirror mounted there.

"I am never going to survive this night." Flack declared with a heavy sigh.

"You will." she assured him. "Just think about how when you actually do get it tomorrow night, how intense and powerful it's going to be. All that frustration you've got in that body of yours. It will all come pouring out."

"Man, you might not be able to walk for a couple of days afterwards." he said with a laugh.

"Don't flatter yourself." she teased and climbed out of the car.

* * *

They found Speed and Carmen in the massive marble foyer. Speed was dealing with the check-in at the front desk, while Carmen lounged in one of the plush, wing backed chairs by the fountain, a gentle smile on her lips and her emerald eyes fixated on Addison, who was sprawled comfortably along her mother's arm as she sucked busily from a bottle.

"Is that all that kid does?" Flack asked, dropping Sam's numerous bags on the ground. "Every time I turn around she has a bottle shoved in her mouth. You tryin' to fatten her up or what?"

"She's taking after her Uncle Donnie." Carmen replied. "She's got your appetite. She doesn't want to, or know when to stop."

"Sounds familiar." Sam said, dropping onto a nearby couch. "I have two at home just like that. Kieran's starting to eat us out of house and home. Don needs to get a second job just to feed the kid. I mean, he was damn near three feet tall at his last check up. And you've seen the size of his feet."

"What do you expect when dad's six foot two and has size thirteen feet?" Carmen asked, running her fingertips through Addie's fine hair and over her smooth forehead and cheek bones.

"He's gonna be six foot six and three hundred pounds when he's eighteen." Flack declared. "Gonna be crushing people with the Rangers."

"Here we go." Sam said. "We're back at the NHL star fantasy."

"Or he'll be a defensive end with the Giants." Flack said, sitting down beside his wife. "Either or. Doesn't bother me. As long as he's raking in the millions and taking care of his old man so I can retire at an early age."

"Please." Sam slipped out of her shoes. "Let him learn to walk first."

"And you can keep working so you have all your spending money for shoes and purses and whatever else crap that catches your eye. He's only going to look after me. Not you. I'll be his manager."

"Give us a break, Flack." Carmen laughed. "You'll be a cop forever. Until the day you die. And let's hope that's a long, long way away."

"Or at least until his pension is larger." Sam joked, reaching out to fun her fingers through the short hair at that back of her husband's head. "Because right now, Kieran and I would be living in a shelter if anything happened to you."

"Or with my parents." Flack said.

"Bite your tongue. I love your mother, but living with your father would drive me insane. It's like living with another you. And if I just got rid of you, why the hell would I want another one of you?"

He turned his head sideways to look at her, a frown on his face. "You're not funny." he informed her.

"You know I love you." she said and leaned in to kiss him. "Most days, anyway."

Carmen smiled as she watched her friends and listened with amusement, to their good natured teasing and the off handed comments they often volleyed back and forth. Sam could hold her own with the best of them, and to an outsider happening upon one of their exchanges, it could appear that the young husband and wife simply could not stand each other. In fact, it was the complete opposite. The deep, unwavering feelings they shared for each other was evident in their eyes every time they looked at one another. No other man and no other woman existed to them. Their worlds revolved around them and their son. And Carmen hoped they'd always feel that way.

She had found that with Tim. The kind of love that was overwhelming and frightening. The one person you couldn't survive without and didn't even want to attempt to try. Who made you feel like you were the most precious, important thing in the world. And who supported you and loved you regardless if you were right or wrong.

"Look at you, Devine." Flack said, nodding in her direction. "Going all mommy on us. Must have been something in the water or in the air at the lab. First Sam, then you. Now Stella. Whose next you think? Angell or Gus?"

"God." Sam groaned. "The thought of my brother having kids scares the hell out of me. I see the way he gets Kieran all hyped up, sneaking him chocolate and Kool-Aid and God knows what other crap. Adam watches him and Kieran doesn't want to go to sleep he's so wound up. Imagine what Adam would be like with his own kid."

"He'd probably be great at it." Carmen said. "I mean, look at Flack."

The detective frowned. "What's that suppose to mean?" he asked.

"You are the last person anyone ever expected to get married let alone have kids. Kieran comes along and you just become a big old softie."

Flack gave that bashful, little boy smile and shrugged his broad shoulders. "He's my boy. My first born. Had me wrapped around his finger from that first ultrasound when I saw his heartbeat."

"I thought Sam had you wrapped around her little finger?" Carmen said with a grin, propping Addie against her, the baby's tummy to her chest as she patted and rubbed Addie's back in hopes of eliciting a burp.

"I'm a big guy." Flack reasoned. "There's enough of me to share."

"As long as you save the best parts for me." Sam said and yawned noisily. "I'm tired." she announced, tucking her legs up underneath her and laying her head on Flack's shoulder. "Really, really tired."

"Don't even think you're going to sleep when we get upstairs." Carmen warned her.

"I've had the two days from hell with a teething nine month old. He's not sleeping properly at night, he's biting everything and everybody, he's whining all the time….."

"Gets it from his mother." Flack said wryly, wrapping his arm around her, his hand softly stroking her shoulder.

"And Don's been out of the house more than he's been in it." Sam finished. "I'm just exhausted."

"Sure." Flack said with a slow nod. "And the way you're feeling has nothing to do with the half dozen lemon martinis you had tonight……right."

"You can sleep when you're dead." Carmen informed her. "It's my last night of freedom and you are going to help me celebrate it."

"At least let me have a nap." Sam said around another yawn and she snuggled into Flack's side and closed her eyes.

"Don't do it." Carmen warned her.

"I can't help it." she murmured. "Must get sleep."

Flack and Carmen grinned at each other. Within a minute, Sam was nearly passed out against him.

"She's been running the house and pretty much been taking care of Kieran on her own for the past week. I've been working all kinds of crazy shifts and she's been holding everything together." Flack said. "I think she's worn herself out."

"Don't worry, Flack. After tomorrow, you can have her back all to yourself. I hope it didn't cause too much problems with you guys. She really put a lot into helping me plan and I know I was pretty demanding the last couple of months."

He grinned and held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "Just a little." he teased. "But you didn't cause any problems. I was just a little pissed she didn't seem to be interested in anything else. All her spare time was spent on your wedding even when we had shared days off. I just wanted some family time with her and Kieran. She's always going on about it with me when I take extra shifts. Especially on weekends."

"Flack, if I'd known it was causing you guys issues…."

"It was no big deal, Carmen. Sam and I have dealt with worse and made it in one piece. I guess I was just jealous. I was used to having her all to myself. Than Kieran came along and understandably, I was put on the back burner and he became her first priority. That's pathetic, huh? Being jealous of my own son?"

"It's a big change when a baby comes along. All of a sudden you're not first and foremost in her life. Ask Tim. Poor guy hasn't had proper attention since Addie was born. He's starting to feel like he doesn't exist most days. It takes a big man to admit what you just did, Don. She's lucky to have you."

"Yes." Sam said, snuggling her head into his chest. "I am."

Flack ran a hand over her hair and kissed the top of her head. "She's my everything." he said to Carmen as she stroked his wife's hair. "She knows that."

Sam lifted her head and smiled at him.

He kissed her softly.

Carmen smiled. "I can just see you two when you're ninety. Still holding hands and kissing. And still fighting like hell."

"God willing, we'll make it that far." Flack said with a hopeful sigh.

"If not, when I get to eighty, I'll trade you in for four twenty year olds." Sam told him.

"I meant living that long, smart ass." Flack said with a frown. "What's taking Speedle so long?"

Carmen shrugged. She successfully burped Addie and then cradled her in one arm once again and used her thumb to gently wipe spit up from her daughter's chin.

"And did we lose Stella and Gus somewhere?" he asked.

"Mac was driving them over." Carmen replied. "Apparently Stella made a pit stop at the liquor store because she was afraid the wet bar in the room wouldn't have tequila."

"Tequila?" Sam chirped and sat up. "Did someone say tequila? That's the perfect wake me up right there."

"Christ." Flack muttered. "Please God, no tequila."

"We were planning on taking part in some drinking games." Carmen informed him.

"Drinking games?" Sam asked brightly. "I like drinking games. What kind of drinking games?"

"So who pukes and passes out first?" Flack said dryly.

He wasn't pissed about the idea of his wife out having a good time in a safe place like a hotel room with her three closes friends. In fact, when Gus had suggested the whole idea a month ago, it had been Flack that encouraged his wife to go and have a great time. She'd been reluctant about leaving him with Kieran over night. Unfounded fears, because he was more than capable of being alone with his son and taking damn good care of him. But he had never been alone over night with him. Mac had been pretty good at keeping Sam off the graveyard shift since she returned to work three months ago. Flack had convinced her to go. She deserved some time for herself. But he also knew that when she started drinking, especially the heavy stuff, she didn't know when to stop. And that she was wild and crazy and erratic and couldn't be trusted to not do something incredibly stupid.

"I would so win that game." Sam giggled and received a foul look from her husband.

"Keep an eye on her, Devine." Flack said.

"I don't need a damn babysitter." Sam informed him.

Flack held his hands up in self defense. "You get that bad off, don't expect me to come here in the middle of the night and hold your hair back while you puke. And you end up in the ER with alcohol poisoning, you are on your own."

"I'm not that stupid." Sam said. "And I can handle my booze thank you very much."

"Children." Speed spoke in a scolding tone as he joined the small group. "Enough. Take your little lover's spat outside if you're so hell bent on having one."

"What took you so long?" Flack asked, grateful to get off the present topic of conversation.

"Had some business to take care of. Here. This is for you and Sam." Speed held out a piece of paper folded in half.

"More presents!?" Sam exclaimed. "It's Christmas in November!"

"What's this?" Flack asked, taking the paper. "Divorce papers?"

"You wish." Sam snorted. "You're better off staying with me because it would cost you a hell of a lot for alimony and child support."

"You two done?" Speed asked. "It's a little present from Carmen and I. To show how much we appreciate everything you guys have done for us. And I mean everything. Right from the beginning. From the time Flack made that dumb ass phone call to Carmen and singlehandedly set us up to all the crazy shit with Matthew. And for being Addison's godparents and taking care of her as often as you guys do."

"And all this help with the wedding and paying for the dinner and all that tonight and taking Addie while we get somewhat of a honeymoon when you guys didn't even get one of your own." Carmen added. "Tim and I just wanted to do something nice for you guys."

Flack opened the paper and scanned the typing inside. "Okay…so what exactly is this?"

"That's confirmation of a reservation for tomorrow night, at this hotel." Speed explained. "I already called your mom and she said it's no problem taking care of both Kieran and Addie until some time Sunday. So there's no excuse why you guys can't take us up on this. Think about it. No kid around. No cell phones. Sam can make all those porn star noises she's famous for and not worry about waking anyone up."

"I love you, Tim Speedle." Sam declared, already on her feet and tossing her arms around his neck.

"Shhh….Sam….you weren't suppose to let Flack and Carmen know about us."

"Ooops." she giggled. "Sorry. My bad."

Speed laughed and kissed her cheek. "You're welcome." he said.

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't need to Mouse. It's all over your face."

She smiled and pecked his cheek. Then turned and leaned over Carmen and hugged her around the neck and kissed her cheek. "Thanks." she said simply.

"You and Don deserve some sense of normalcy." Carmen told her. "Even if it is for just one night."

"Thanks." Flack said to Speed, as the two of them shook hands. "It'll be nice to get my wife back."

"You know, Flack, every time you say my wife, it gives me the damn shivers."

The detective arched an eyebrow. "Why?"

Speed shrugged. "I guess I always saw myself the same way you saw yourself. Destined to be alone for ever. Incapable of finding that one person. Of finding forever. And I know if you can find it and hold onto it and make it work, so can I. So thanks for that too, I guess. For giving all of us self-proclaimed loners and bachelors some hope."

Flack's eyes narrowed. "You had me until the last part. You really did. Than it just went right over my head."

"All you need to know is that I hope Carmen and I will be as happy as you and Sam are. I know you guys have to really fight to hold on sometimes, but you two are forever. You love each other no matter what. And I really hope you two hold on to that."

Flack smiled and looked over at his wife. Noticing the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed. The way her nose crinkled when she smiled. The way she pushed her hair behind her ear and twirled some of the dark tresses around her finger. All the simple things that made Sam who she was. And he thought of how he'd miss all those things and so much more -even the things that she did that drove him nuts- if she wasn't in his life anymore.

"Don't ever let that go, Flack." Speed said. "What you're feeling at this exact moment. Don't let that go."

"Don't plan too." Flack assured him.

"You boys done with your male bonding?" Carmen asked, as she and Sam began heading, Addie in her mother's protective arms, towards the elevators.

"Get the bags would you?" Sam inquired over her shoulder and winked at her husband. "Thank you. I love you."

Flack smirked and began picking up all of her things. "I may love her," he said to Speed, as the CSI gathered up Carmen's bags. "But that doesn't mean I couldn't strangle her sometimes."

"Join the club." Speed said. "Think it would be justifiable homicide? All the emotional pain and suffering they put us through?"

"I was thinking more of the temporary insanity defense." Flack laughed.

"Gentlemen!" Carmen bellowed from the end of the lobby.

"Temporary insanity all the way." Speed sighed.

* * *

The room was on the seventeenth floor. A king deluxe suite that had a full size living room complete with plasma tv and an elaborate stereo system and free high speed internet connections. Along with a sparkling glass fully stocked bar that stretched the entire length of the smaller wall near the picture window and black leather furniture that still smelled new and looked barely used. Plush wall to wall grey carpeting throughout and cove ceilings. The bedroom had two king sized beds and an ensuite bath that boasted a Jacuzzi tub big enough for six and a separate, massive glass enclosed shower stall that was almost the size of a standard bathroom.

"Can I live here?" Sam asked as she took a grand tour of the suite. "Seriously. All this and someone to come in every morning and clean it? My place hasn't been this clean since…..well, never."

"Because you live with two men." Carmen said, already at the bar, investigating the different bottles so neatly arranged. Addison fast asleep in her carry car seat nearby. "Who's the messy one? Kieran or Flack?"

"I haven't quite figured that out. Don was always a neat freak before we got married. Then all of a sudden he started leaving stuff lying around all over the place and forgetting to put the cap back on the toothpaste and not remembering to change the toilet paper roll when it's empty. It's like he lost all his brain cells when that ring went on his finger."

"It's because you're my wife and that's what wives do." Flack said, catching her comment as he and Speed came down the hall from the bedroom. "Clean up after their husbands."

"I am not the maid." Sam informed him, accepting a glass tumbler full of ice, vodka and orange juice from Carmen. "I do the laundry, clean the house, get the groceries, take care of the kid, and work. You want a maid, pay me maid wages."

"Okay. I'll pay you and get you one of those little maid outfits to wear while you clean the house."

"You are one dirty man." Sam told him, but winked at him over the rim of her glass.

"There's four of you but only two beds." Speed commented, jerking a finger over his shoulder in the direction of the bedroom.

"Gus and Stella in one, Sam and I in the other." Carmen told him.

"You and Sam are going to sleep together?" Speed asked.

"We've slept in the same bed before."

Flack raised both eyebrows. "You have? When?"

"One night when you were on graveyard we were watching movies in the bedroom and we both fell asleep." Sam told him. "It's no big deal."

"You slept with Devine? In our bed?"

"Don't turn everything into something perverted." Sam said. "We fell asleep."

"Fully clothed?" Flack asked.

"No. We were naked. Give me a break. We had pyjamas on."

"I liked the butt naked image a lot better." Speed said.

"That's because you're sexually deprived." Carmen told him, and reached out to comb her fingers through Sam's hair. "Don't worry, Flack. I'll be gentle with her. I'll even teach her some new tricks she can bring home and use on you."

Speed and Flack looked at each other. Both completely turned on at the mere thought of their wives ever engaging in anything intimate. It was every guys fantasy. And those who said it wasn't were lying. There'd been times when the teasing between the two women led both men to wonder if anything more had ever happened between them. Or if there was mutual desire and curiosity to give it a try.

"Or maybe…." Carmen said and pressed a kiss to Sam's cheek. "I'll rock her world and she'll never want to go straight again."

"I am going to need way more alcohol." Sam declared and downed half her glass.

"You two are so damn gullible." Carmen laughed at the two men. "How many times do we have to tell you guys that we love men. Specifically you two. Although sometimes I have to seriously question why."

A loud knock came to the propped open front door of the room and Gus pushed it open for herself and Stella.

"Honies!" she exclaimed. "We're home! Stel's got the hard stuff! Hey!" she frowned at the sight of Flack and Speed. "There's men in here! Get out! Both of you! No men allowed. Ladies only!"

"Easy, Broussard." Flack said. "We were just getting these two settled. God forbid they break a nail carrying their own bags."

"You are such a gentleman, Flack." Gus drawled. "Now get out! No sex for either of you two guys tonight! Consider it fasting."

"You're an evil witch, you know that?" Speed teased her and kissed Carmen goodbye and picked up a sleeping Addie in her car seat.

"I know. I keep all y'all horny men in line. Go join Adam and Mac in the line for the cold showers."

"Your son better be in bed when I get home." Flack said to Sam as she walked him to the door. "He's not and I swear I am bringing him here so you can deal with it."

"So he's my son when he's bad" she asked.

"Exactly." Flack replied and kissed her. Long and soft. "Have fun. No wild and crazy stunts. No running down the halls naked pounding on peoples doors or anything. No skinny dipping. Just be a good girl. I don't want a call from Central Booking telling me to come bail you out."

"Hey, I seem to recall the night before our wedding when the shoe was on the other foot and you got arrested for…what was it? Public intoxication and drunk and disorderly."

"At least I wasn't the one that took a leak on the side of a squad car that still had the unis in it."

"One of Adam's finer moments." Gus snorted. "We shall not speak of that again."

"Flack was the one that kept feeding Adam the alcohol." Speed said.

"Not my fault he couldn't handle it. I thought maybe he could handle booze like his sister can. I didn't realize he was such a virgin."

"That's the only thing he is virgin at." Gus snickered.

"Way too much information!" Sam cried.

"Here…." Stella handed Sam another drink. "This will make everything sit a whole lot better."

"Please be good." Flack nearly begged his wife.

"I will. I promise. Now kiss me goodbye again."

He did as he was told. "You get really drunk and really horny, call me. I'll come over for a booty call." he said as he left the room. "We'll lock the door to the bathroom while everyone is sleeping."

"Is it still considered a booty call when you're married?" Sam asked, stepping out into the hall and leaning her head against the door, watching him head down to the elevators.

"Why can't it be?" he asked in response. "We can call it whatever we want."

"Just think." she said. "No one to hog all the blankets or toss and turn. You can have the whole bed to yourself tonight."

"I'd trade the empty bed in an instant, you know." he told her, pressing the button for the elevator and grinning down the hall at her. "No matter how much you steal the covers and talk in your sleep all night."

She smiled. "You are so goddamn cheesy." she informed him. "Be safe driving home. Give Kieran a hug and a kiss from me."

"I will. Call if you need anything."

She nodded. "You're going to miss me, aren't you."

He just smiled. "I love you." he said, stepping onto the elevator as the doors opened.

"I love you, too." she called. Then waited until she heard the elevator doors close before taking a sip of her drink and heading inside.

Surprised at how much she missed him and her son already.

* * *

"Let's play a game." Stella said, sitting cross legged in the middle of the rumpled bed she was to share with Gus in a pair of soft pink silk and velour pyjamas.

Bags of potato chips and cheezies surrounding her along with plastic bags of Halloween candy and bite size chocolate bars. Ever since she'd found out two months before she was expecting a baby, she'd been craving chocolate in the worst way. So while the others enjoyed alcoholic beverages, she guzzled chocolate milk and bottled water. She'd picked up the chocolate milk love from Sam, who seemed to down it by the gallons when she was pregnant.

"No truth or dare." Sam pleaded, pulling the tops off of Oreo cookies and licking the white filling. "Don and I played that last week and….never mind. All I can say is that my ass is still sore."

"You are so disturbed." Carmen informed her, fixing the straps on her black camisole before plopping down beside Sam in the middle of their bed. "You and Flack are just so dirty."

"Yes." Sam laughed and reached for her drink on bedside table. "We are."

"So what's this game?" Gus asked, tying up the sash on her terry cloth bathrobe before joining Stella.

"It's called What If…." Stella reached into her overnight bag sitting alongside of her and pulling out a small hardcover book. "Just a whole bunch of questions with very interesting answers. You guys up for it?"

They all nodded.

Stella flipped the book open. "Okay….we'll start with something tame. What if you didn't have the profession you do now. What would you be? That's easy for me. A prima ballerina or some kind of professional dancer. Gus?"

"Hmmm…..I'd say either a lawyer or a doctor."

"Carmen?"

"I don't know. I like smacking around the perps. Maybe I could be a professional female boxer like Laila Ali. If not that, then maybe a lecturer or a museum curator."

"Sam?"

"A teacher." she answered quickly. "Or a nun."

No one said a word. The three women stared long and hard at the tiny brunette eating Oreos like it was a lewd act in between downing a triple vodka and OJ. With her tongue piercing and navel ring and the tattoos on the small of her back and the top of her foot and the newly acquired ring of tiny flowers surrounding the navel piercing. Neither of them could imagine Sam Flack as a nun.

Suddenly all three burst into hysterical laughter at the mere thought. Gus nearly fell off the bed laughing so hard and had to be reigned back by Stella, who made a snorting noise that embarrassed her and made everyone laugh even more.

"You drunk fool!" Gus howled. "A nun?!"

"You can't be fucking serious." Carmen had to wipe away tears. "You? A nun?"

"Sorry, Sam, you are so not nun material." Stella told her.

"When I was young, long before I was corrupted by boys, I wanted to be a nun." the brunette told them in all seriousness. "Live a simple life. One of peace and charity….."

"And celibacy." Gus added. "You celibate?" she burst into a fit of laughter once again.

"That is not possible for you." Stella giggled. "For anyone in this room for that matter."

Sam frowned. "I'd be a damn good nun."

"Prove it." Carmen said. "Six weeks. No sex with Flack."

"That's easy. We went nearly sixteen between my last two months being pregnant and recuperating from the birth."

"No sex at all. You guys did other things besides intercourse. I mean nothing. No mutual masturbation, and no oral. Especially the last one."

"I don't need sex." Sam declared. "Of any kind."

Gus could barely breathe. Her lungs burned from laughing so hard. Tears streamed down her face. "You lie. You get more sex than the three of us put together. Well maybe not Stella. Mac's a Marine after all and we all know how disciplined they are. All that stamina."

"Ahhh!" Sam cried and picked up a pillow and held it over her head. "Way too much info! That's my boss!"

"So you going to do it?" Carmen asked her best friend. "No sex for six weeks?"

Sam shrugged. "We'll see."

"Flack will never go for that." Gus said, wiping her tears on the arm of her robe. "Not in a million years."

"He doesn't have a choice." Sam declared and finished off her drink. "He loves me. Plus, he's whipped. But let's just keep that last part between the four of us." She suddenly frowned. Using her index finger, she counted the heads in the room, including her own. "Yeah…..I was right the first time. Four."

"You are so wasted." Carmen laughed.

Sam let out a huge belch. "Yes, I am." she said and dissolved into giggles.

"You are so fucking lady like." Stella laughed and tossed a pillow at the CSI.

Sam just nodded and continued to giggle. Her face turned red and then the hiccups started.

"Here…." Gus leaned over the bed and grabbed a Mike's Hard Lemonade from a case on the floor. "Have another drink." she said and tossed the bottle to Sam.

"Merci buckets." Sam said and twisted off the top and took a huge swig.

"Where the hell do you put it?" Carmen asked.

Sam shrugged. "Next question. Whats the next question, Stel?"

"Something scandalous." Gus pleaded.

"Okay……if you could sleep with the partner of someone you knew and not get caught, who would you choose? No matter what is said here, we all have to promise not to be offended. No one is out to hurt anyone's feelings. All right?"

"Anyone says my husband, I am tossing your ass off the balcony." Sam warned.

"At the risk of dying an early death, I'll admit to Flack." Gus said. "Not that I would Sam. You know I wouldn't, right?"

"I trust you, Gussie. Me, I'd sleep with Danny in a heartbeat. Or Hawkes. I have had a crush on that man since I came here."

"I'd have to go with Adam." Stella said.

Sam nearly spit her drink all over herself and Carmen.

Gus laid a hand on her friend's shoulder. "I am so flattered, Stel. The young ones are the best. You can teach them everything they need to know. It's what I did."

"Carmen?" Stella asked.

"I would fuck Sam behind Flack's back. For sure."

"Now there's an interesting twist." Stella said.

Sam took a long pull from the bottle of booze. "Is it wrong that that so turned me on hearing that?"

"I've always had a girl crush on Sam." Carmen readily admitted, and laying her hand on the back of Sam's head, turned her friend's face towards her and kissed her hard on the mouth.

Stella and Gus' eyes widened at the sight. Especially when Sam didn't recoil or protest and seemed to have no qualms kissing Carmen back.

"Oh my fucking God!" Gus shrieked.

"How was it?" Stella asked Sam when the kiss ended.

"She has very soft lips." Sam replied. "But my husband kisses better. Sorry, Carmen. He's just got that tongue magic going on."

"All I can say, is kissing like that, Flack is a very lucky man." Carmen said with a content sigh and finished off her drink.

Sam's cell phone, resting on the dresser across the room, rang noisily, and she jumped off the bed, fixing the drawstring on the long pants of her bubblegum pink Hello Kitty pyjamas as she went. She picked up the phone and checked the call display before flipping it open to answer.

"Hey…." she said, in a soft tone the others knew was only reserved for Flack. "Everything okay?" she asked, heading for the door and stepping out into the hallway. "Kieran didn't burn the house down or blow anything up did he? The cat still alive?"

"Unfortunately." Flack replied. "She's sleeping on my pillow again."

"Well then take her litter box and her food and water bowls into the small bathroom and lock her in there for the night. Or go into the storage closet in the hall and grab the carry container we take her to the vet in and lock her in there until the morning."

"I can't do that. Any of that." Flack protested.

"Why?" Sam asked, making her way into the living room area. Swaying and stumbling a little as she went. Her head swam, her vision was blurry. But she felt damn good.

"I don't know. It just…..seems really, really mean."

Sam grinned as she popped open the fridge below the bar and grabbed a bottle of water. Uncapping it, she took a huge sip. "See," she said. "You do love Slippers."

"Whatever." he snorted. "You're slurring your words." he said. "How drunk are you?"

"Just a little." Sam said.

"Mm-hm."

"Okay. A lot." she admitted, nearly losing her balance as she sat on the couch.

He sighed.

"I love you, Donnie." she said.

"I love you too."

"No. I mean I really, really, really love you. You're so good to me. You treat me so well. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"What have you done?" he asked.

"I have a slight confession to make."

"Christ….."

"Tell me you love me again."

"Samantha….."

"Tell me." she demanded.

"I love you. So what….."

"I kissed Carmen." she blurted out.

Silence on the other end.

"Hello?" Sam asked, afraid he'd hung up.

"I'm here." Flack replied, chuckling. "I must be hearing things. For a second there, I would have sworn you said you kissed Carmen."

"She kissed me actually."

"Are you serious? How…..?"

"We were all playing this game that Stella brought along." Sam explained. "And Stella asked who we'd have an affair with if we knew we wouldn't get caught and…."

"Who'd you say?" Flack asked.

"That's not what this story is about. Carmen said me and then she kissed me."

"Did you enjoy it?" he curiously inquired.

"Don't turn this into phone sex, Don. I know you're little fetish involving me and another woman and I am not indulging you."

"Give me a little something here. I'm horny as hell and so are you and we're half an hour away from each other. So just get me some slack and tell me if you liked it."

Sam sighed. "I liked it. Okay? She had really soft lips. But she is in no way the great kisser that you are. You're an amazing kisser and you do incredible things with your tongue. And I don't want to have sex with her or anything. I only want to have sex with you. And…"

"Samantha…" he attempted to interject.

"I mean, I have no desire to go lesbian or bi or…."

"Samantha!"

"What?"

"Why did you feel the need to tell me all this?"

"I feel so guilty." she practically sobbed. "For doing it. Like I cheated on you or something."

"Baby, your best friend kissed you because she's probably nearly as drunk as you are." Flack reasoned, trying his best to contain his laughter. "It's no biggie Well, it is because hearing you admit it drove me nuts and I am going to have some seriously happy dreams tonight."

"You are so dirty." she said with a giggle and then became serious. "I miss you." she said. "Do you miss me?"

"A little." he admitted. "Hate sleeping in an empty bed, you know that. Why don't you come home for a couple of hours? Call a cab and I'll drive you back first thing in the morning after breakfast."

"You're going to make me breakfast?" she asked, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

"Banana pancakes." Flack told her.

"Mmmm…..my favorite."

"Just come home for a little while." he said. "You can even show me how Carmen kissed you."

Sam grinned. "You know, I should really hold onto the girls night only vow I made with the others."

"I will have you back before anyone even wakes up. Just come home for a bit. Everyone's asleep here. Nice and quiet. And even if Kieran does wake up, my mom crashed on the couch and she'll look after him."

Sam considered it. "And you'll make sure you have me back in time for everything? Because I have a spa and hair appointment at ten and I have to make sure the hall is being set up properly and what not."

"I promise you I will have you there bright and early. Just come home, baby."

She checked the time on the grandfather clock across the room. Quarter after twelve.

"I'll be home in half an hour." she said.

"Call me when you're five minutes away and I'll meet you downstairs to pay for the cab."

"Okay…..I'm on my way." she said. "I'm in my pyjamas."

"So? Get your ass in a cab and I'll have those pyjamas off of you as soon as we're inside."

"You so turn me on when you talk like that." Sam giggled.

"Then hurry up and get here and I'll do something about it." he told her.

She didn't need to be told twice. She hung up and jumped up from the couch and scribbled a hasty note on a pad of paper on the roll top desk by the window. Leaving it on the bar where everyone could see it, she plucked her purse from the coffee table and stuffed her phone inside. Thankful for the flip flops she'd left by the door when she'd ran down the hall for ice earlier. She wouldn't have to go in the next room, where the others were laughing and gossiping and grab shoes and explain her rapid exit.

Sorry girls, she thought as she slipped from the room. But sometimes a woman has to do what a woman has to do.

* * *

The yellow cab pulled up to a stop in front of the twenty storey building in lower Manhattan at twenty minutes to one in the morning. Flack was waiting outside, in a pair of frayed and holey baggy blue jeans, an old t-shirt and the Adidas sandals Sam had attempted to toss in the trash many a time and he always managed to rescue.

"He's paying." Sam said to the cabbie as she climbed out and Flack stepped up to the taxi.

"Twenty bucks, flat." the driver told him in a thick Indian accent. "She was very, very nice girl."

Flack gave him twenty-five. "Thanks for getting a drunk woman in Hello Kitty pyjamas home in one piece." he said.

"My pleasure. You have a good night."

"We will." Sam assured the driver before he pulled away. She turned and smiled at Flack. "Hi!" she chirped.

"I can not believe you came home in Hello Kitty pyjamas." Flack said with a chuckle. "And neon green flip flops."

"I told you I was ready for bed." she said and turned her face up for a long, intense kiss.

"What am I going to do with you?" he asked.

She grinned and grabbed his hand and yanked him towards the entrance of their building.

"I'll show you and give you detailed instructions." she promised.

**A great BIG THANK YOU to all of you reading and reviewing. I appreciate the support. And I know there's a lot who are reading and I hope you guys are enjoying this!! I am having a lot of fun writing it and would love to hear from you guys!!**

Thanks to the following readers: (in no particular order)

Hope4sall

Brttmclv

Laurzz

Soccer

26hannah26

Bluehaven4220

Forest Angel


	4. Midnight Tiptoes

**A/N: This chapter is rated M for a small section at the beginning. It's just two adults having a normal adult relationship. If you're sensitive, just skip it and enjoy the rest. Thanks, BEG75. **

**Moonlight tiptoes **

"I know she's not perfect but she tries so hard for me  
And I thank god that she isn't 'cause how boring would that be  
It's the little imperfections it's the sudden change in plans  
When she misreads the directions and we're lost but holdin' hands  
Yeah I live for little moments like that

When she's layin' on my shoulder on the sofa in the dark  
And about the time she falls asleep so does my right arm  
And I want so bad to move it 'cause it's tinglin' and it's numb  
But she looks so much like and angel that I don't wanna wake her up  
Yeah I live for little moments  
When she steals my heart again and doesn't even know it  
Yeah I live for little moments like that."

-Little Moments, Brad Paisley

* * *

The apartment was blanketed in silence. Moonlight streamed through the windows, sending rivers of silvery light cascading onto the smooth hardwood floors. Patricia Flack slept soundly on the pull-out couch. Her darling grandson had worn her out after a mere half an hour of having to rescue him from one precarious situation after another. The child had no fear. She remembered going through the exact same heart stopping moments when the baby's father was that age. And she'd all but collapsed from exhaustion when finally, after an hour and a half of Kieran standing and wailing in his crib in the darkness of his room for mama and dada, her grandson had decided enough was enough and realized the fight against sleep was futile.

When the noise had stopped from the nursery, she'd gone in to make sure he was okay, and found him, flat on his back spread eagled with his blanket clutched securely under one arm. Her heart had melted at the sight of the moon's rays tickling his face and his long, dark eyelashes falling on his pale, smooth cheeks. He was an angel. When he was sleeping at least. Yet as mischievous and stubborn and precocious as he was, Kieran was perfect. There'd been scares and worries with the pregnancy and all had thankfully been unfounded. He was a happy, smart, beautiful child that was loved by so many people. And it would have been more of a worry if he wasn't so curious and into everything.

"You're going to have to be quiet." Flack warned, as he unlocked the door to the apartment and cautiously pushed it open, trying his best to avoid waking his mother.

The door squeaking was the least of his worries with how giggly and boisterous Sam was. And clumsy. She'd managed to trip over the slight raise in the elevator when the door opened, and walked into the neighbours apartment door and then attempted to unlock it with her keys. He'd had to clamp a hand over her mouth and drag her away when she went into an obscenity laced tirade about the fucking door and her fucking keys both being broken.

"I am always quiet." Sam declared. In a voice loud enough to wake the dead.

"Be quiet." Flack told her. "Unless you want both my mother and Kieran up."

"Absolutely not." she said in a loud whisper. Then she put her finger over her lips and said "Shhhh." before bursting into a fit of giggles.

Flack sighed and locked the door behind them and resisted the urge to toss his wife over his shoulder to get her down the hall and into the bedroom. She was stumbling and awkward on her feet and colliding with anything, big or small, that was in her path. When her left hip made contact with the hall table with enough force to cause her to let out a huge shriek of pain and knock everything over and onto the floor, he knew he was in for a hell of a night.

In the living room, the lamp next to the couch switched on.

"Donnie?" Patricia called groggily.

"It's okay, mom." he assured her in a harsh whisper. "It's just Sam."

"Sam?" she asked, sounding confused.

"Hi, mom!" Sam chirped. "Your son needed to get laid and here I am!"

Patricia chuckled and flicked the light off and settled back down. "Keep the volume down, would you? I need my beauty sleep."

"Get in the bedroom." Flack ordered, steering the way with a hand on her shoulder.

"Impatient, are we? Are you really suffering that bad?"

"You have no idea." he told her with a sigh and pushed open the door to their room.

He barely had the door closed when she was already on him. Reaching for the button and zipper on his jeans with one hand and alternating between stroking his fabric clad ass and cock, coaxing effortlessly and effectively into an erection. There'd always been an incredible sexual attraction between them. Since day one, even, and mutual desire was easily passed between simple looks or touches. The woman had a hell of an effect on him. From the taste of her lips and the smell of her hair to the touch of her soft, skilled hands. There was no part of her that he wasn't attracted to.

All the tension and frustration he'd had bottled up inside of him for the last five days came flooding out of his body as he grabbed her by her hips and yanked her into him and kissed her savagely. His tongue pushing into the warm, moist confines of her mouth and hungrily and greedily seeking out hers. For five mornings in a row they'd been trying to indulge in some form of intimacy, only to be disturbed by Kieran waking up way before his usual time with teething pain. Screeching at the top of his lungs and rocking back and forth with such force the crib smashed into the wall with enough force to chip paint. And by the time Kieran was put to bed, there was cleaning up to do and dishes and laundry to finish and paperwork that needed to be done and by the time they made it to bed it was after midnight and they were too damn tired to even consider anything that required energy. And, if the mood hit at two in the morning, they were usually interrupted by Flack being called out to a scene. Having a kid had put a serious damper on their once full and healthy sex life. Yet they wouldn't give him up for anything in the world.

He broke the kiss and his hands gripped the bottom of her pyjama top and yanked it up and over her head. She moaned as his hands slipped up her smooth skin and fondled and caressed her breasts, thumbs teasing the aching nipple. His lips feasted on her slender neck and her collarbone as the fingers on one hand set to work on the button and zipper of his jeans and the others buried themselves in his hair. They were desperate and needy. Neither wanted to wait yet neither wanted to disappoint the other. He trailed the tip of his tongue along her smooth shoulder and then over the swell of her breasts. Feeling her trembling with anticipation. He slipped one hand down her smooth stomach and under the waist band of her pants. She cried out as he pushed two fingers deep and hard inside of her just as his lips descended on one of her nipples and drew it into his mouth.

She shoved her hand down the front of his boxers and firmly stroked the long, thick, hard length of his erection. Her thumb brushing over the sensitive tip that was leaking pre-cum. He groaned at the sensation of her warm, soft hand bringing him closer and closer to completion. It wouldn't take much after the five days they had had. He pressed blazing hot kisses over the top of her breast and all the way to her eager, welcoming mouth. She drew back to look at him, breaking the contact of their lips, then removed her hand from his pants and brought it to her mouth and sucked the glistening moisture from her thumb.

All his remaining will power and self restraint just snapped. He twisted his fingers in her hair and roughly tugged her towards him, crushing his lips against hers in a bruising kiss as his other hand found her ass and squeezed it hard and he directed her over to the bed. Grabbing her pants and pulling them off of her as she sat down on the edge of the bed and the scooted on her bum into the middle. Tossing the pink and white bottoms aside, he removed his own jeans and boxer shorts before joining her in the middle of the rumpled sheets. Kissing and groping and fondling with urgency and passion and need.

"I missed you." Flack said, in between kisses to her lips and her neck. "So much. Not just this way. In every way."

"God help you if I ever go away for a couple of weeks." she teased, opening her legs to gentle pressure from his hands.

"I'd die." he admitted. "No one to do my laundry or cook me dinner. I wouldn't survive."

"You're such an asshole." she said with a giggle, then sighed as his lips and his teeth grazed the spot just below her ear.

"You love me." he reminded her, running his hand along her smooth, silky leg. All the way from the inside of her thigh and over her knee and to her ankle, drawing her leg around his waist and settling himself between his thighs.

"Wait!" she suddenly exclaimed, a hand on his chest, attempting to push him away. "We can't….not right this second…..wait….."

"What's wrong?" he asked with a frown. "You feel sick or something? Am I hurting you? I'm too heavy?"

"No. Nothing like that. It's Slippers."

Flack arched an eyebrow. "What about her?"

"She's sitting in the window ledge. Watching us."

"She's not watching." Flack assured her.

"She is! She's looking right at us."

"Sam, she's a cat." Flack went back to kissing and nibbling at her ear and neck. "She doesn't know what the hell we're doing."

"I'd feel better if you put her out in the hallway."

He sighed heavily and drew back to look at his wife. "Are you serious?"

Sam nodded.

"For fuck sakes woman." he complained and kissed her and climbed off of the bed. He crossed the room and gently removed the curious feline from her perch in the open window. "What do you think she's going to do, Sam?" he asked, as he carried the cat to the door. "Take pictures or video? Gossip about our fucking to her friends?"

"Just get rid of her." Sam told him.

He opened the door and sat the cat on the floor. "Sorry, Slippers." he whispered. "Gotta find someone else to bug tonight."

He closed the door back up and returned to the bed. This time climbing on it at the very hand and running his fingertips and tongue and lips from the tips of her toes to the inside of her smooth thighs. He felt her shiver underneath him and her fingers bury in his hair as he got closer and closer to her most sensitive spot. But instead of lingering there, he spread the moist lips with his fingers and gave her clit a long, slow lick. She whimpered, her hands in his hair encouraging him to do more. But he continued upwards until he reached her mouth. He propped himself on one forearm, ran his hand over her hair and smoothed it away from her forehead.

He pressed a tender kiss between her eyes. Brushed the tip of his cock against her slick opening.

She groaned and bit her lip in anticipation. Then frowned when he pulled back a little. Teasing her.

"Tell me." he said, looking deep into those trusting, loving eyes.

"Tell you what?"

"Tell me what you want. What you want me to do to you."

"You have to be told? You don't know by now?"

"I want to hear it. Turns me on to hear you say it."

She reached between them to grab his cock and guide it towards her once again. "You're turned on just fine."

He snatched her hand away from him and pinned both of her arms above her head, holding them down by the wrists. He saw that glitter in her eyes and the small smile that curved her lips. This was what she wanted. To be bossed around and bullied and taken total control of. What he liked most about their sex life was that things could go so many different ways. If she wanted to be submissive, that was fine with him. If she wanted to be dominant, which rarely happened, that was okay too. And it could be hard and fast and wild one time and slow and loving and tender the next. It was never boring.

"Tell me." he demanded.

"You're being very…."

"Tell me." he repeated, rubbing himself against her and tightening the grip on her wrists. Hard enough to cause her to wince and to bruise the tender skin. But not lessen the desire she was feeling. If anything, it just heightened it.

"Please." she pleaded, arching underneath him.

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me."

"I can't hear you. What did you say?"

"I said please fuck me." she repeated and brought her head up to kiss him.

He nearly cried out in shock and pain when he felt her teeth sink into his bottom lip. He decided to take back control by thrusting into her hard and fast and unexpected. After Kieran, she had gone on the birth control patch. She had a horrible habit of conveniently forgetting to take the pill and she'd been too scared of gaining a ridiculous amount of weight with the depo shot. The patch had given them a sense of freedom when it came to their love making. No question whether she remembered to take something or put in a diaphragm. The patch sat on her lower abdomen just under the top of her underwear and was replaced at the beginning of the week. And it was fool proof. With Sam, it had to be that way sometimes.

A cry of pleasure threatened to escape her at the sudden thrust and he lightly placed his hand over her mouth to reign in any noise.

"You're going to have to keep the noise down." he said with a harsh whisper. "Tomorrow night you can make all the noise you want. Right now, you have to lower the volume or you'll have Kieran up. Okay?"

She nodded and mumbled something against his hand.

"Hmm?" he took his hand away.

"I was just saying how kinky that is. Covering my mouth like that."

"And you call me the dirty one." he said with a grin and kissed her.

She returned the kiss with fervor. Her nails digging into the back of his neck while her other hand drifting along his shoulder and down his arm to his wrist. He opened his hand and entwined his fingers with hers. Taking his time, moving leisurely inside of her welcoming and familiar body. It felt amazing to be inside of her. The way her body molded to his and responded so eagerly. Each and every time he made love to his wife he was filled with a sense of peace and security. Her body and her arms were his safe place. When he was with her he felt protected and sheltered. As if nothing existed outside of the two of them.

Her legs circled his waist and she arched against him. Drawing him in deeper, encouraging him more harder and faster. Her grip on his hand tightened and the hand on the back of his neck pulled him in closer, her lips and tongue feasting on his ear and the tender spot underneath. She breathed his name when he moved with more intensity. Sweat glistened on their bodies. Their soft pants and light moans lingering on the air. He shuddered at the feel of the tip of her tongue trailing along his outer ear, than groaned as her teeth scraped along the muscle between his neck and his shoulder. He couldn't hold on much longer. Five days may as well have been a lifetime. He released her wrist and slipped his hand between them, seeking out and finding her clit. Stroking it in firm, determined circles as he thrust harder and faster into her.

She came quickly. His name nearly exploding from her lips until he let go of her hand and covered her mouth once more. He drew back to watch her as she came undone. Watched the eruption of pleasure take over her face and her body. Seeing her in that state, combined with the contracting of her kegel muscles sent him over the edge and she brought her own hand up to smother the harsh cry that threatened to escape from him. He uncovered her mouth and looked into her eyes as her body milked every last drop out of him and his body shuddered uncontrollably. When he was finally still, she removed her hand and he had to put his arm down on the bed to prevent himself from collapsing on top of her slight frame.

He pulled out of her slowly and rolled over onto his back. An arm over his eyes and his chest heaving as he fought to compose himself. He felt the bed move beneath him as she moved alongside of him. Her routine was the same. Get up and go to the bathroom and clean herself up. Get a drink of water. Climb back into her clothes and come back to bed. And tonight was no different. She moved quickly and quietly around the dark room. Stumbling and swaying as she went. Flack got out of bed. Straightened and tidied the sheets. Spotted the large damp spot in the middle of the mattress and yanked the top and bottom sheet clean off. Balling them up, he tossed them in the laundry hamper in the closet and grabbed fresh sheets from the top shelf and remade the bed.

"Chores at two in the morning?" Sam asked, as she came back into the room and slipped back into her pyjamas. She climbed back onto the bed and settled down on her stomach.

"You made a mess on our new sheets." he informed her, gathering up the comforter and covering them both as he lay down beside her.

"Always me." she said with a loud yawn.

He rolled onto her side and kissed her shoulder softly and wrapped his arm around her. "I love you." he said. "You were amazing."

"You weren't so bad yourself." she told him with a dreamy smile. "And I love you, too. Goodnight."

"What? No cuddling and pillow talk?" he asked with a grin.

"We've been together for over a year. We are way past cuddling and pillow talk. And you're usually the one who rolls over and goes to sleep or gets something to eat afterwards. Why are you feeling the urge to be so chatty?"

He shrugged. "I think I'm an insomniac." he said.

"I think you need to let me get some sleep. Carmen will freak if I show up with huge bags under my ass and dragging my ass down the aisle. Same goes for you. You are walking the bride down the aisle."

"Makes me nervous."

"Why?"

Flack shrugged. "It's a huge deal. You never even had someone walk you down the aisle."

"There was no aisle. We were married by a JP."

"Do you ever wish we did the big wedding thing? A hundred guests, fancy church, big reception?"

Sam shook her head.

"Never?"

"Do you?" she asked.

"Sometimes." he admitted. "Never known a woman that didn't want a huge deal. The dress and the veil and the flowers and the whole nine. Most women live for that sort of thing."

"Well I'm not most women." she informed him.

"Very true." he agreed and pushed her hair away from the side of her face to kiss her cheek.

She sighed and nestled her face into her pillow.

He stroked her cheek and her forehead with gentle fingertips. Watching as her eyes grew heavier with each passing moment and then finally close. She looked innocent. Pure and angelic. And his heart swelled with pride at the thought that this amazing, beautiful creature belonged to him. Her breathing gradually softened and a slight smile curved her lips as she drifted off into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Flack pressed his lips to her ear and breathed in her soft, feminine scent and whispered to her in the dark, stillness of their room.

"Sweet dreams of sweet things, baby girl."

* * *

Sam woke to an excruciating headache and what felt like a mouth full of cotton. Bright sunshine streamed through the open venetian blinds on the bedroom window and bathed the bed in warmth. She cracked one eye open and cast a glance at the bedside clock. Quarter to eight in the morning. The bedroom door was shut tight, but down the hall she could hear the television and Kieran's boisterous, cheerful babbling and his infectious giggle. The baby had been waking up, like clockwork, at quarter after seven every morning since he began sleeping through the night at four months. They'd been pleasantly surprised when he'd gone bed to one night at eight and slept straight through without needing a feed or a diaper change. And when he continued the practice, they bragged about it to everyone they knew. Especially parents who complained that their own child never slept through until closer to their first birthday. Carmen had hoped and prayed that being a bottle fed infant, Addison would adopt her 'cousin's' sleeping patterns. So far, Addie was still up every four hours and exhausting her parents.

The smell of pancakes drifted through the house. Sam was thankful that despite the throbbing in her brain and the acrid taste of bile in her throat, the smell of food or the thought of eating it didn't send her bolting for the bathroom. Instead, the complete opposite happened and her stomach grumbled noisily.

Kieran let out a piercing, ear splitting shriek that seemed to shake the walls and windows. That screech was one of both frustration and anger. The kid had a hell of a temper that Sam blamed solely on his father.

"Kieran! Enough!" Flack's stern, deep voice. "I said no. Get away from there."

Kieran didn't understand the meaning of the word No. Something else his mother blamed on the other fifty percent of DNA in the child's body. He was always getting into trouble and finding himself being scolded for it. And he would give you a cheeky grin and the moment you turned your back, he was right back doing the thing he'd just gotten in shit for.

"MA-MA!" Kieran screamed. Once would have been enough. But he repeated it over and over again until he was coughing and sputtering and his throat was hoarse.

Sam sighed. Another peaceful morning disrupted by an eighteen pound tyrant. She shielded her eyes from the blazing rays of sun as she sat up, her head swimming and her limbs feeling like jello as she pushed the comforter off of her and slipped out of bed.

That is the last time I drink that much, she thought, grabbing her robe from the back of the bathroom door and slipping into it before heading to the sink to splash some cold water on her face and brush her teeth to dispose of the foul taste in her mouth. She brushed out her hair and scooped an elastic from a shelf above the toilet and tied her hair back in a sloppy ponytail.

She headed from the bedroom and almost tripped over a furry, motionless blob lying length wise in front of the door.

"Slippers!" she scolded the animal. "What the hell is wrong with you? You're going to kill someone lying there!" she scooped the cat up and plopped her on the bed. On Flack's side. "Don't you dare even sleep on my pillow." she warned and left the room.

"Ma-ma." Kieran sobbed from his high chair in the kitchen when she entered the room. Fat tears spilled down his cheeks. Being corralled and restrained was the worst thing in the world to him.

"Good morning, mommy's boy." she greeted and wiped his tears away with the sleeve of her robe before smothering his cherubic face with kisses. "What were you getting in trouble for?"

"He thinks the cat litter is a sandbox." Flack said from the stove, already fully dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Freshly showered and shaven. And smelling damn good. "I must have swept the floor five times in the last half an hour."

"You actually know where the broom is?" Sam teased, wrapping her arms around him from behind.

"You and your lack of confidence in my domestic skills. Is the house not always clean when you come home after we've worked opposite shifts?"

She thought about it. "No." she replied.

"You're so full of shit." Flack declared.

She pinched his stomach. "That's five bucks in the swear jar." she told him.

They had started a swear jar based on Patricia's advice, when she expressed concern that being around two parents with mouths like truck drivers would cause her grandson's first words to be extreme profanity. So far, in the past week alone, over forty bucks had been dropped into that old mason jar on top of the fridge.

"I thought it was two bucks for a medium size swear and five for a catastrophic one." Flack said, flipping pancakes.

"The s word is a catastrophic one." Sam told him.

"What? That's probably the tamest word in this house. Give me a break."

"Last week you made me pay ten bucks for using s-h-i-t and f-u-c-k in the same sentence. And that doesn't count because I spelled them."

"Who makes up these stupid rules?" he asked, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet.

"You better hope and pray a condom doesn't fall out of there." she teased, as he opened his wallet and removed a five. "Or I'll be saying enough swears to empty the bank account."

"You're very funny." he said sarcastically and moved to the fridge to drop the money in the jar. "And do you really think I'm dumb enough to keep the condoms I use for my girlfriends in my wallet when I know you go in it looking for money all the time?"

"Now who's the funny one?" Sam snorted. She shed her housecoat and draped it over one of the chairs at the small wood table in the corner. "Where's your mom?"

"She had to run out and do some errands. She said we didn't have enough junk food in the house for her liking. I'm surprised you're even conscious this morning." Flack told her, dropping a kiss on the top of her head before offering her a glass of orange juice that sat on the counter.

"I was not that drunk." Sam said, grabbing a handful of dry cheerios from the open box on the counter and scattering them on Kieran's high chair tray. The nine month old abandoned his sippy cup of juice in favour of the cereal. Only abandoning something to Kieran meant tossing it as hard and as far as he could. There was nothing delicate about him. The sippy cup landed by her feet and cracked, leaking apple juice all over the linoleum.

"Kieran!" Sam scolded him. "Stop throwing things! What is wrong with you child?"

"He's violent like his mother." Flack reasoned.

"Why does he throw everything?" she huffed, grabbing the role of paper towels by the sink and ripping off a half dozen sheets, tossed them on the puddle of juice.

"Because he's an evil little s-h-i-t." Flack told her, taking two plates down from the cupboard over his head and dropping pancakes onto them.

He looked down at her hunkered over the mess attempting to clean it up, and was immediately filled with the dirtiest thoughts imaginable. Her pyjama top sneaking up and giving him a view of the smooth small of back that was colorfully and artfully, adorned with a massive tattoo of lotus flowers that stretched from one hip to the other.

Sam finished cleaning the mess and stood up. "You'll have to run the mop over it sometime before you leave today." she told him. "So it won't be sticky."

"My mom will have this whole place sparkling and smelling like bleach by the time we get back tomorrow. I'm going to pack some stuff for you and bring it over when I come after lunch to check in and get ready for the wedding." he sat the plates down on the table and grabbed forks and knives and Kieran's plastic Baby Einstein plate that was cooling in the fridge.

"I need to stop at Victoria's Secret on our way to the hotel." Sam said, tossing the dirty paper towels in the trash and sitting down at the table.

"Yeah?" Flack grinned, dropping down into his chair and reaching out to pull the highchair up to the table so he could reach to feed Kieran. "Want me to come in? Help you try stuff on?"

"I'm not shopping for me." she informed him, dumping syrup onto her pancakes.

He sighed. "Too bad. You mean I have to put up with Hello Kitty or Care Bears on what just may be our only alone night in a long time?"

"You're packing my bag." she reminded him. "Just conveniently forget to pack me any pyjamas."

That grin got even bigger. "Have I ever told you you have a beautiful mind?" he asked, cutting up pieces of pancake into small, baby manageable pieces and dipping them into syrup.

"You've mentioned how much you like other parts of my body." she replied, winking at him over the rim of her juice glass.

"Every single inch." he declared and leaned across the table to kiss her softly.

"Da!" Kieran shouted in protest and banged his hands on top of the tray. Clearly offended he had to share his father's attention with his mother and that she was seemingly interfering with what looked like a promising breakfast.

"Whoa….attitude." Sam laughed. "He gets more and more like you every day."

"He's my boy." Flack said, beaming with pride as he ran a hand over his son's soft black hair and used a baby fork to offer up some syrup drenched pancake.

Sam sat and enjoyed her breakfast and watched the interaction between the two most important men in her life. Flack had been the natural from the moment Kieran was born. Holding him so protectively in those big, strong arms and showering him with kisses and affection and talking to the baby in a soft, loving voice that not even she knew he possessed. He got up without argument to bring the baby to her in the middle of the night for a feed. And when Kieran had been somewhat weaned onto the bottle, even if he'd just worked a triple shift and was dead tired to the world, Flack would sit with him in the nursery or the living room and do the feed himself. He balked at the smelly, foul diapers, but he could bathe and dress the baby with an ease that surprised everyone. He had taken to the role of daddy as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Something no one expected from the big, tough surly homicide detective.

And the physical resemblance was striking. Kieran was his father from head to toe. Right down to the big feet and ugly toes, as Danny had commented once. The only thing that the baby had inherited from his mother was the freckles splattered across the bridge of his nose.

She had never expected when she made the decision to leave Arizona for New York City that in less than a year after her arrival she'd have both a baby and a husband. The last thing that had been on her mind was falling in love with someone. She'd been dead set against it actually. Until she met Don Flack Jr that day outside of the crime lab and her life changed forever. Things had happened quickly and naysayers doubted their feelings for each other and declared it would never worked. Nothing could happen that fast. But so far, they'd proved them all wrong. And she could only hope they'd continue to do so.

"Carmen called." Flack said, after Kieran was full and satisfied and enjoying a cup of milk. "She said she was pissed at you until Gus bailed to meet up with Adam. What was in that alcohol you girls were dinking? E? Making you all hot and bothered like that."

"You know you can do that for me quicker than any drug can." Sam said.

Flack smirked. "That's a very good answer." he told her.

"I've had practiced coming up with things that won't hurt your male pride." Sam joked. Her eyes fell on a stack of case folders to her left. "Did you get up early and do paperwork?" she asked.

"A little." Flack replied. "I know. I need more sleep. I woke up around five and couldn't get back so I decided to come out here and work on some stuff that should have been finished a long time ago. See how drunk you were? You didn't even know I was gone."

Sam thumbed through the files. The majority of names she recognized because she had processed evidence from the cases. The second last folder bore a name that was unfamiliar however.

Lessing, Dean.

She pulled the folder out from the pile. "Whose Dean Lessing?" she asked. "What case was that?"

Flack looked up from his breakfast, saw the folder in her hand and snatched it from her before she had a chance to take a look at the pictures and report inside. The pictures that Mac had taken of him after the massive operation to repair the damage done in the blast. He didn't want her seeing that. And he sure as hell didn't want her knowing who Lessing was until he was ready to tell her.

"It's no one." Flack told her, noticing the startled look that passed over her face as he grabbed the file from her and placed it on the empty chair beside him.

"Must be something important to get you upset like this." Sam said.

"I'm not upset. It's just nothing important. And you shouldn't be going through my stuff like that."

"You've never had a problem before. You always let me look through your stuff. I'm the one that does all the spell checking for you most of the time."

"Sam, it's nothing or no one important. Okay?"

She held up her hands in self defense. "Okay." she conceded. "Don't get all pissy and mad."

"I'm not." he said and quickly finished his breakfast. "I'm going to take Kieran and get him washed up and dressed. You better hurry up and shower and what not so I get you back in time."

She said nothing in response. She just sipped her juice and chewed her pancakes and watched as he cleaned up his and Kieran's places and put the dishes in the washroom before unbuckling and scooping Kieran up out of his highchair and carrying him out of the room. And taking the case file with him.

What the hell was that all about? she thought, startled by the sudden change in her husband's mood.

Whatever it was and whoever this Dean Lessing was, it obviously ruffled some feathers. She just hoped and prayed it was nothing to be too concerned about.

* * *

Carmen was a nervous wreck. She had been disturbed from a less than stellar sleep at eight that morning by an arranged wake up call from the front desk. Her head pounded and her stomach was queasy and she vowed to never mix several different kinds of alcohol ever again. The last time she'd been that drunk had been Atlantic City at Thanksgiving the year before. So drunk in fact that although Addison had been conceived that night, she remembered very little except for the fact Tim Speedle had spent the majority of the time handcuffed to the wrought iron bed in their room. And had still been there when she stirred from a booze fueled stupor at eleven the next morning.

As hung over and miserable as she felt, her condition this morning was based solely on anxiety, excitement, and borderline panic. It was her wedding day. At last she was going to be legally bound to the man she had waited for for her entire life. Whom she had created a beautiful, wonderful child with and who had taught her the true meaning of love and adoration and acceptance. Who took the good with the bad and never complained and had gone through sheer and utter emotional hell to keep their relationship afloat. He had never lost faith in her or stopped loving her despite her rash judgment regarding the Matthew situation. He was solid and dependable and strong on one hand. Loving and attentive and tender on the other. And each day, Carmen thanked her lucky stars for that morning on the subway when Sam, despite the crush of people, had spotted Tim standing by the doors. If Sam hadn't have noticed him and made a point of talking to him as they stepped off the train, who knows where Carmen's life would be now. She just couldn't bear the thought of having neither him nor Addie to brighten even the darkest of days.

A nasty hangover and tattered nerves made for a brutal combination. She had had dreams all night of something going wrong with the wedding. From simple things to her dress not fitting right or the minister not showing up to the more drastic. Horrid thoughts of Speed not showing up or the place catching fire or blowing up. She'd seen those wedding disaster shows before and the way her luck had always been, something bad was bound to happen.

First Samantha had just upped and disappeared. Leaving a sloppily written, rambling note in her place. Then Gus had taken off at one in the morning to meet up with Adam after a late night text messaging incident had turned steamy and neither of them could control themselves. Now Stella, a hand on her just showing pregnant belly, was pacing the living room in her pyjamas and bathrobe talking to Mac on her cell phone.

Mac, along with Hawkes, Danny and Angell, had been called out in the wee hours of the morning to a triple homicide in the Bronx. Carmen was near tears at the news. And very close to losing her breakfast. Danny and Hawkes were supposed to serve as groomsmen in less than six hours. Gus attempted to calm Carmen with sips of lemon tea and well meaning words of support and encouragement.

The bride to be was far past being calm. And if Samantha Flack wasn't back in time for her hair and spa and makeup appointment, Carmen vowed that she'd turn that hotel room into one hell of a messy, bloody crime scene. Sam had a knack of taking control and giving orders and calming down a situation. Which was weird, because in her own personal life, Sam was often scattered brained and flighty and the one that became unhinged rather easily.

Stella hung up her phone and offered Carmen a reassuring smile. "Everything is under control. Mac says they only have another hour of processing. He's called the afternoon shift in two hours early and Angell's managed to get another detective to take her case over when he gets on shift at noon hour."

"See that, hon?" Gus said cheerily, rubbing Carmen's shoulder. "I told you everything would work out. No need to get your panties in a bunch."

"Something is going to go wrong!" Carmen wailed, "I can just feel it! Something is going to go really, really, really wrong. What if Delko loses my ring? What if Sam loses Tim's ring? What if Sam doesn't come back? What if Tim doesn't even show? What if……"

"Whoa….slow down." Stella said. "Nothing is going to go wrong. You sound just as bad as Sam did when she thought Flack stood her up and the only thing that happened there was him trying to get out of Gerrard wanting him to work a double because Gerrard didn't even know it was Flack's wedding night. Tim's going to be there. You have nothing to worry about."

The three women heard the soft click of a key card passing through the security box mounted on the door, followed by a louder click and the door opening.

"Morning stranger!" Gus called when Sam stuck her head in. "How was your night?"

"Ultimately satisfying." Sam replied with a grin. "And I bet yours was too."

"Hon, there are not words to describe it."

"You two horny bitches." Carmen huffed. "I could have used some myself last night. Had to live vicariously through you two! Dammit! It's not fair!"

"You'll be getting enough in the next three days to sustain us all." Gus assured her.

"Hope you're all decent." Sam said. "I brought men with me."

"Are they hot and desirable?" Gus asked. "If not, tell them to move on."

"Well," Sam replied, glancing over her shoulder. "The one in Pampers is pretty damn cute."

"Whose wearing the Pampers? Father or son?" Gus quipped.

"You're a damn comedienne, Broussard." Flack snorted as he followed Sam into the spacious living area of the five star hotel room.

He carried Kieran on one arm and a Bob the Builder knapsack over his opposite shoulder and a half bottle of milk in his free hand. Kieran's blue eyes were wide and curious as he took in the sights around him. And he looked adorable in a baggy pair of denim overalls, a red Baby Gap hoodie over a red and white stripped long sleeve polo shirt, tiny black Timberland boots and a backwards infant sized Rangers cap.

A good match to his father in his own jeans and boots and ball cap.

"God in heaven!" Gus squealed. "Can he possibly get any cuter?"

"Thanks." Flack said, sitting Kieran down on the floor. The baby stood unsupported on wobbly legs for half a minute, then swayed and grabbed a hold of his father's jeans and curled both arms around Flack's leg.

"Not you!" the blond rolled her eyes. "Look at him go! Almost standing on his own and he's only nine months? Seems pretty quick. Thought preemies were suppose to learn slower."

"So we were told." Flack said. "We haven't noticed anything out of the ordinary with him. Sam reads all those What to Expect In the First Year books. She's up on that stuff. Keeps that chart on the fridge from the pediatrician to document where Kieran is for his age. Bunch of crap if you ask me. Kid will do things when he does them."

"Don's an optimist." Sam reminded them. "The glass is always half full. Kieran, can you wave to Auntie Gus?"

The baby looked over his shoulder at his mother, then at Gus, offered a dimply smile and holding his father's pant leg with one hand, held out a tiny hand and opened his fist once, then twice.

"He just learned that." Sam said proudly, giggling. "And he's attempting the whole blowing kisses thing."

"Flirt." Stella said. "Wonder who he gets that from. Come here, Kieran." she crouched down and stretched her arms out to him. "Come and see Auntie Stel. Don't be scared."

He reached for his father's hand with one of his own tiny hands, then reached for Stella with the other. His fingers curled around Stella's and then he cautiously let go of Flack and toddled the foot and a half to his aunt.

"Good boy, Kieran!" Stella praised and picked him into her arms and showered him in kisses. He in turn, took her face in his hands and planted a wet kiss on her mouth."He's so damn cute guys." she said, smiling up at Sam and Flack. "But the hat thing? Are you guys trying to make him look like a B-Boy or what?"

"Quit hogging my godson." Carmen said, scooping Kieran up into her embrace. "How's my baby boy?" she asked, cuddling him close and breathing in his soft scent and feeling the silkiness of his skin against her cheek.

* * *

She had loved that little boy long before he was born. From the moment his mother announced she was expecting him and those scary moments last October when things seemed bleak and dark and she sat, beside a hospital bed, holding Samantha's hand and smoothing her hair away from her forehead and reassuring her that everything was going to be alright. And it had been, thank God. But those were moments Carmen would never, ever forget. And being there, when he came into this world and took his first breaths, had been the most incredible experience of her life. Until her own precious gift came along and she experienced the miracle of life on a more personal level.

Gus pulled the hat off of Kieran's head and ran a hand over his soft black hair. "Man, no mistaking who his father is, huh? He's a mini Flack."

"Get your own." Carmen grumbled, tightening her grip on Kieran and moving away from Gus when she attempted to take the baby from her. "He's mine. You can't have him. I won't share. Mine's not here and I need my baby fix. And he loves his Auntie Carmen. So back off."

"Possessive much?" Sam asked, helping herself to a handful of grapes from an elaborate fruit and cheese basket sitting on the table by the window. A bottle of wine and several sleeves of crackers and chocolates were also tucked into the mix. "Whose all this from?" she asked.

"Gerrard." Stella replied.

Sam gagged. "Great. Now I'm probably poisoned and I'll die in the middle of the ceremony. He knows I'm here and tainted it with arsenic."

"You're his pride and joy, Sammie girl." Gus laughed. "He adores you."

"He would love to throw me off the Brooklyn Bridge is more like it. For corrupting his golden calf and turning him into a family man and not letting him evolve into some evil, perp killing machine."

"Hey, I am perfectly capable of being both super cop and super husband." Flack told her.

"I can't get you to put down the toilet seat or pick up your dirty socks and put a new bag of milk in the container when you empty it." Sam teased him.

"You're busted, Flack." Stella laughed. "You're just as lazy at home as Mac is."

"And Tim." Carmen said.

"Adam's a clean freak and a perfectionist." Gus happily told them. "He's actually cleaner than me. Thanks to Sam kicking his butt into gear when she lived with him. Albeit briefly because someone in this room, who shall remain nameless, decided to talk his way into her pants and get her pregnant and brainwash her."

"This is not a male friendly room." Flack said. "And she seduced me I'll have you know."

Sam nearly choked on a grape. "Sure I did. You keep telling yourself that."

"You're kid is out like a light." Gus announced. "Either he's napping or Carmen suffocated him."

"He's worn out from all his evil, monster things he did this morning." Sam said, as Flack peeled a sleeping Kieran from Carmen's arms. "Smashed a sippy cup on the floor, played in the litter box, emptied an entire roll of ass paper on the floor."

"Ass paper?" Gus burst up laughing.

"It's a Sam-ism." Flack said. "Weird names she makes up for things."

"Last night she told us she wanted to be nun growing up."

"Yeah?" Flack chuckled. "That would have been a Catholic school I would have killed to go to. So Broussard? When are you and Ross going to start popping kids out?"

"When pigs fly or hell freezes over." Gus responded. "Whichever comes first. You and Sam seem to like baby making or at least the activities that lead to baby making. You guys go to town and have a whole football team and I'll just borrow a couple of them from time to time."

"Don't give him any ideas." Sam said. "He already wants six."

"Starting lineup for a hockey team." Flack agreed. "It's all I ask."

"You ask way too much." Sam told him. "You ask me to cook, clean, do your laundry, give you sex. You'd think I was your wife or something."

"You love me." he said and bent down to kiss her softly. "I gotta go. I don't want to be on Devine's shit list for being late."

"You better look damn good, Flack." Carmen warned, as he and Sam headed to the door.

"Don't I always?" he asked conceitedly.

"Don't worry, Carmen." Sam told her. "I made sure his tie matches his shirt."

The three women behind them burst out laughing.

"How in the hell do I put up with you?" Flack asked, shaking his head.

"You love me." she replied, tossing his words back at him. "And you couldn't live without me."

He smiled and kissed her. Longer and more intense.

"Rent a goddamn room!" Gus bellowed at them.

"We already have one." Sam told her.

"Then go and use it! Don't make us sit here and watch you two make out."

"Come here, Gus." Flack called to her. "There's enough of me to go around."

"You wish. How in God's creation Sam puts up with you I will never know."

"Because she loves me and can't live without me." Flack said, speaking directly to his wife, a soft smile on his lips, blue eyes locked on golden ones.

"I wouldn't go that far." she told him. "I mean, you're okay and all that….."

He silenced her with a final kiss. "You'd miss me. Admit it."

She smiled. "We've had that scare once, remember? I was a wreck. I don't want to go through that again."

"Hopefully, neither of us has to go through that again."

She held up her crossed fingers. "Once a lifetime is enough." she said and followed him out the door and down the hall to the elevators. Not ready to let him go just yet. "Don't forget. Don't pack me any pyjamas."

He laughed. "I won't. And I still can't believe you went to Victoria's Secret and didn't buy me anything."

"They didn't have anything decent in your size." Sam joked and pressed the down button for the elevator.

"You know what I meant."

"Who says I didn't buy something for you to enjoy later?"

A broad grin crossed his face. "Is it hot?" he asked.

"It's racy and sweet all at the same time. Much like me."

"Man, I got the shivers all the way down my spine when you said that. Aren't you glad my mother is the best grandma in the whole world? Babysitting both Kieran and Addison overnight? We lucked out. But you know she's going to start her I want another grand kid talk again don't you?"

Sam nodded.

"Maybe we should."

"Maybe we should what?"

"Give her another grand kid. Have another baby."

Sam arched her eyebrow and tilted her head to the side to look at him. "Last night you nearly had a stroke when I said I wanted another one."

"I know….but after you fell asleep last night I was just lying there watching you and I got to thinking that it wouldn't be such a bad thing. To have another baby so soon. I mean, we're good at the whole process. Really, really good. And look at Kieran. We obviously make beautiful babies. So if it's something that you really want, then I just want you to know that I'm okay with it too. No one says that it's going to happen right away. And practice does make perfect."

"Trust me honey, you do not need to practice your technique. You know exactly what you're doing."

The elevator arrived and Flack stepped on, juggling Kieran's dead weight as he reached for the button for the lobby.

"So you think that sounds good?" he asked. "Try and see if we get lucky a second time around?"

"I think trying is the best part." she replied. Blowing him a kiss and giving him a finger wave before the elevator door closed.

She stood there for a long time looking at those closed doors. A smile curving her lips. A million and one thoughts racing through her head. Hearing him admit to wanting another baby was something she never expected.

But she had never expected, on that warm day over a year and a half ago, that she'd come to New York and find her destiny.

Anything could happen. She and Flack and Carmen and Tim were proof of that.

And that the old adage was true.

Good things did come to those who wait.

**Thanks to all of you who are reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you and I look forward to hearing from you guys! Next chap, I am going back to returning reviews at the end of the chapter. That format seems to work best.**

**And lurkers? Please drop me a line! Thanks!**

**PLUGS:**

**Aphina: Devine Intervention, The Tale of Two Girls and Finding Kate (a fab Miami story)**

**Hope4sall: Behind the Scenes, Visit from the Past, Moving On **


	5. The lead up

**Disclaimer: I do not own CSI:NY or its characters. I also do not own The Hilton New York or any of its facilities or Broadway United Church or Tim Speedle or characters belonging to CSI:Miami. I DO however own Samantha Flack (so take that CBS) and Kieran Flack. Carmen belongs to Aphina and Gus belongs to Madison Bellows.**

**The lead up**

"Don't know how I lived before you  
Now I live to explore you  
Take me girl to your secret world  
I could swim in your deep blue passion  
Or I could feel your love come crashing over me  
And bless me  
Whether your right by my side  
Whether you and I are a million miles apart  
I can always feel you in my heart  
Everything I wanna be  
Any dream I wanna dream  
I can, because of your love  
Anywhere I ever go  
With all of my heart I know  
I am the man I am  
Because of your love."  
-Because of Your Love, Kenny Chesney

* * *

Flack never thought he'd see the day when he admitted that his wife was right about anything. At least not admit it out loud that was. Many a time he thought it when she did or said something that proved him wrong when he had earlier told her it was impossible or stupid or that she was talking a lot of shit. His wife was a smart woman. Insanely smart. She didn't earn that master's just on how hot she was. But there was no way in hell he'd ever swallow his pride long enough to look her in the eye and admit he was wrong about something.

This time he'd been wrong. The most wrong he'd ever been about anything. She'd always told him when the floors were wet anywhere in the house that had tiling or linoleum that he had to use the baby gates to barricade the entrances to keep Kieran from getting in there and falling and hurting himself. Especially since he'd began pulling up on anything he could get his little hands on and was attempting to cruise furniture and walls already.

Only Flack had shrugged off the use of the baby gates. It wasn't going to be that big of a job and his mother was in the living room playing with Kieran and Addison, who was doing more lying on the floor attempting to grasp at toys dangling from the baby gym above her than actual playing. He filled one side of the sink with bleach and water and the other with clean rinse water and set to work. It didn't take long to do the whole kitchen and he listened to Kieran laughing and shrieking and attempting to say words in the next room. It hadn't occurred to Flack that the apartment had suddenly gone completely silent. And he'd just turned after finishing the job to clear out the sink when he heard that little voice behind him.

"Da-da……"

He had turned to say Kieran, don't come in here. But just as he did, Kieran bolted into the room on all fours and his hands went out from underneath him and he smashed his chin hard on the floor. It wasn't Kieran's first fall and it wouldn't be his last. He'd fallen off the bed once when Sam had put him down on it to change him and the baby, who to that day had never rolled over, and decided to practice the new skill as his mother turned to grab the wipes. Thankfully they had a bed that was relatively low to the ground and sat on a wooden board in lieu of a box spring and Kieran had been more scared than hurt.

But today was another story. Flack had never been around when Kieran wiped out or hurt himself doing something stupid. And the first time that it did happen, it was the accident of all accidents. Kieran laid motionless face down on the floor and let out an ear piercing scream that practically shook the walls and a small puddle of blood began pooling under his face.

"Kieran!" Flack bellowed, rushing over to his injured son. Slipping and sliding on floor himself. His yelling only made the baby scream even louder. "For fuck sakes!" he scooped the wailing baby up into his arms, muttering the worst profanity he'd ever used under his breath as he cuddled his son close, a hand on the back of his head and the other arm under the kid's ass.

"It's okay, Kieran." he spoke calmly and soothingly, feeling the blood wet the shoulder of his t-shirt. Thankful he'd decided to get ready for the wedding at the hotel as opposed to at home. "It's okay, buddy…" he bounced the little body lightly in a vain attempt to soothe. "Daddy's here….it's okay…..daddy's here."

"What the hell happened?" Patricia asked from the doorway, Addison in her arms. She spotted the small pool of blood on the floor and more on her son's shirt and the wailing baby in his arms. "Jesus, Donnie….what happened?"

"He crawled into the kitchen like a bat out of hell and fell and smashed his chin into the floor. You were suppose to be watching him, mom!"

"I was changing Addie's diaper. I didn't even see him crawl away."

"Well thanks a fucking lot for keeping a good eye on him! Always bitching at me to have eyes in the back of my head and you can't even keep him from coming in here!"

"Yelling at me is not doing him any good, Donald! You're only upsetting him more!"

"Shhh…..Kieran….." Flack stroked his son's fine hair, pressed kisses to his temple. "It's okay, buddy…daddy's got you….he's going to look at your mouth and make sure you still have all of your teeth."

He plopped the little boy in his high chair and snagged a dish towel to wipe away the blood coming from both the underside of his chin and his mouth. He spoke softly and reassuringly and opened the baby's mouth to get a look inside. There were no missing teeth, but visible deep teeth marks on a very bloody tongue.

"Of all fucking days." Flack said and stuck a corner of the towel in Kieran's mouth to dab away the blood.

"Watch you're mouth, Donald." Patricia scolded him. "You owe a day's pay to the jar just for the last ten minutes alone."

"Fuck the jar! Fuck it! There's more important things to worry about! He could have bit his tongue clean off."

Kieran wailed even louder at the sound of his father's raised voice.

"Take it easy, buddy." Flack said. "Daddy's not mad at you. You're idiot grandmother maybe…."

Patricia smacked her son upside the head. Hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. "You may be a thirty one year old man and husband and a father, but you are still my son and I am still your mother and I will smack you silly for disrespecting me? Got it?"

Flack ignored her. He'd offer up an apology when he wasn't so pissed off. He held the towel to Kieran's chin in hopes to stem the bleeding, but nothing seemed to help. Flack dropped to a knee in front of the high chair, and with a gentle finger, tilted Kieran's head back.

"Sonofabitch." Flack muttered. "That isn't going to stop on it's own. He's laid it open for a few stitches for sure. If not more. Fuck. As if there isn't enough going on today without adding to it. I'm going to have to take him in to get this looked at and closed up."

"It's already eleven. The wedding is for three and you said you still have to check into the hotel and get ready and all of that." Patricia said.

"I know that. But what do you want me to do? Let the kid bleed out all over the kitchen?"

"I can take him. He'll be fine if grandma is with him."

"Ma, he needs stitches. You think I'm going to let him go through that alone without me? And you've got Addie and you can't manage both."

"What are you going to do? Who knows how long you'll wait in an ER."

Flack sighed and closed his eyes briefly. Gathering himself. "Get me the phone." he said, opening his eyes.

"You're calling an ambulance for a split chin?"

"Ma, just get me the phone. Please."

"Your cell phone or home phone?"

"Doesn't matter. Either one. I'm gonna call Doctor Hawkes and ask him to come over and do the stitches." Flack held the towel to Kieran's chin and offered the child a reassuring smile.

The wailing had stopped, but Kieran was now sobbing da-da over and over again and gasping for air from crying so much. And his nose was running like a faucet. Flack sucked it up and wiped his son's nose with his hand and wiped his hand off on the leg of his jeans. Snot on my leg and blood on my shoulder, he thought. And I'm not even at work.

"Doctor Hawkes?" Patricia snagged the phone off the table. "Whose that?"

"He's a CSI. Works with Sam. He was a doctor and then the Medical Examiner before joining the lab. We've had him on speed dial since Sam was pregnant and having so many problems. He'd always come over, morning , noon and night to check on her if she wasn't feeling well. Not to mention he's the one that delivered Kieran in the living room."

"Sounds like a good guy to have around." Patricia commented.

You can say that again, Flack thought and took the cordless phone from her. He pressed talk and hit the number six and held the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he stood and scooped Kieran up into his arms.

"Da-da…." Kieran blubbered and curled his arms around Flack's neck. "Dah-dee."

Patricia and Flack both looked at Kieran, than at each other.

"Did he really just say what I thought I heard him say?" Flack asked his mother.

"Dah-dee." Kieran said once more, than kept repeating it in a sing song voice.

Flack couldn't help but break out in a broad smile. It was a sweet moment to hear his son call him daddy for the first time. He'd been drilling it into Kieran's head since the first time da-da had ever escaped the baby's lips. And now the time had come and he was embarrassed to find that tears welled in his eyes and his chest tightened a little. He'd cried like a baby when Kieran was born and he'd held that tiny infant with that head full of black hair and big blue eyes for the first time. He hadn't expected such a well of emotion over one simple word.

"Hawkes." the familiar voice on the other end answered.

"Please tell me you're not busy." Flack said in way of greeting.

"Just getting on the subway. What's up?"

"Kieran smashed his face on the floor and split his chin open. It needs to be closed up. And seeing as you're a doctor….."

"Let me just stop by Mercy and grab some supplies from a friend and I'll be right there." Hawkes told him.

"Thanks. Sam's gonna kill me when she finds out what happened."

"Accidents happen, Flack. To the best of us. Just be thankful it's not something worse."

"Will you write that one my tombstone after my wife bludgeons me? Or say it in a eulogy at my funeral? Because Sam isn't going to take the news that calmly."

"The joys of marital bliss, Flack." Hawkes laughed.

"So when are you and Angell gonna take that walk down the aisle of marital bliss?"

Hawkes chuckled. "All in due time."

"That wasn't a 'are you fucking crazy' or a 'sometime soon.' So I'll take that as a 'things are slowly heading that way'."

"Things are moving in the right direction." the ME turned CSI said. "You know, I was thinking. You owe me a conversation at the wedding later."

"About?"

"RNA and DNA."

Flack laughed. He was taken back to that night in Rupert Flannigan's magic shop when he'd popped that query about if Houdini would be proud to know what an impact he'd had one mob lingo. How Hawkes had looked at him like he was insane and asked in a 'you've got to be kidding me' tone if they were actually having that conversation.

He and Hawkes had never seemed to see eye to eye, Hawkes was highly educated and well spoken. Flack was edgy and hardcore and came from the streets and worked his way up. Since that day Hawkes had handed out his card at the James Walker arson scene, the two men had never seemed to mesh. Until Hawkes did a hell of a job delivering Kieran in the middle of Flack's living room. A tight friendship built on mutual respect had been built that day.

"I think that's more a conversation for you and Sam to have." Flack said.

"Come on, you must have picked up a little something from her."

"Yeah, I did. He's hanging around the house for at least another eighteen years."

Hawkes laughed. "Kieran-itis" he said.

"Exactly. All twenty pounds of it." Flack said, having to twist his head away several times as greedy nine month old hands attempted to take the phone from him.

"I'll be there as soon as I can." Hawkes told his friend.

"All right." Flack said and hung up. He tossed the phone onto the cluttered kitchen table and got the first aid kit from the cupboard above the fridge. Thankful that Sam was in charge of keeping things like that in order and the thing was stocked. Patching Kieran's chin with some gauze and tape, he carried the baby out into living room. Collapsing onto the couch, he cuddled that tiny body in his arms and buried his face in that dark hair and breathed in that soft, baby scent.

Kieran snuggled into his father's warm body, and laid his head on Flack's shoulder and looked up at his dad with his big blue eyes.

"Say daddy." Flack encouraged.

Kieran beamed. "Momma." he said.

"No…..da-da….daddy….say it……"

Kieran reached up and tugged at his father's nose. "Momma." he repeated adamantly.

Flack smirked and laid his head back on the couch and closed his eyes.

"Momma." Kieran said yet again.

"You love your mommy don't you." It was more a statement than a question.

"Momma." came the enthusiastic response.

"You and me both kid." Flack said. "You and me both."

* * *

Carmen Devine was out of control. She was a Bridezilla in every sense of the word. It had all started when the beauty salon in the hotel didn't have the exact shade of nail polish that she thought would look best on her toes. The esthetician looking after her had tried in vain to keep the peace, going as far as bringing out over twenty different shades and offering to mix more. Nothing made Carmen happy and soon the young beauty technician was in tears and the manager was torn between consoling her and making the customer happy and Sam had to refrain herself from smacking Carmen silly in front of everyone. Eventually, the craziness died down and Carmen became complacent by the offer of free French pedis for herself , matron of honour and her two bridesmaids.

The next meltdown came when Sam decided to ask the stylist to take a few inches off of her hair. Nothing major. Just something a little different. She'd been wearing her hair done to her ass for as long as she could remember and couldn't even recall the last time she'd had a hair cut. It made her look too young. People were always commenting on how she didn't look old enough to have graduated from high school let alone be a university grad and have a husband and a kid at home. Flack was getting tired of people looking at him when they were together like he was some dirty, perverted old guy because she looked so young and he had so much grey hair. And the 'hey man, you have a hot little sister' comment was starting to really irritate him.

So out came the scissors and off went the hair. A couple of inches became several and at the end of it all, Samantha Flack had bangs that went straight across her forehead and hair that just barely skimmed the middle of her back. Gus and Stella and strangers in the salon gushed about it. Carmen took one look and burst into hysterical tears. She felt the bangs made Sam look even younger and that too much hair had been taking off and wouldn't look right in the French twist style they had all agreed to wear. Stella gently pointed out that her hair was even shorter and harder to manage with all the curls and the style looked fine on her. For some reason, that just upset Carmen more and tears kept flowing and she went into a long winded rant about everyone looking like shit on her day.

In the end, the French twist looked fine on everyone and Carmen was somewhat complacent for a short period of time. A meltdown during makeup applications was thankfully avoided. Although Sam, with her pet peeve for anyone coming anywhere near her eyes with their fingers or sharp objects, had opted to take the eyeliner off the artist and do it herself. Then had to sit, along with Gus and Stella, while Carmen inspected each and every detail of their makeup to see if it looked right. Gus had grumbled what a bunch of bullshit it was and that nearly sent Carmen off the deep end once more.

"How in the hell are you tolerating this?" Gus had whispered to Sam, as the four of them sat eating a low fat, low carb, crappy tasting lunch that Carmen had insisted they all order to keep up energy and avoid bloating and not being able to fit into their dresses.

"Patience, Gussie." Sam whispered back.

"It takes infinite patience to put up with her." Gus declared, and wrinkled her nose at the bran muffin on her plate.

"I have a nine month old and a husband at home." Sam said, picking at the plain lettuce salad in front of her. No dressing. And Sam was the type who enjoyed salad when it was drenched in the stuff. "And they both need me to repeat simple commands fifty times before they get it. Patience is becoming my middle name."

Carmen, overhearing the smart ass banter being passed back and forth between the two women, had decided that it was the perfect time to commit best friend suicide. It wasn't what was being said that had bothered her. It was the way Samantha spoke because of her tongue ring. And Carmen suggested, no demanded, that the tiny brunette take the piercing out so she sounded better during her matron of honor speech.

Stella dropped her utensils on her plate with a clatter and all three women stared in absolute horror of what Carmen had just said. Gus looked at Sam sitting beside her and held her breath when she realized the CSI looked as if she was ready to commit murder right there in that hotel room. No one moved or spoke. Stella and Gus were terrified of the reaction they knew was inevitable.

Sam had nearly dumped her crappy lunch over Carmen's head. But instead of violence, she offered up a hearty fuck you and grabbed her check list pre-wedding chores and her wallet and shoved her feet in her sandles and slammed the door on her way out.

It was now shortly after twelve in the afternoon and Sam found herself on the third floor of the hotel, in the midst of the elegant Grand Ballroom Suite on the west side of the Hilton. She checked out the progress of the set up of the reception area. The ceremony itself was being held fifteen minutes away at Broadway United Church of Christ at the corner of Broadway and 93rd. Eric Delko was already there checking to make sure things were going smoothly and had called Sam on her cell to say things were under control and looking good.

With only seventy-five guests (it had been a bitch coming up with forty names, never mind seventy five), Speed and Carmen had booked the smallest of ballrooms available. It could accommodate up to a hundred and fifty guests. The flowers had arrived and hotel workers were setting up table centre pieces and the larger, more elaborate arrangements that said on white columns at each end of the head table. The room was awash in various hues of purple and blue. The table cloths were crisp and white and navy slip covers adorned with silver tie backs decorated the chairs. Bus boys were setting out china and crystal and silverware.

Everything seemed to be on track. A well oiled machine. Until she inspected one of the tables and discovered that the china pattern and wine glasses were not the ones that Carmen had picked. And Sam just could not bear the thought of enduring a Carmen temper tantrum. Because Sam knew, if her best friend pushed her enough, that she'd snap and someone would be fishing Carmen's lifeless body out of the East River.

This day cannot end soon enough, Sam thought as she waved the head bus boy over to point out the error. She was calm and relaxed in her demand to have things done properly. But the more she met resistance, the more her head began to pound and the more anxious and tense she became. And when she became anxious and tense, that bitchy Brooklyn girl seemed to come out of hiding. She had had enough of Carmen's shit and she had decided this wedding would be her first, and last, stint as matron of honor.

Flack entered the room behind her. Grinning at that Brooklyn accent that became more and more pronounced the more flustered and aggressive she got when arguing her case. There were times when they were in the midst of a spat that he didn't even understand some of the words that were coming out of her mouth. So he felt for that red faced, nervous bus boy undergoing the tongue lashing of his life. He may have thought he could put one over on such a tiny woman, but he was learning how wrong that assumption was.

Try being married to her buddy, Flack thought, as he watched the bus boy sulk away with a look on his face that clearly indicated how big of a bitch he thought Sam was. Flack recognized that look very well. He'd worn that expression himself many a time in the short span they had been together.

But damn, she looked sexy with her hair in that sleek 'do. She was standing there, her back to him, wearing one his NYPD hockey jerseys. It was massive on her and fell just below the knee. Her legs were bare and smooth. And she had on those damn flip flops again. He wondered if she had anything on under that jersey. And if she'd let him find out for himself in the privacy of their own room.

He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her slender body and kissed the back of her neck. Than the side.

"Better watch it." she said. "I think my husband is lingering around here somewhere. I wouldn't want him to catch you doing that."

"Husband, huh? Think I could take him?"

"I don't know. He's pretty big. And he's mean. You'd probably get your ass kicked."

"Yeah?" he nuzzled her neck and pulled her back against him. "I'll take that chance."

Smiling, Sam turned and looked up at him. "Well? What do you think? Does it look nice?"

Flack knew she was talking about the ballroom and the hard work she had had to put in to make sure that things were just perfect for Speed and Carmen. But the only thing he noticed at that moment was the change to her hair.

"Whoa.." he said. "What happened?"

"I cut my hair, genius. Got a new style. I felt like a change. What? You don't like the bangs?"

"It's not that I don't like them. It's just that they make you look really young and you looked young enough to begin with. I mean, they look nice and you look really hot with or without them, it's just different. They're different. At least you didn't dye it or chop it all off."

Sam let that comment pass. She'd let him find out about the inches she'd taken off later. "So?" she asked, taking in his baggy jeans and Henley style shirt and baseball cap. "Did you check into our room?"

"Ten minutes ago."

"What's it like? Is it nice?"

"Just like the one you're in now but there's only one bed. And it's one of those beds with the curtains hanging around it."

"A canopy bed. It's like sleeping in a tent. Is it big?"

"The room or the bed?" he asked.

"The bed."

"I don't know. I guess it's pretty big. One of those double king ones."

She grinned. "I love a large playground. Is the room nice?"

He kissed her and placed his hands on her hips and drew her in close. "Why don't you come upstairs with me and see the room for yourself?"

"Because I know the methods to your madness and you have no intentions of letting me see the room. You just want to get me up there and get into my pants."

"Is that so bad? I'm the long suffering husband. I finally have you alone. I deserve enough adult time with you that we can possibly fit in."

"Five days is not long suffering." Sam informed him. "And you got some last night so I don't know why you're hurting as much as you are."

"'Cause that was just the warm up. We haven't reached the actual event yet. So come on..lets go upstairs and you can see our room. Preferrably the ceiling while you're flat on your back."

"You're dirty." Sam informed him, accepting another long, soft kiss.

"Hope you got some kind of underwear on under that shirt." Flack commented, casting a glance down at her smooth legs. And her bare toes that now boasted a pedicure.

He never understood the need she felt to pamper her feet and paint her nails when she wore socks around the house all the time. It was slowly approaching winter and it would be a long time until she'd walk around in sandals.

"Wanna see?" she asked with a devilish grin and began pulling up the bottom of the shirt.

A worker whistled as she reached her mid thigh.

"Take it easy, boys." she said, and flashed everyone a shot of the denim shorts she wore underneath. "I'm wearing my Daisy Dukes."

"Must you?" Flack asked in annoyance and pulled her shirt down to cover her back off.

"You know you're the only one that gets to experience what's under the Daisy Dukes." she said. "Will you take me to lunch? I'm starving. Carmen was trying to feed me a plain lettuce salad, a bran muffin and cantaloupe slices. Only thing I touched was the cantaloupe. I mean, I can't eat a salad without half a bottle of dressing."

"God forbid." Flack said, taking her hand and leading her out of the ballroom. "Devine freaking out yet?"

Sam laughed. "We're ready to kill her. She's been a major diva all day. Brought the girl doing our pedis to tears because the salon didn't have the exact shade she wanted. Manager was so embarrassed that she offered free services for all of us. Than Carmen threw a fit and was in tears because of my hair."

"From what I can see of it.." he took a peek at the back of her head and crystals on the heads of the pins holding the style in place. "It looks really nice. The makeup looks good too."

Sam smiled at him. "Honey, you have such an understated way of complimenting me."

"Why waste words telling you how beautiful you are when we can just cut to the chase, go upstairs and I can show you how beautiful I think you are?"

"Because there is no time for that sort of thing. You still have to get cleaned up and get dressed and I still have to get myself in order and help Carmen get dressed and make sure that the honeymoon suite is set up and that the transportation is going to arrive on time and.." she sighed. "Aren't you so glad we had the wedding we did? Seven guests and dinner at Tavern On the Green? We didn't have to worry about all of this stress and drama."

"I don't know. Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to have a big thing. Get married in a church and see you in a wedding dress and veil and all of that. Have a huge party afterwards. Go on a honeymoon."

"I'll agree with you on the honeymoon part. As nice as Christmas Eve and Day at Pierre Hotel thanks to Mac and Stella was, it would have been nice to go away somewhere for even a few days."

Flack nodded in agreement.

"Guess you should have thought about that before you knocked me up prior to marriage." Sam teased,

"You kidding? Look what the end result was. I wouldn't give Kieran up for anything in the world."

"Neither would I." she said with a smile and let go of his hand. Picking up his arm, she placed it across her shoulders and wrapped her own arm around his waist. "We did go, you know. When we made him."

"Mother's brains, father's looks." Flack stated.

"Pardon me? Are you suggesting I'm ugly?" she laughed.

"I'm suggesting you're the brains of the operation. There's always someone more attractive than the other in any relationship. And in ours, it happens to be me."

"You're such an ass sometimes." she told him with a broad smile on her face, her eyes twinkling.

"I mean, come on. Dark hair and blue eyes. How right could you go when picking a father for your kid? You lucked out huge when you met me outside the lab that day."

"Mm-hm. And what would have happened if I'd liked Danny better than you?"

Flack contemplated that. "I would have hated to see what your guys' kids looked like." he said.

"Nice!" she exclaimed and pushed him away playfully. "You're mean. I hope Kieran only inherited your looks because if he has your personality, someone is going to knock him on his ass one day. I'm surprised you didn't get beat up on the playground a lot as a kid with your smart mouth."

"I was always bigger than the rest of the kids." Flack told her. "Come here." he caught her by the hand and pulled her back towards him and planted a long, soft kiss on her lips right there in the middle of the busy third floor hallway. Much to the chagrin of several older couples passing by at that moment.

"You're lucky you're such a good kisser or I'd tell you where to go and how to get there." Sam said, as they headed, hand in hand, for the elevator.

"You've done that many a time. And I still hang around and come back for more" Flack pointed out, and hit the down button. "It's true though. Kieran does look exactly like me. Everyone says that."

Sam sighed. "I know."

"And that's a bad thing? He could have taken after the Ross family and looked like Adam. Like I said, dark hair, blue eyes. Great combo. Nothing could have went wrong there. It was fool proof. And you said when you were pregnant you wanted him to have my hair and eyes."

"I did want him to." she agreed and stepped onto the elevator as the doors opened. "Let's put it this way, your eyes? Only reason I married you."

Flack frowned and pressed the lobby button. "Now that's harsh." he said.

* * *

They opted for a sit down lunch in New York Marketplace, the hotel's casual restaurant on the main floor. Ordering off the menu as opposed to the current international lunch buffet that was being offered. It was a busy, noisy place at that time of the day and they were happy to get a table in the far back corner of the restaurant. They were used to noise and craziness both in their jobs and at home, and needed something a little more subdued. Especially when that night's reception was bound to be a wild affair.

Sam ordered a cheeseburger and fries smothered in cheese and gravy and the biggest chocolate milk that was available. Flack was surprised that she'd even think about putting all of that crap in her stomach. She always had a big appetite and who she stayed so tiny, especially after a baby, he couldn't quite figure out. But she never had all that kind greasy garbage all at once. He played it safe and had a coffee and a hamburger and side salad with French dressing.

"Did everything go okay at home?" she asked, digging into her fries. The grease and food more a revolt against Carmen than actual love for the food. "Speed dropped Addie off okay and all that?"

"Brought her by around ten thirty. I don't think my mom's put her down since."

"Boy, that must have killed you. Having to give up your baby."

Flack had an admitted soft spot for his god-daughter. He adored her and was fiercely protective. She'd never be allowed on dates without her uncle Donnie passing the boy's name through the system first. And if any guy ever did her wrong, he'd be right behind her father to give the kid an ass kicking of his life.

"I was thinking about something." he said, sipping coffee. "Next kid we have, I want it to be a girl."

"Yeah? Well than you better put in some serious requests to the higher power because that kind of thing is all up to your swimmers and what gender gets there first. That is one thing in the whole process we can rest squarely on your shoulders."

"You're putting a lot of pressure on me here."

"You've always done really well under stressful, high pressure situations. I mean, you got through Kieran's unexpected home birth in one piece. And it wasn't the most pleasant experience."

"Worse than a body in full decomp." Flack declared.

"It was not that bad." Sam said.

"How would you know? You didn't look. You kept your eyes closed the whole time and freaked out when Hawkes took your hand to touch Kieran's head."

"I was scared." Sam reasoned. "Not to mention I was doing all the work. You got to sit there and hold a wash cloth to my head and hold my hand."

"You nearly busted my hand." he reminded her. "And you called me every foul, profane name in the book."

"You squeeze something the size of a watermelon out of something the size of an orange and you tell me how you feel." Sam remarked around a mouthful of cheeseburger.

Flack grimaced. "That's a little too descriptive while I'm eating."

She shrugged. "It's why men can't have babies. I mean, where would it come out of?"

"Samantha, come on. Do we have to talk about this?"

"Just think about it." she said, pointing her fork at him. "If passing a kidney stone that way can bring a grown man to his knees, imagine how delivering a seven pound baby through there would feel."

"Sam, honestly, this is not the type of lunch conversation I was looking for."

"I am just making you appreciate the plight of us women who unselfishly bare children for our men."

"I watched you deliver my son on our living room floor with no pain medication, popping the stitches holding your cervix closed in the process. Believe me, sweetie, I appreciate what you went through more than I could ever tell you."

She smiled brightly and stroked his calf with her toes under the table.

"Speaking of said son," she reached across the table to jab her fork into a salad dressing soaked tomato slice on his plate. "Did he have a meltdown when you left? One of his 'daddy is never coming back moments'?"

"He was sleeping when I left." Flack replied.

Sam frowned and popped the tomato into her mouth. "That's early for him to have a nap." she said.

"Well… he kinda had an exciting morning when we got back home."

"What did you guys do?"

"I was mopping the kitchen floor like you asked me to and Kieran was out in the living room with my mom and Addie. She was suppose to be keeping an eye on him and he somehow managed to get away and came into the kitchen.."

"You didn't have the baby gates up?" her tone was accusing.

"I didn't think I'd need them. It wasn't that big of a job. And I didn't see him until it was too late. He was just coming in to see me. Only you know how fast he can go when he's crawling and he hit the wet floor and his hands went out from under him and boom. Flat on his face."

Sam sighed heavily and shook her head. "I told you a million times to put baby gates up when the floor is wet."

"I know. I didn't listen. I'm sorry. I should have put the gates up. But he wasn't hurt except for biting his tongue and he calmed down pretty quick."

I am going straight to hell for that, Flack thought. He felt like an ass for lying to her about the state of their son. But with all the stress she had dealing with Carmen's wedding, he didn't want to add to it and felt the smartest thing to do was keep the news of the stitches to himself until the day was over. Until the night was over actually, because he knew if he told her before they got up to that hotel room for some mommy and daddy time, she'd want to go running home. So for purely selfish reasons, he kept the whole truth from her.

"And he was okay afterwards?" Sam asked.

Flack nodded. "Gave him some milk and a cookie and he went for a nap. All the crying from scaring himself just did him in. But he was fine before he went to sleep. No worse for wears."

"Good...'cause it could have been so much worse. Please remember to put the baby gates up next time."

"I will." he promised her. "You have my word."

But you're going to kick my ass when you find out the truth, he thought.

"There's also a small problem." he said. "With the wedding."

Her face went ashen. "Don't say that, Donald. That is so not funny."

"I'm serious. It's just a little problem. But it could escalate into something huge."

"Please tell me you're kidding. Because the way Carmen has been acting today, the last thing this wedding needs is problems."

"Max called me as I was leaving the house." Flack told her, helping himself to some of her fries. "Her sitter bailed. She wanted to know if it was okay to bring Daria today."

Sam nearly choked on her chocolate milk. "What? No. No children. Carmen and Speed made that very clear from the beginning. No kids at the wedding. It's why they don't have a flower girl or a ring bearer. Carmen explained all of this to Max when Max was put out because Carmen didn't ask if Daria could be the flower girl."

"I know. But…."

"A wedding is not for kids." Sam continued on her rant. "Not this wedding anyway. Daria the center of attention and upstaging Carmen at her own wedding? I don't think so. If Daria comes, then so do Addie and Kieran. Addie's their daughter and Kieran is Carmen's godson. And Kieran at a church? And at a reception? That's a nightmare waiting to happen."

"Relax, Sam. If you'd just…"

"And whose going to watch all these kids? Me? I don't think so. I'm not a babysitter."

"Samantha, if you'd just calm down and listen for a second, I can tell you how I think we can prevent the day turning into a Daria induced disaster."

"Oh." she said sheepishly. "Sorry. Once I get going I can't stop."

"I've noticed." he teased her. "My mom offered to call Allison and have her come over to help mom watch Kieran, Addie and Daria."

Allison was his younger brother Chris' wife. They'd been married since they were fresh out of high school and had two kids, Nick and Lucie. Chris worked for sanitation and Allison a stay at home mom who spent all her spare time spending money the family didn't have on internet shopping.

"Daria and Kieran in the same house?" Sam looked horrified. "That's the worst idea ever. You know what she's like. She picks on him constantly. Pushes him around and calls him stupid baby and takes his toys and his bottle from him. You know what's going to happen? One day he won't take it any more and knock her on her ass."

"And she'll deserve to get pummelled by a toddler. But it's too late to worry about it right now because Max is dropping Daria off in less than an hour."

"Excuse me? Dropping her off? As in at our house?"

Flack nodded and took a swig of coffee.

Sam sighed and dipped a fry into his salad dressing. "Okay….but if there's blood shed or loss of life of any kind, it's all your fault."

"So you think I can show you our room?" Flack asked, trying to get off the subject of children and blood loss to avoid the guilt that was gnawing away at him over what had happened to Kieran.

"There's no time for something like that." Sam replied, polishing off her cheeseburger.

"I just wanted you to see the room. And I have Carmen's gift from Speed and you need to give it to her."

"No funny stuff?"

"Unless you want there to be." he replied with a grin.

"It's not that I don't want there to be. It's just that there can't be. There's too much to do."

"Sam, I can have you finished off in five minutes. I know how to get things done when I need to."

She felt herself flush at that. And knew that he wasn't joking. Although it wasn't the most tender, romantic love making, he was more than capable of getting the job done in record time. And sometimes, it was all you needed to get through the day.

"I think maybe you and I should stay on opposite sides of the room when we get up there." she said.

"What? You afraid you won't be able to resist me?"

"No." she said. "I know I won't be able to resist you."

He grinned broadly, the dimples in his cheeks pronounced. "Five minutes." he vowed.

"Let's see if you can put your money where your mouth is." she said.

* * *

Samantha was much more relaxed when she returned to the suite she'd shared the night before with the girls. Flack had kept to his word for the most part. It had been roughly seven minutes and thirty six seconds. And when it was over and she finally got the grand tour of their room and took the neatly wrapped gift for Carmen, Sam was ready for any bullshit the bride to be tossed her way. She called down to the front desk and was assured both the set up in the reception hall had been completed and that the honeymoon suite on the penthouse floor had been arranged according to the strict specifications they'd been given. A voice message from the limo company had been left on her cell confirmation the pick up time of two thirty. Everything was finally starting to come together. Everything seemed right with the world for the time being.

"You bitch." Gus teased her friend when she saw that glow on Sam's face and put that and her disappearance together and came up with the most obvious explanation.

"What?" Sam asked innocently, dropping her purse and cell phone on the coffee table.

"You met up with Flack." Gus said accusingly. "He came here looking for you and Stella told him you were downstairs. Should have known when you didn't come back after half an hour you were off getting laid. You two are like rabbits."

"We have a wonderful, intimate healthy relationship." Sam told her, grabbing a bottle of water from the bar fridge and twisting off the cap. She plopped down on the couch and put her feet up. "Outside of sex, we love to hate each other. I thrive on my dysfunctional marriage. You have got to get to the Marketplace. I had the most amazing cheeseburger and poutine of my life."

Gus placed her hands on her hips and glared at the tiny brunette. "You are the biggest bitch on the face of the earth! Here we are up here eating guinea pig food and you're off having cheeseburgers and getting laid?"

"I'm sorry, Gussie. I was stressed. Don offered to relieve that stress."

"I bet he did. We're putting up with Miss Thing and you're off having an orgasm? That's not bloody fair!"

"Speaking of Miss Thing. It's awful quiet in here. You and Stella kill her and stuff her somewhere?"

"She's in the john. Puking her guts out. Stel's with her trying to calm her down. You missed the excitement. We had to stop her from doing a runaway bride."

"Really? She's getting cold feet?"

"I think she's just terrified after that whole Matthew fiasco. I mean, do you blame her? She's had nothing but bad luck with men and maybe things are starting to seem a little too good to be true. She's worried he's going to bail on her."

"Is that professional opinion?" Sam teased.

"My professional opinion is that you're all fucking crazy." Gus declared.

The door to the bedroom clicked open and Stella emerged with a pale, trembling Carmen on her arm.

"You okay, hon?" Gus asked, stepping up alongside of Carmen and laying a hand on the red head's shoulder.

"I think so." Carmen replied shakily. "Where have you been?" she asked Sam grumpily.

"I was checking to make sure things were ready for you and Tim. Then I ran into a very handsome man down on the third floor and he took me for lunch."

"Among other things." Gus mumbled.

"This is from Tim." Sam said getting up from the couch and holding out a small parcel wrapped in glistening gold paper. "He asked Don to give it to me to give it to you."

"Am I going to cry?" Carmen asked, eyeing the package suspiciously.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know what it is. Only one way to find out. Open it."

"No card?" Stella asked.

"Tim buy a card?" Carmen laughed in response. "Tim doesn't do cards. They're not his thing, he says. How does a guy like Flack end up being the one that buys cards for every single occasion and non occasion he can think of?"

"Because he worships me." Sam reasoned. "And he knows I'd never let him forget it if he didn't remember special days."

"What Sam is trying to say is that she puts the fear of God into the poor man." Gus said,

Sam nodded. "Exactly. And what are you going to do? Not marry him because he doesn't give you cards? Shit, if I held everything against Don that he did that I didn't agree with, we'd be divorced by now. Tim not buying cards is the less of all evils, believe me."

"I know." Carmen said with a heavy sigh and sat down on the couch and stared at the gift in her hands. "I just always said I'd never get married again or trust and love someone enough to give them all of me. And now here we are."

"You're preaching to the choir, girl." Stella laughed, sitting down beside her. "Look at all my problems with men. I've told you. Frankie was going to rape me and kill me. Drew was psychotic and using me to get to Mac. But I didn't let two shitty experiences sway me from getting back on the horse and trying it again. And now I'm married to the man of my dreams and having a baby. I never thought that would happen. And than there's Gussie and her ex issues."

Gus nodded. "Gage was a major asshole. Only good thing that came out of him was the money I got selling the rock he gave me."

"And Sam and Zack," Stella continued. "Well that just takes the cake right there. I bet you ten to one, Frankie and Zack are somewhere in hell together bitching and moaning about us right now. Sam never thought in a million years that coming to New York would alter her life the way it has."

"Although sometimes I'm sure Sam wishes Flack had have just kept walking that day in front of the crime lab and left her alone." Gus remarked, winking at Sam.

"Trust me, there's days I could kill him. Just like there's moments he wants to throttle me." Sam said. "But I love him and the life he's given me. He gave me a son and that's the most amazing gift he'd could ever give me. Just because he does things that drive me insane and I joke about how lazy he is and insensitive is, it doesn't mean I'd change the decision I made to marry him. You take the good and the bad and sometimes I know the bad outweighs the good, but I'd be miserable without him. I'd go crazy if anything ever happened to him. Just like Stella would if anything happened to Mac and Gussie would if anything happened to Adam. Which, I must admit, is a relationship I am still trying to process and make sense of."

"What we're trying to say is that all of us in here have had shit relationships and all of us have managed to pick ourselves up and fall in love and trust again." Stella told Carmen. "Our men aren't perfect. They work too much and aren't home enough and don't clean up after themselves. They're insensitive sometimes when we need them to be caring and tender and understanding. But we're not perfect either and they love us anyways. And we love them and wouldn't give them up for anything in the world."

"That's not entirely true." Sam said. "I mean, if David Beckham or Derek Jeter came knocking on my door, Don would be so out of there."

Stella glared at her.

"Come on, like Don wouldn't throw me out if Jennifer Aniston or Denise Richards showed up hot and bothered for him? Please. He's a man. He's human. I know he checks out other women on the street. Same way I see a guy that's hot and I say to him did you see the ass on the guy?"

Carmen laughed.

"But we love each other and we know neither of us are going anywhere. We joke around and tease each other, but we don't take it seriously." Sam said. "And we fight and argue and he takes off to cool down, but we always make up in the end. And I trust him with my life. And our son's life. Just like I know you do with Tim."

"God, I feel like such a bitch for thinking such negative things." Carmen said, fingering the gauzy bow on top of the present.

"Only human nature to accentuate the negative." Gus assured her. "I think we all do it. Hell, we remember all the bad things our men do to piss us off and we tend to forget the great stuff."

Sam and Stella both nodded in agreement.

"But the important thing to remember is that there is great, amazing stuff that make them who they are." Gus said. "And that's why we love them and put up with their shit."

"And bear their children." Stella added. "I wouldn't do it for just anyone, trust me."

"Think I'd put myself through nine months of hell for anyone but Don?" Sam asked. "No way in hell. I'd have more kids with him in a heartbeat."

"I just love Tim so much." Carmen told them. "And I worry sometimes it's all way too good to be true."

"Shit, I think all of us think that every single day." Gus said. "So we just take each day as it comes and hope and pray that if this is all a dream, that we won't wake up anytime soon. Life's too short to doubt everything and everyone that crosses our paths."

"Should we be paying you for a session, Gussie?" Sam asked, playfully tossing a cushion from the couch at her. "Because this is all oddly therapeutic."

"Feel better now?" Stella asked Carmen, rubbing the other woman's shoulder comfortingly. "Some of those doubts put to rest?"

Carmen nodded. "All of them. Thanks guys. I don't know what I'd do without all of you."

"You'd be less insane and more sober." Gus laughed. "Now let's open that gift and see what the man has bought you."

Carmen peeled the bow off and carefully removed the paper. Underneath was a plain cardboard box. Frowning, she opened it and found inside, a much smaller blue velvet jewellery container.

Stella was all ready on her feet grabbing her digital camera and the box of Kleenexes.

Carmen opened the lid and gasped in surprise. There, resting in a bed of velvet, were a pair of simple, elegant diamond stud earrings that obviously cost a mint.

"And there's reason to marry the man right there." Gus joked. "Can't pass up a guy that buys ya something like that."

Tears spilled down Carmen's cheeks and she sniffled noisily.

Sam glanced at the clock mounted on the far wall. "I think it's time we got this show on the road." she said. "What do you think, Carmen? Should we get ready and get you to the church on time? Or should the three of us take the limo and skip town and head to Vegas?"

"Hmmm…" Gus contemplated it. "I love weddings. But a few days at the Bellagio and some gambling sounds damn good too."

Carmen took a deep breath and let it out slowly and stood up.

"I think we have a wedding to get to." she said.

**Thanks to all of those reading and reviewing and adding me to alerts. Much appreciated! And lurkers, please just drop me a line. PLEASE?**

**Hope4sall: **The smut was just for you. Seriously. It was. LOL. As you know, baby two (and three and four giggle) won't be far off. Have a great time in Florida. I'll miss you!**Soccer: **Thanks for your support!  
**Forest Angel: **More Kieran to come! I'm glad you like him. And I have no idea what was slipped into that alcohol  
**Brrtmclv: **Glad you love Kieran. You can be president of the We love Kieran and Peanut fan club. LOL. Kieran's a handful but they wouldn't trade him for anything.  
**Wolfey lady: **Lessing is coming up later. She finds out through another source. But I can't give him away just yet. Hope you keep laughing.  
**Eva: **Hope you didn't get into trouble at work! Lots more fluff to come. Just for you.  
**Laurzz: **I am glad you love Sam and Flack. They're a blast to work with. Thanks for reading and I hope you keep enjoying.

**PLUGS: **

**Aphina: The Tale of Two Girls, Devine Intervention and Finding Kate**

**Hope4sall: Behind the Scenes, Moving on, Visit from the Past**

**Forest Angel: Legacy**

**Brrtmclv: Bonds**

**There's so many more I love! I promise to get to everyone!**


	6. This ain't no dress rehearsal

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT own CSI:NY or any of it's characters. I DO however own Samantha Flack (ha ha CBS) and Kieran Flack. Aphina is Carmen's 'mummy' and Madison Bellows is the proud owner of Gus. Thank you to both for letting me have a ball with their OCs.**

**This ain't no dress rehearsal**

"Our love is unconditional, we knew it from the start  
I see it in your eyes, you can feel it from my heart  
From here on after let's stay the way we are right now  
And share all the love and laughter  
That a lifetime will allow  
I cross my heart and promise to  
Give all I've got to give to make all your dreams come true  
In all the world you'll never find a love as true as mine  
You will always be the miracle that makes my life complete  
And as long as there's a breath in me, I'll make yours just as sweet  
As we look into the future, it's as far as we can see  
So let's make each tomorrow be the best that it can be."  
-I Cross My Heart, George Strait

* * *

Black, ominous clouds hung in the dreary grey sky over New York City. In the distance, thunder rumbled and lightning slashed the sky. There was a hell of a storm on the way. The first one in what was rumoured to be a cold, bleak fall with a miserable, frigid early winter hot on its heels.

Gonna rain like a sonofabitch, Flack thought, as he stepped off the elevator and caught a glimpse out the window at the end of the hall. That morning had started off bright and sunny and relatively warm, and now the temperature had dipped into low sixties and you didn't dare set foot outside without a jacket or an umbrella.

He stepped in front of 1703 and raised his hand to knock. Pausing as he heard the frantic babbling of Carmen Devine and his wife's annoyed, angry bellowing. A lot of yelling went on around their house some days, and when her Brooklyn accent was that pronounced and she was using enough foul language to make a drunken sailor blush, it was usually best to keep your mouth shut and seek safety in another room.

"It's ruined!" Carmen was rambling. "The whole day is ruined! Look at it out there! Looks like a hurricane or a snow storm is coming! I can't get married today! Not when it looks like that outside!"

"I swear to fucking God, Carmen that if you don't shut up I am going to knock you over the fucking head with something and put you out for a few days and you won't be making it to your wedding!" came Sam's roaring voice in response. "Now shut up!"

Flack was afraid. Very, very afraid. Carmen was the epitome of nervous brides and Sam was a massive bitch when someone got on her bad side. And by the sounds of it, Carmen was dangerously teetering on the edge of that side. Few people crossed it and survived. And those that did were still traumatized by the experience. Even Flack, who outweighed his wife by a hundred pounds and was a good foot taller than her, played it safe and stayed as far away from her evil bitch side as possible. And being the one walking the bride down the aisle, there was no way he could avoid going in that room and not being caught in the middle by the duelling personalities.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he pounded his fist on the door in order to be heard over all the yelling and fighting. The noise of the girls scrapping it out and of him almost bashing in the door was enough to cause guests in other rooms to step out of their suits and watch the events unfold.

"Who is it?" came Gus' voice from behind the door.

"NYPD! Open up!" Flack bellowed. "This is a raid!"

He heard the startled gasps from guests and saw the anxious, frightened looks that came over their faces. It gave him a perverse pleasure to be the guilty party for causing them such drama. He could hear the whispers and see the concern and nervous all over the curious onlookers.

"You're an ass!" Gus called out and began unlatching the door.

"I'm serious! Open the damn door or I kick it in!"

Gus yanked the door open. Carmen and Sam's yelling trickled out into the hall. The pretty blond stuck her head out of the room and looked left, then right, saw the expressions on the other guests' face and reached out to yank Flack inside by his shirt.

"That's assaulting an officer." he said, as Gus closed the door and locked it.

"You're a dick, Flack. Did you see the faces on those people!? They think you're serious and here to arrest someone!"

"That's the fun part, Broussard. That they do think I'm serious."

She eyed him from head to toe. Took in his well tailored black suit and polished shoes and his crisp light blue shirt and silver, baby blue and navy patterned tie. "Wow." she said with an appreciative nod. "Your tie actually does match your shirt."

"Sam bought the whole thing. Suit, tie, shirt, shoes. Everything. You like?"

"Very nice. She needs to dress you more often."

"She prefers me out of clothes, actually."

Gus smirked.

"Well?" she asked, turning a slow circle so he could see her in her bridesmaid's dress. Floor length light blue strapless satin with a side split to the knee and a bow and slight bustling in the back. Strappy high heels of the same colour and a simple crystal choker around her neck that matched her earrings.

"You look all right." he replied.

"You know how to compliment the ladies, Flack." Gus said with a frown.

"You look beautiful." he assured her and pecked her cheek. "So what's going on? My wife just about ready to kill Carmen?"

"She's restraining herself. Barely at times. Carmen's having a fit because of the weather."

"Does look like shit out there." Flack said, as he followed Gus into the living room area, where Sam in her navy blue dress, same style as Gus' and Stella's, was standing with her hands on her hip, glaring at a sobbing Carmen Devine who sat on the couch, face in her hands, still in her bathrobe. Stella was lingering in the doorway to the bedroom, Carmen's wedding dress draped over her forearm.

"What's going on?" Flack asked. "I could hear you two screaming all the way down at the elevator."

"She!" Sam pointed at Carmen. "Is driving me fucking insane!! Look at her! She's not even dressed yet and we need to leave in half an hour!"

"I can't get married!" Carmen cried. "Not when the weather is like this! Look at it! It looks like crap out there!"

"It's just a little bitty rain storm on the way." Gus told her. "Sam and Flack got married in the middle of a damn blizzard and it never stopped them!"

"Looks like the end of the world out there!" Carmen sobbed.

"Can you do something?" Sam asked her husband. "Please?"

"What am I suppose to do? Play negotiator?"

"You can talk armed fugitives out of banks and warehouses but you can't convince Carmen to get her ass off the couch to get ready for her own wedding?"

"Well what the hell am I suppose to say, Sam? I've never had to talk a bride out of having cold feet before? I mean, I could always force her to get dressed at gun point and then put her over my shoulder and get her to the church that way."

"If that's what it takes, than do it." Sam said.

"I'm serious." Flack told her.

"So am I. Think of something. Do something or say something. Anything. Just fix it. I need…..I need like five minutes to myself before I go insane or my brain explodes or both."

"You don't understand!" wailed Carmen. "This could be an omen! A bad, bad omen! I'm not like you! I can't just jump into a marriage with someone and…"

"I am so going to kick your ass." Sam declared and moved for the couch.

"Ladies….ladies…." Flack said, getting in between them. "There's no need for violence or bloodshed. Okay? Everyone's nerves are a little on edge here and Carmen's being a whiny little bitch and Sam's just being Sam. So both of you just calm down and take it easy."

"Do something!" Sam pleaded. "Because I will kill her! I swear to God I will kill her!"

"Just take it easy." he said, hands up in self defence. "Now Carmen," he took a seat beside the bride to be and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking sideways at her. "Tell me what the huge deal is here."

"It's going to rain!" she blubbered.

"So? Who cares? There was three feet of snow nearly on the ground when I got married. Didn't stop me from showing up. Why's rain gonna hold you back from doing this? The ceremony is indoors, the reception is indoors. So we all get a bit wet. We won't drown."

"Can't take nice pictures in the rain." she complained.

"So Central Park is out of the question." Flack said with a shrug. "This hotel is nice enough to take pictures in it. At least you're getting professional pictures taken and didn't have to rely on your friends' digital cameras or cell phones to capture the day."

"I know…." Carmen sniffled. "But no bride wants it to rain on their wedding day."

"Personally, I don't see the major deal." Flack told her. "I heard that rain on your wedding day is suppose to be a sign of massive good luck for your future. Like you might win Power Ball or the New York State lottery sometime."

"All it takes is a dollar and a dream." Stella spoke up from the doorway and winked at Flack.

"I can not believe you actually remembered that." Flack laughed.

"I have a sharp memory." Stella told him. "I distinctly remember you saying that you were a 'play when the pot is huge kind of guy' ."

"Now I'm a play every week to win anything so I can buy a house and retire really early kind of guy."

"Flack, Mac and I worked a case a few years back now where the vic had a lottery ticket on her." Stella explained to the three women. "Turns out she played the same numbers every week and that the ticket she had on her the night she died was a winner. And she never got to cash it."

"We have a years worth of old lottery tickets taking up space in one of the drawers in the kitchen." Sam said. "Because someone forgets to check the numbers and lets them pile up and pile up."

"I'll check them eventually." Flack said. "Who knows? We could be millionaires and not even know it."

"I will not hold my breath." Sam sighed and helped herself to a handful of grapes from the fruit basket Gerrard had had delivered earlier.

"My point is that rain is suppose to be good luck." Flack told Carmen. "And if you ask me, after everything you went through with Matthew, you already lucked out huge when you met someone like Speedle."

Gus and Stella both stared at him. Sam nearly choked on the grape she was chewing. Niether of the three had ever expected to hear something like that come out of his mouth. The guy that could wound you beyond words with some of the cutting, off hand remarks he often lobbed your way.

Carmen's face instantly brightened and she smiled broadly through the remaining tears and reached out to circle his neck with her arms and pull him into a tight, affectionate hug. "Thank you, Don." she said, and kissed his cheek softly.

"No problem." he said with a smile. "There are times I'm not a complete asshole."

"Which are rare." Sam teased, smiling warmly and lovingly at him.

Flack checked his watch. "I gotta have you down that aisle in an hour and we still have to make the drive over there. Could take a while in this weather." he leaned over and grabbed a handful of Kleenex from the box on the coffee table and held them out to her. "Think maybe you should go and get dressed now or what?"

"I should." she agreed and dabbed at her eyes as she stood up. "Sorry guys." she said to the entire room. "I know it hasn't been easy putting up with me."

"You can say that again." Gus mumbled.

"But I really love you guys and appreciate everything you've all done to get me here."

"Yeah, yeah." Sam said. "Just get your ass in there and get dressed before we're really late."

"You're a real bitch, you know that?" Carmen asked, going to her best friend and hugging her. "But I love you and wouldn't trade you for anything in the world."

"I love you, too, Carmen." Sam said, returning the embrace. "But seriously, if you don't hurry up, Don will be carrying you over his shoulder to the church."

"Yeah, and that whole caveman dominating a woman thing just turns me on." Flack told the red head. "So you best be getting ready on your own so we avoid an awkward situation for all involved."

Carmen laughed as she headed for the bedroom. "You truly are the world's biggest pervert. Sam wasn't joking when she said that."

"It's why Kieran's here. And why I'm sure many more will follow him."

"Many more?" Sam laughed. "That's pushing it. One or two more. That's my limit."

He held up all five fingers on one hand and grinned.

"You wish!" Sam said and tossed a grape at him. "There's no way in hell we are having six kids!"

"We'll see." he sing-songed and popped the grape into his mouth and stood up. "You can't say no to me no matter how hard you try."

* * *

"You are so delusional." she said as he kissed her softly and Carmen, Gus and Stella disappeared into the bedroom.

"So?" he asked, laying his hands on her hips. "Did I do good handling that little crisis?"

Sam nodded and tightened and straightened his tie. "Don Flack, you're my hero." she declared.

He smiled and kissed her. Longer and deeper and more intense than before, his hands sliding around to the small of her back and then down onto her ass.

"I think not." she scolded him and moved his hands to safer territory. "You'll wrinkle my dress."

"You look beautiful." he praised. "Wish you'd wear a dress more often."

"Why? You love what's under the clothes more than you love the clothes themselves." she said.

"The fun part is getting to what's under the clothes." he informed her.

"Yeah? Well in that case, I think you'll be very pleased."

"Is it what you bought earlier?"

"Part of it. A little something for today, and a little something just for you later."

He grinned broadly. "This day won't end soon enough."

"And you look very, very handsome." she told him, and pulled him down for another kiss. "You're just going to hang out while we get Carmen ready?"

"I guess so. I've gotta arrive with the bride, right? How long is it going to be? Because honestly Sam, the weather is going to get damn nasty and Danny called to say that it took him forty minutes to get to Speed and Carmen's because the traffic is the shits from people rushing to get home before the worst of the storm hits. So if we want to get her to that church in time, we better hurry."

"I hope the power doesn't go out. Or it'll be a candlelit ceremony and all cold food at the reception."

"Just think, if it's completely lights out, we could sneak out early and no one would even know."

"Is that all you ever think about?" Sam asked.

"No. I don't think about it all the time. Just most of the time. Even got some little surprises for you up in our room."

"Surprises, huh?" she fiddled with the lapels on his jacket. "What kind of surprises?"

"Wouldn't be a surprise if I told you. Let's just say it may, or may not, involve champagne and chocolate covered strawberries."

"Why Mr Flack…are you going to attempt to seduce me tonight?" she asked, eyes sparkling.

"Oh absolutely." he replied, kissing her long and deep and passionate, his hands on her hips and her hand on the back of his head holding him in place.

"Samantha!" Carmen bellowed from the other room.

Sam broke away from the kiss. Leaving both of them breathless. "Okay…gotta go and take care of the princess…" she said, backing up towards the door, fanning herself off with her hand. "You just wait here and think of something really nasty and unpleasant to take care of your, well…you know." she cast a glance down at his mid section.

He smirked.

"A cold shower is out of the question." she continued, reaching behind her from the door knob. "So just think of other things like I said."

A knock came to the door of the suite.

"Can you get that?" Sam asked.

"I think I'm capable of answering the door." he replied with a nod.

"Smart ass." she grinned and slipped into the bedroom to tend to the bride.

Flack headed through the living area of the suite and to the door. Standing there in the hallway, getting ready to knock again, was Speed's aunt, Maureen. Her silver grey hair all done up in an elegant chignon, looking regal in a midnight blue satin pant suit. She carried a neatly folded white handkerchief in one hand, small beaded purse in the other.

"You're Carmen's friend," she said in way of greeting. "The one that's married to that cute, bubbly little friend of hers."

"Samantha." he said with a nod of acknowledgement. Then added with a grin, "The drunk."

Maureen laughed. "She's a lovely, lovely girl."

"She is," he agreed. "I take it you're her to see Carmen."

"I have something to give her before the wedding."

Flack stepped back and held open the door. "She's just with the other girls getting ready," he said, shutting the door as Maureen passed through and following her into the living room. "They shouldn't be too long. Would you like something to drink? I think they have just about everything you could possibly want."

"I'm fine thank you." she took a seat on the couch. "I'm sorry," she said sheepishly. "Your name has escaped me."

"It's Flack." he said without thinking. He'd been called Flack for so long that it had become second nature to introduce himself that way to anyone he met. There were a small handful of people that called Don on a regular basis. And an even smaller amount that referred to him and Donnie or Donald. And he preferred to keep the use of those two names to a minimum.

Maureen arched an eyebrow. "Unusual choice for a first name." she said.

"Sorry. It's Don. Don Flack. Everyone just calls me by my last name. Mostly because of the job."

"You're crime scene investigator like Carmen and Tim?" she asked curiously.

"I leave all that stuff to the mad, genius scientists." Flack laughed. He grabbed a bottle of water from the bar fridge and took a seat in the arm chair across from Maureen. "I'm a detective. Homicide. The one that sees the carnage first and calls the scientists in."

"You must see a lot." Maureen commented.

"Too much unfortunately. But it's the nature of the beast. I'd be out of a job if mass murderers and psychopaths went completely out of business. And being a cop is family thing. I followed in my dad's footsteps. And really, there's nothing else I could imagine doing. "

"Tim's mother nearly had a stroke when he announced he was going to become a police officer. She assumed when he was heading off the university that he'd take medicine or law. When she found out forensics, she was still holding out hope maybe it was to get a doctorate and become a pathologist or a professor. And then he joined up and it sent her into a real tail spin. She worried about him constantly as you can imagine. Even though police work runs in your family, I'm sure your mother still worries about you."

Flack nodded and sipped his water.

"We worry about our children regardless of age. You have a little one? I think I remember hearing that last night."

"A son. Kieran. He just turned nine months."

"Would you want him to be police officer?"

Flack contemplated the question. It was something that passed his mind every now and than. On those quiet, still nights when he'd sit rocking Kieran in the nursery after a bottle or a bad. Or when he'd come home from yet another excruciatingly long and trying shift and he sought solace by standing at the side of the crib watching his son sleeping peacefully. Unaware and unburdened by the troubles and evil that lay just outside the safety and warmth of his home.

And Flack would stand there and contemplate moving into another department within the NYPD and finding a way that his wife could quit and stay home all the time and they could buy a house somewhere in the suburbs. Shelter Kieran from everything that was wrong with the world. It wasn't the answer. The child had to learn that life wasn't perfect and there was joy and sorrow and struggle each step of the way. And that was what made life worth living. You just did the best with what you were given.

But did he want his son being a cop? Flack could think of a dozen other things he'd rather Kieran be when he grew up. And law enforcement didn't even crack the top ten.

"I'd want him to do whatever makes him happy." Flack replied at last. "Personally, I hope that includes going to university and getting a degree like his mother did. He's incredibly smart just like his mom. I hope he does something with his life that puts that brain to good use."

* * *

The door to the bedroom swung open and Gus and Stella were the first to emerge. Stella was walking backwards and using a magazine to vigorously fan Carmen's face. The red head was flushed and presipring and her eyes were rimmed with red from shedding even more tears. This time of happiness from catching a glimpse of herself in her wedding dress and realizing for the first time that she looked the part of the bride.

She was stunning in an off white Grecian inspired gown that hugged her post-baby curves, the slender straps showing off her trim, well toned arms. The dress was void of any bead work and had a small train and a low cut back. In lieu of a head piece and veil, she wore small flowers through her auburn hair.

"I feel sick to my stomach." Carmen complained.

"Deep, slow breaths." Sam told her, following behind.

Flack got to his feet and went to the bride and kissed her cheek softly. "You look beautiful, Carmen." he told her. "But would it hurt your feelings too much to tell you that you're matron of honour is still the hottest woman around?"

Carmen smiled. "Not at all. Because you're prejudiced and need to stay on her good side."

"You're stunning." Maureen told her, holding the younger woman at arms length and checking her over.

"Thank you…..I am so, so nervous though." Carmen sighed and wiped sweat from her brow. "I'm going to wreck my makeup sweating like this."

"You'll be fine." Gus assured her.

"I was wondering if I could have a word with the bride before everyone had to leave." Maureen said hopefully. "There's something I'd like to give her."

"We'll wait outside in the hallway." Stella said, and motioned for the others to follow her to the door.

"Hang on!" Gus cried and hurried across the room to a cardboard box sitting on the floor by the balcony door. "Carry this will you Flack?" she asked and dropped the box into his arms. "Can't forget the flowers. Can't be a bride without a bouquet. What time is it? We have to leave soon don't we?"

"Calm down, Gussie." Sam said, holding the door open for everyone to pass through. "It's not your wedding."

"Not yet anyway." Stella laughed. "Few more months."

"Shhh….." Gus laid a finger over her lips. "Let's not talk about that. I have made absolutely no plans. I still think Adam and I should run off to Vegas and get married."

"The Sarge will shit if both kids get married without him being there." Sam told her, shuddering at the thought of her step father's reaction. "Especially if it's his pride and joy Adam."

"Not my fault he likes me better as an in law than Flack." Gus commented.

"Who wouldn't?" Stella laughed.

"You're all very funny." Flack snorted. "Hate on the only man in the room. That's mature."

"Wait until you have girls of your own." Gus told him as she and Sam joined Stella in the hall. "I hope you have like five of them and you're seriously outnumbered in the house."

"Bite you goddamn tongue." he said, and shut the door behind him.

* * *

She had her something borrowed, something blue. Sam had graciously loaned Carmen the simple diamond solitaire pendant that hung around her neck. The Sarge had purchased it in Arizona and sent it to New York City in time for his stepdaughter to wear to her wedding. The something blue was the baby blue satin and white lace garter that Carmen wore on her left leg. She even had her something new in the form of the earrings from Speed hat graced her lobes.

But she didn't have something old. Until Maureen sat down on the couch beside her and opened the handkerchief in her hand and revealed a pearl and what Carmen suspected were diamonds, cuff style bracelet.

"This was my sister's." Maureen explained, plucking up the bracelet. "Tim's mother's. She wore this on her wedding day over forty years ago when she married Tim's father. She had always planned to keep it in case she had a daughter of her own to give it to. Tim was their only child and she asked me to keep this in hopes that one day, his future bride would like to have it."

Carmen put a hand to her lips, tears stung her eyes. She was deeply touched by the gesture.

"She didn't want just anyone having it." Maureen complained. "And when I met that other woman Tim was involved with from Miami….well something inside me just told me that she wasn't the one. Something didn't seem quite right. Like they didn't gel. The love didn't seem genuine or reciprocated. And when Tim called his uncle and I to say that he'd met someone and had a feeling you were the one, well, we couldn't help but be a little worried about him. After everything he'd gone through in Miami with the shooting and the disaster with the woman and….we were just concerned."

"I can understand that." Carmen said. "Things fell into place pretty quickly."

"When he brought you to Syracuse that night when you were pregnant to meet us, I only had to be in the room with you for minutes before I knew for sure that you were the real deal. That you were perfect for him and that you had just as much love and repsect for him as he did you. You're an incredible woman, Carmen. You've given him a wonderful life and a beautiful baby and I have never, ever seen Tim as happy as he is. And I know im my heart, that his mother would be saying these exact words to you today if she were still alive. And she'd adore that little angel."

Carmen smiled. "She's our pride and joy. Her daddy's princess. Tim's a wonderful father. I'm very blessed to have him. We came very close to this day never happening. If it wasn't for a friend of mine, Tim and I probably never would have gotten back together. Let's just say he talked some since into me and kicked my butt in gear and I smartened up. He's the reason Tim and I are here today. If it wasn't for him giving me what for, Addie wouldn't be here. And I couldn't imagine my life without her."

"You're friend sounds like a good person to have around."

"He has his moments." Carmen laughed. "Sometimes he needs to take his own advice in his marriage, but he's a good guy with a big heart and he'd do anything for Tim, Addie and I."

"I only hope that you and Tim are still in love and happy fifty, sixty years from now." Maureen said with a smile. "And I'd like you to have this bracelet. In memory of his mother. She was devoted to him. Just like you are."

"Thank you." Carmen managed through her tears, as the older woman gently slipped the bracelet onto her slender wrist. "It's lovely. I don't know what to say."

"Maybe one day, years from now, Addison can wear this bracelet on her wedding day." Maureen told her.

"She will wear it." Carmen vowed. "I'll see to that. Even if it is a long way way. It will be nice to have something passed down from Tim's mom to me to her and to who knows how many generations after us. Thank you, Maureen. You have no idea how much this means to me. And how much it will mean to Tim when he sees it."

Maureen smiled and drew the younger woman into her arms. "Just promise me to love him and take care of him."

"That's all I want to do." Carmen assured her.

* * *

As the Flack and the women made their way to the church in a heavy, relentless downpour, twenty minutes away Eric Delko and Tim Speedle found themselves alone together for the first time in over six years. Physically alone. Mere feet separating them. Speed wasn't some figment of Delko's imagination brought on by the brain injury he'd suffered when he'd been been shot in the head.

When Speed had gone back to New York to recuperate after being his own shooting, both men had let the friendship wane. Speed had been more concerned with recovering and gaining his health and strength back and hadn't put much thought into calling or e-mailing or talking over the computer.

And Delko, as many times as he'd been tempted to call and check on how his friend was doing, had always found himself promising to do it the next day when things weren't so busy. And then days turned into weeks and months into years. Delko knew that Speed would never come back to Miami. There was too much history there. Too many painful memories. Just like Speed knew Delko would never find himself in New York City. He'd be a fish out of water there and hate every moment of it.

But when Speed had called the crime lab that day three months ago and said simply, "H, Delko, I'm getting married, I want you guys to be there," there'd been no hesitation on either of their parts to leave the sun and sand and balmy temperatures for the cold, blustery, rainy New York City streets. And Delko had been both shocked, and honoured, when he was asked to serve as the best man. He told Speed there must be someone in New York to choose. Someone he'd become close with that he entrusted the title and duties too. And Speed had replied that the only person he was that close to had already been pegged to walk the bride down the aisle. And even than, Delko had still been first choice. They shared a lot of memories. Some really good, some really, really bad. But the friendship remained despite the years that had passed.

Delko never thought he'd see the day that Tim Speedle settled down. Marriage and kids were two concepts that didn't seem to gel with someone like Speed. He was a self proclaimed loner and like it that way. Being an introvert meant he could protect himself from getting hurt by keeping others, specifically women, at a safe distance. Calleigh had nearly destroyed him. After that he'd vowed to never let another woman into that personal space he coveted. And when Delko had gotten that call about a wedding and soon after a birth announcement and a picture of Speed and Carmen and baby Addie together in the hospital, Delko had realized with just one glance how happy Speed seemed. It was just photo but Delko could see in it what he'd never seen in Speed before. His friend looked at peace with himself in his life. He looked whole. And it was a comforting, reassuring thought that if it could happen to Speed, it could happen to anyone.

Even Eric Delko. Who hadn't met that one yet but held out hope she was out there somewhere.

As Danny and Hawkes, with some assistance from Mac, showed guests to their seats in the century old church, Speed and Delko passed the time in a small office just down the hall from where the ceremony would take place in less than twenty minutes. The minister had told them he'd come and fetch them when the bride had arrived and they could take their places. To Delko, Speed seemed calm and cool and collected. He sat in a chair by the door, unmoving, watching the minutes tick by on the clock. Delko wondered what was going through his old friend's mind as D-Day slowly approached.

"Not thinking about doin' a runner, are you?" Delko asked, breaking the silence.

"Hmm?" Speed responded, turning to look at his friend as the tall Latino stood by the window.

"I was just hoping you weren't thinking about doing a runner." Delko said.

"Not in a million years." Speed declared.

"So this is it, huh? You're taking that leap into the great unknown."

"I like to think of it as my road less travelled." Speed said. "Before Carmen, I thought I knew everything there was to know about women. And none of it was good after the disaster with Calleigh and Hagen. I swore up and down I'd never get involved with anyone again. That I would rather die alone and miserable than with someone and miserable. And then I saw Carmen on the subway. Actually, I saw Sam Flack first. She was checking me out and whispering to Carmen. It was Sam that talked to me first."

"Two hot women checking you out? You're lucky day." Delko commented.

"I don't think she was checking me out. Her and Flack had just met. They fell for each other pretty quick. No one was going to get in between those two. I think Sam was trying to get Carmen to check me out. And Carmen was hard to miss. Gorgeous auburn hair, green eyes I could see across from the train."

"So it was love at first sight for you?" Delko asked. "You expect me to believe that? That crap like that exists?"

"I think everyone likes to think it does. But no, it was far from it. I thought she was the biggest bitch on the face of the earth. She was stuck up and self righteous and just plain damn aggravating. "

Delko laughed. "Why? Because she wouldn't give you the time of the day?"

"Exactly." Speed chuckled. "She was so unimpressed. She wanted nothing to do with me. And the more I tried, the more she gave me the cold shoulder and the more off hand and nasty I got with her. If it hadn't have been for Flack hooking us up that one night , we never would have gotten together I don't think. And then he gave her a reaming out when she dumped me over her asshole ex getting out of prison. You know the whole sordid story."

Delko nodded and grabbed a nearby chair and placed it in front of his friend and sat down. "You owe this Flack guy, you know. Sounds like he's always been around when you needed him."

"He has been. He's been a great friend to me. And he doesn't expect anything back. He just does things and wants nothing in return. You know who he reminds me of?"

"Who?" Delko asked.

"You."

The CSI smiled.

"You were always there when I needed you. We didn't always see eye to eye on a lot of things at work, but when I needed a friend, you were always there. And I never got to thank you for that before I left."

"We kinda lost touch." Delko said with a sigh. "Didn't mean to. Things just happened."

"Life happened." Speed told him.

"You can say that again."

"Life happened."

Delko laughed. "That was so corny, Speedle. And thank you. For letting me be here for you today. Carmen's an amazing woman. And you've got a beautiful little girl and things are really shaping up for you and I'm happy for you. Carmen's changed you."

"In every possible way. I realized, just after Addie was born and I was holding her while Carmen was fast asleep, that up until the moment I fell in love with Carmen, my life hadn't really begun. She kicked started it into gear. She made me want to be a better man. I still strive for that every day. To be everything she wants me to be. To show her and tell her how much I love her and appreciate her. She's my everything, Delko."

Delko just nodded. Finding himself choked up by hearing the sincerity and love in his friend's voice.

"Shit, you're not going to cry on me are you?" Speed asked. "You're suppose to be the emotional rock for me. Not the other way around."

"Sorry. Just hearing you of all people say something like that….gives me hope that there's someone out there I'll feel that way about."

Speed laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "She's out there somewhere, Eric. You just haven't found her yet. Look how long it took me. But trust me, when you least expect it, she'll pop into your life and make her mark and never leave."

Delko nodded, considering those words. "So you're not nervous? Not at all?"

"A little. More nervous that she won't show up than anything else. I know what Carmen gets like when she's really stressed. If anyone is going to do a runner, trust me, it's her."

A knock came to the door. Reverend Hannan, tall and slender with snow white hair, stuck his head in the door and offered up a serene smile.

"We're ready to begin, gentlemen." he said.

Speed took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he stood up. "Okay…" he said to Delko. "Now I'm shitting myself."

Delko grinned and laid a firm hand on his friend's shoulder. "That's what I'm here for. To help you through this. Every step of the way."

"I shouldn't be this nervous. It's a wedding, not a funeral. It's a happy thing. No one's died or anything."

"Wouldn't be human if you weren't a little freaked out. Here…." Delko turned Speed around to face him and fixed his collar for him.

Both wore well tailored black suits. White shirts. No ties. Only difference was the single white champagne rose attached to Speed's lapel.

"Just remember to breathe." Delko said, steering his friend towards the door. "Just breathe."

* * *

"I've died and gone to heaven." Danny declared as he and Hawkes joined Flack and the bridal party in the vestibule of the church. He laid a hand over his heart and bit his lip and shook his head in disbelief as he checked all the women out from head to toe

"I know I'm hot, Messer, but I just don't swing that way." Flack said.

"You just don't want your wife finding out about your secret life." Danny teased.

"My secret life? She's the one having the illicit affair with Devine."

Danny looked at Carmen. Than at Sam. "Do tell." he nearly pleaded. "And videos or pictures would be greatly appreciated."

"Tough." Sam said. "And knock it off. We're in a church."

"So?" Danny asked. "Both you and Devine got knocked up before marriage. No wonder the place didn't burst into flames when you two walked in."

"It's the new trend." Carmen reasoned. "Get pregnant and than force the man into committing."

"Makes me want to go home and watch Maury." Sam said.

"You would not want to go home right about now." Flack told her. "I called home before I came to your guys' room and my mom said Daria and Kieran were finger painting in the kitchen with Allison. Apparently the place is a mad house."

"Wonderful. There goes the cupboards you just painted white three weekends ago."

"I think they're just using water and food colouring. And Kieran is still grumpy about getting his stitches."

Hawkes' eyes widened and he shook his head at Flack. An expression on his face that clearly meant 'You were not suppose to tell her just yet'.

"His what?" Sam asked.

"What?" Flack asked in response. "What did I say?"

"You know what you said. You said stitches. What about stitches? What the hell happened in that place this morning?"

"I was moping the floor like you asked me too and he fell….."

"Because you didn't have the baby gates up." Sam tossed in.

"I didn't think I'd need them and then he fell and split his chin open and…."

"What?" Carmen cried. "Oh my God! My wedding day and my godson busts his face up?"

"It's not a sign or an omen, Devine." Danny told her. "Just a show of how stupid Flack is."

"And I called Hawkes and he came over and did the stitches for me." Flack finished.

Sam looked at Doctor Sheldon Hawkes, who held his hands up in self defence.

"How many stitches?" she asked.

"Eight." Hawkes replied. "I know it sounds like a lot but I put them very close together and scaring should be minimal."

"Scaring?" Sam turned and gave her husband a stern glare.

"Scars add character." Flack said.

"He's nine months old." Sam fumed. "And you were going to keep this little piece of information from me for how long? Were you planning on telling me or were you just going to let me walk in the house and see my son's face bashed in."

"His face isn't bashed in." Flack corrected her. "It's just a small cut under his chin."

"A small cut that needed eight stitches!" she snapped.

"I was going to tell you on the way home tomorrow."

"Nice, Flack." Danny snickered. "Keep it from her until after you get laid a million times tonight. You're smarter than I give you credit for. Now if you just learned to keep your mouth shut it would be all good."

"Kids get hurt." Flack defended himself. "It was just an accident. I didn't mean for him to fall down and split his chin open. My mom was suppose to be watching him…"

"That's classic." Gus laughed. "Blame the grandmother."

"It's what happened. She was watching him and Addie and she lost track of Kieran and he came in the kitchen. I didn't think he'd get in there and get hurt."

"Moments like that is what they make baby gates for, Flack." Danny said.

"You don't even have kids. Stay out of it."

"I may not have them now, but when I do you best believe I'll be using baby gates to avoid them doing a face plant on the kitchen floor." Danny told his best friend.

"So I'm an asshole. Everyone already knows that. And why are we talking about this when we're like thirty seconds from getting the show on the road?"

"Because you couldn't keep your mouth shut." Stella responded.

"You're lucky I love you." Sam said with a heavy sigh. "Or you'd be sleeping on the couch for the rest of your life."

"So says the woman who let him fall off the bed changing his diaper."

"It was an accident!" Sam argued.

"So was this. I didn't set out to intentionally hurt the kid. It was a stupid accident on my part."

"Is he at least okay?" Sam asked. "Other than the stitches?"

Flack nodded. "He's fine. No worse for wears. My mom said he had his normal lunch and he's been playing. He's just grumpy from the pain. I honestly didn't mean for him to get hurt. You believe me, don't you?"

"Not really." Danny said.

Flack glared at him.

"I know you wouldn't do anything to hurt him or put him in danger." Sam replied. "Just…next time be more careful, okay? That's all I ask. Promise me."

"I promise." he vowed and kissed her softly.

"No one is suppose to kiss before the wedding!" Carmen exclaimed. "And if anyone is suppose to be getting kissed, it's me. I'm the bride dammnit."

"And besides," Danny added. "Kissing is what led you guys to having said kid with eight stitches in his chin."

"I think there was more to it than that, Messer." Flack laughed. "Or do you need sex ed at your age?"

"Your wife seems to like the way I do things. So apparently I know all the right stuff."

"Danny!" Sam placed a finger over her lips. "That was our little secret."

"Remind me to pummel you later, Messer." Flack said jokingly.

"Bring it on, Sergeant." Danny cajoled. "Show me what you got."

"Are we not at a wedding?" Hawkes asked. "You look beautiful, Carmen."

"Thank you. Finally someone noticed." she shot Danny a pointed glare.

"Yeah…yeah…you look pretty. All the guests are here and we're good to go. Can we hurry? I'm starving and I want to get into the food and the cognac at the reception."

Overhead, thunder rumbled and rain hammered down.

"Think He's telling us to knock our shit off in a house of God?" Danny asked, casting a skyward glance.

"I think He's telling me I should have worn underwear in house of God." Sam said.

Everyone burst out laughing. Flack bit his bottom lip and looked at her and shook his head.

"I'm joking. Just joking. I am wearing underwear. Mind you, it's so small it might as well not be there."

"Can I see?" Danny asked.

"Sorry. Their for one pair of eyes only." Sam replied.

"Yeah." Flack said. "So knock it off."

"I meant Carmen's eyes." Sam told him.

"Just what went on during girls night?" Danny asked curiously.

"Let's just say that Flack's not lying when he says all those things about Sam's tongue ring." Carmen responded.

"She has mad talent." Flack agreed.

* * *

"Think we should talk our places or something?" Gus inquired, when two church workers came out into the vestibule and opened the doors leading into the congregation.

Hawkes offered his arm to Stella and they stepped behind Danny and Gus.

"God." Gus said. "If I am this nervous making this walk as a bridesmaid, what will I be like as the bride?"

"You'll shit yourself." Sam whispered from where she stood behind Stella and Hawkes. "Trust me. I didn't have an aisle to walk down and I was still shitting myself."

"I would too if I was marrying Flack and pregnant with his kid." Gus laughed and winked at Sam over her shoulder.

"Next time I'm just doing the kid thing and leaving out the marriage." Sam said, just as the first strains of Vivaldi's Four Seasons began to play and the long, slow journey began. She glanced back as she went to take her first step. "Quit looking at my ass." she scolded Flack.

"I'm allowed. Technically your ass is mine. You have my last name. And it wasn't me checking it out. It was Devine."

"Mm-hm." Sam said and smiled lovingly at him before setting off down the aisle.

Flack grinned and leaned into Carmen. "She's got a really nice ass." he said.

Carmen couldn't help but laugh. Flack always seemed to be able to lighten you up. Whether it be facial expression that had you in stitches or a smart ass comment that made you giggle weeks later when you thought about it. She glanced at him, noticing the way he watched his wife walk down the aisle. A soft smile on his lips and his eyes twinkling.

"You are so in love, Flack." she said. "You make me sick."

"I hate her sometimes, but I love her all the time." he told her and offered his arm.

Carmen smiled and slipped her arm through his. "Thank you," she said. "For doing this. Walking me down the aisle."

"It was a surprise when you asked. But I never had a second thought about doing it."

"I never had a second thought about who I'd ask. You were the one that called me that night from the bar and then brought Tim to my place. You brought us together. And if it wasn't for you talking sense into me over Matthew, none of this would be happening. And Addie wouldn't be here right now."

"Only did what I thought was right. Didn't make sense to me that you dumped the guy over something like that. I couldn't just sit back and watch two people, crazy about each other, go nuts 'cause they're not together. Someone had to be the voice of reason."

"When you're the voice of reason, the world must be coming to an end." Carmen teased. She looked up at her friend, tears welling in her eyes. Body trembling. "I'm scared, Don."

"Don't faint on me or anything, Devine. I can't carry you. My back isn't what it used to be."

"I'm just shaking so bad. I don't think I can make it." she fretted.

"You know what? You're going to be fine. Me and you are going to walk nice and slow and take our time. Go at your pace. Sound good?"

She nodded. Took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"You're going to be all right, Carmen." Flack promised her as the music stopped the the lone pianist launched into Pachelbel's Canon in D Minor. "All you have to do is breathe and trust me. Okay?"

She nodded and they began their walk to the front of the church. A surge of relief hitting her when she saw Speed waiting for her. She saw tears welling in his eyes and Eric Delko lean in to whisper something in his ear and then place a supportive hand on his friend's shoulder. Her main fear had been that Speed wouldn't show up. That he'd decide that his life was far better off without the drama and craziness she introduced into it. And that she'd end up miserable and alone and taking care of their daughter on their own. Seeing him, his eyes focused solely on her, his face giving away that he was experiencing the same fears and the same nervousness, somehow relaxed her and made everything feel right in the world.

A bright smile spread from ear to ear and she suddenly brimmed with confidence. The Carmen Devine everyone had come to know and love and who to that point had been missing in action. She set her sights on the man that she loved more than she ever thought it was possible to love another human being. Who had come into her life unexpectedly and transformed it, and her completely.

And as he smiled and winked at her as Flack handed her over and the two men shook hands and Flack gave a stern warning to 'treat her right or a bury you', Carmen realized she was finally ready to become what she was destined to be.

Mrs Timothy Speedle.

And from that moment on, nothing mattered but the two of them.

**A great big thanks to all of my reviewers from last chapter:**

**Hope4sall**

**Brrtmclv**

**Madison Bellows**

**Bluehaven4220**

**Laplandgurl**

**Forest Angel**

**Wolfey lady**

**Laurzz**

**Soccer-bitch**

**EvaFlack001**

**And thanks to everyone reading and adding me to alerts. Please review? It's much appreciated.**


	7. Time to Party

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF IT'S CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK. YES. YES I DO. NO MATTER WHAT CBS MAY TRY TO TELL YOU, SHE'S MINE. LOL. ENJOY.**

**Time to party (also titled when Adam met Dom Perignon)**

"These times are troubled and these times are good  
And they're always gonna be, they rise and they fall  
We take 'em all the way that we should  
Together you and me forsaking them all  
Deep in the night and by the light of day  
It always looks the same, true love always does  
And here by your side, or a million miles away  
Nothin's ever gonna change the way that I feel,  
The way it is, is the way that it was  
When I said I do, I meant that I will  
'til the end of all time  
Be faithful and true, devoted to you  
That's what I had in mind when I said I do."  
-When I Said I Do, Clint Black and Lisa Hartman

* * *

The rain had stopped somewhere between 'if anyone here has any objections to why this union should not take place, speak now or forever hold your peace' and the signing of the marriage certificate. Sunshine peeked through the solemn grey clouds. Shards of golden light split the dreary sky. The wind had subsided. But in the wake of the storm, the temperature outside had dipped even lower and massive puddles took up nearly every available inch of road and sidewalk. Many curb sides were inches thick with water that drivers sent spraying up feet in the air as they barrelled along. No one dared set foot in Central Park in fear of getting stranded in the mud that no doubt vacated the grounds.

Instead, while guests headed for the Hilton New York, the bride and groom and their attendants and close friends took a detour to Rockefeller Centre with the photographer that had been commissioned for the event.

Mr and Mrs Timothy Speedle travelled via the limo that had delivered the bride and her party to the church. Danny had borrowed Flack's SUV to get himself and Speed and Hawkes to the ceremony and was now handing the keys back over to his best friend as they, along with Sam and Erica and Hawkes and Angell, were descending the steps at the front of the church. Gus and Adam had run off with Mac and Stella.

"At least tell me there's gas still in the tank." Flack said.

"I was gracious and filled it right up." Danny told him. "And with the gas prices right now, I need to work four overtime shifts just to make up what I put out."

"Speaking of putting out." Sam said from behind them, one hand holding up the bottom of her dress to avoid dragging it down the wet steps, the other gripping the back of her husband's jacket to prevent herself from slipping on the slick surface and falling on her ass.

"Is that all you think about Brooklyn?" Danny teased. "And you have the nerve to say us guys are the perverts around the lab?"

"I wasn't referring to sex, Messer. Well at least not personally. What I was going to say next is that Max and that Delko seemed really cozy last night and she left the ceremony with him and Lieutenant Caine."

"And you were wondering if she was putting out." Danny concluded.

"I wouldn't blame her if she did." Angell commented. "He's a real piece of work."

"That's the best man, right?" Erica asked. "He's damn fine."

"Uh, excuse me, ladies." Flack said "But we're right here."

"As if you never check out other women." Sam snorted, taking his hand as they stepped down onto the sidewalk and headed for the side parking lot. "I see the way you discreetly check out someone's ass or boobs. And the way you try and hide it by wearing sunglasses."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Flack told her innocently.

"See, the difference between me and you is that I readily admit to you that another guy is hot. You only think you're hiding it from me when you're all hot and bothered by someone in a short skirt and huge boobs. I'd go much easier on you if you were just honest about it."

"Bullshit." Flack laughed. "You'd cut me off and have me sleeping on the couch for a month."

"And that would just damn torture." Danny added. "Considering he's the most oversexed out of all of us here."

"I wouldn't go that far." Angell said.

"Why Doctor Hawkes," Sam giggled, casting a glance at him over her shoulder. "No wonder you've been so tired at work lately. You're suffering from sex-haustion."

He smiled sheepishly and just shook his head.

"Don knows all about it." Sam said, standing by the front passenger's side door of the SUV. "He was suffering from it up until Kieran came along. Now he's just suffering period."

"You'll be suffering later when I make sure you can't walk properly for a week." Flack told her, just loud enough for her to hear as he unlocked her door.

"Promises, promises." she said with a sigh and slipped into her seat.

"I'll tell you one thing," Danny said as he shed his jacket and tossed it into the back row of seats before climbing in himself. "I'm glad that that is over and done with. I don't know how the hell we all put up with Devine for as long as we did. First pregnant and hormonal and then the whole Bridezilla thing. It was getting to be a little much."

"I can totally understand the pregnant and hormonal thing." Sam said. "But…."

Flack cleared his throat noisily as he slid in behind the wheel.

"What was that suppose to mean?" Sam asked.

"What? I cleared my throat. I'm not allowed to clear my throat?"

"You did it just as I mentioned understanding being pregnant and hormonal. It wasn't a coincidence."

"You're imagining things." Flack said as he did up his seat belt and started the ignition.

"You're trying to say something or allude to something." she told him. "So spit it out. What are you trying to say?"

"Nothing. I wasn't trying to say or allude to anything. I was clearing my throat. You're just reading into it."

"What he's trying to say is that when you're pregnant you're a fucking bitch." Angell spoke up. "And you're bitch when you're not pregnant so that tells you just how bad it is when you are."

Sam frowned and punched her husband hard in the shoulder.

"Oww." Flack complained. "I didn't say it, Angell did."

"You were thinking it. That's bad enough."

"Way to go Jess, now you're getting me abused."

"This is exactly what they make birth control for!" Danny called out from the back. "To avoid situations like this! Next time use a condom!"

"Better be following your own advice, Messer." Flack shot back. "We don't need anymore of you running around."

"Easy, Flack. Easy. My kids are going to be gorgeous. I ever have a son and you ever have a girl, you best be keeping her locked inside the house 'til she's thirty. 'Cause if my boy looks like me and your girl looks like her mother? Potent combination."

"Your boy will be getting my baby girl pregnant at fifteen." Flack griped. "And I'll be sitting on the front porch with my gun in one hand a baseball bat in the other and putting the fear of God into Daniel Messer Jr when he brings her home from their first date."

"I can just see it now." Angell laughed. "Flack in boxers and a wife beater, all unshaven waving his gun around and making the poor kid wet his pants."

"Bad enough Devine has Kieran and Addie already married with a few kids of their own." Flack said.

"They'd make a cute couple." Sam commented.

"Our son is nine months old. He's way too young to be even suggesting something like that. Can we get him to walk and potty train him first? Get him through his first day at school and teach him how to ride a bike and all that before promising him to Speed's daughter?"

"How much you wanna bet Kieran knocks Addie up before they're eighteen." Danny said.

Flack shot him a glare over his shoulder. "Watch your mouth. My kid is going to be responsible and go to college and all of that. No babies. I don't even want to consider what it's going to be like when I become a grandfather."

"I just figured seeing as his dad doesn't know what birth control is, he might not either when he's old enough to be doing the nasty." Danny joked.

Flack slammed on the breaks, more to avoid a car that cut in front of them than to teach Danny Messer a lesson for saying such a thing, but he felt a trickle of immense pleasure and vindication surge through him when Danny, who wasn't wearing a seat belt, flew forward and nearly busted his nose and his glasses on the back of the seat in front of him.

"Holy shit." Sam complained, bracing herself with a hand on the dash despite having a belt on and the fact her husband had instinctively reached out and laid a hand on her stomach to shield her from impact. "Drive much?" she directed that last question at the guilty party in front of them.

"Christ, Flack!" Danny roared. "Learn to fucking drive!"

"Someone cut me off. What did you want me to? Rear end 'em?" he turned on his signal and checked through the rear view mirror before swerving into the next lane and speeding up until he pulled up alongside of the BMV that nearly caused the accident. "Give him shit, Sam." he encouraged.

She opened the glove box and took out Flack's badge. He kept it in there when off duty in case they ever happened upon an accident scene or someone that needed some kind of assistance. Today she waited until Flack honked the horn to get the driver's attention. When the man in the lane next to them looked over, she flipped him the middle finger and slapped the badge against the window.

"NYPD asshole!" Angell yelled out her open window.

"God…" Erica exclaimed. "I hate to see what the two of you are like going after a bad guy. Who's the good cop and who's the bad cop?"

"We're both equally as evil." Angell told her, rolling up the window as the red faced driver in the other car hung a right at the corner and disappeared from view. "Sam and I were chasing this guy throw the snow in Strawberry Fields once. And you know how heavy snow can be. It's a bitch to run in. And it was below freezing and our lungs were burning and…"

"Is this the snow ball story?" Flack asked.

"What's the snow ball story?" Erica inquired.

"Sam nailed the perp in the back of the head with a snow ball." Angell said. "She just bent down and scooped up the snow and packed it all together and chucked it at him and got him right in the back of the head. The dumb ass actually stopped to see who did it and we managed to catch up to him."

"And than my girl here tackled him face first into the ground." Sam added. "But we were on the pond and it hadn't been cold enough to form solid ice and it cracked underneath us and we all ended up in the water."

"And with frost bite on her toes and fingertips." Flack tossed in. "She couldn't do up her clothes or shoes for two weeks."

"I bet you didn't mind helping her out." Erica said.

"Actually, I'm better at taking them off than putting them on." Flack responded, winking at his wife.

"You always were a pro at that." Sam laughed.

"Which is also why you guys have Kieran." Danny spoke up.

"Wanna get out and walk Messer?" Flack asked, looking at his friend through the rear view mirror. "'Cause I can pull over right here and you can walk there and explain to a furious Devine why you're late for photos."

"For the last time, Flack, it's Speedle now." Angell corrected him. "Now how confusing is that going to be in the lab? Two Speedles and two Flacks?"

"It will blow their minds." Sam said and yawned noisily. "I am still getting files delivered to me that are suppose to go to Don. And vice versa. And it's been almost a year."

"Has it really been that long?" Erica asked. "It seems like just yesterday."

"Trust me," Flack responded. "there's days it feels like last week and days it feels like it's been a decade. All depends on whether she's PMSing or not."

"Shut up." Sam said with a grin, rubbing his thigh. "I think Carmen has decided to spare the lab the headaches and is keeping her last name in professional situations."

"So why did you change your last name?" Angell asked curiously.

"Carmen's more modern in that respect than I am. I'm more old fashioned and liked the whole wife taking the husband's name thing. All I know is that I am so relieved that this wedding is finally over. We just have to get the reception over and done with and Carmen will go back to being Carmen again. Only different."

Flack frowned. "That just made absolutely no sense."

"She's Carmen but she's not Carmen." Sam explained. "At least not the way we knew her before. She's still the same but different."

"Is anyone else here completely confused?" Angell asked.

"Sam, you lost me somewhere between she's the same but different." Flack said. "Explain this to me like I'm a three year old. Because I have no clue what you're trying to say."

"It's because she's from Brooklyn!" Danny called out.

Sam sighed exasperatedly. "For the last time. Carmen is still Carmen but she's not. She's still the same Carmen at work but out of it she's a wife now and we all know how becoming a wife fucks with your brain and your personality."

"I don't know whether to laugh or be offended." Flack said.

"You're not the same person in your personal life when you get married." Sam explained. "You look the same and you act the same at work, but when you're away from work and dealing with personal stuff you're a different person than when you were single. You handle things differently because it's not just you anymore. You make decisions based on an entire unit and not just a solo person. You can't do the same things you used to do when you were single. You have to adjust your priorities and all that." she paused and squeezed his leg and smiled brightly at him. "Well some of us do." she said.

"You are such a smart ass." Flack told her, chuckling. "So what you're trying to say is that at work she's same old Carmen, out of it she's Speed's wife and the mother of his kid and that changes her personality a bit."

"Exactly!"

"Why the hell didn't you just say it that way?" he asked.

"I thought I explained myself pretty well. I don't know why you had such a hard time understanding me."

"Because you're from Brooklyn!" Danny called out.

"Just like outside of work people refer to me as Flack's wife. I don't even have a name anymore. Hey, that's Flack's wife and kid. Did you meet Flack's wife? That's what I hear all the time. Last week two of your guys called me Stephanie when I came to see you."

"My first girlfriend's name was Stephanie." Flack said. "Maybe I was thinking about her and called you her name to them."

"You are so sleeping on the couch for the next six months." Sam huffed.

"Joking. Just joking. Her name was Donna."

"Hey isn't that that hot little thing that came in last week and was sitting on your lap at your desk?" Danny needled his best friend.

"Shut up, Messer. That was suppose to be our little secret. You weren't suppose to say anything."

"Make that twelve months." Sam said. "Starting with tonight after the wedding. You can sleep on the floor."

"How big is the bed?" Angell asked.

"One of those extra large kings." Sam replied. "Why? You and Hawkes want to sleep over? The more the merrier? Hawkes can sleep in the middle."

"I was thinking Sheldon could sleep on the floor with Flack and me and you can snuggle in the bed." Angell said with a grin.

"Yeah?" Sam glanced over her shoulder and blew Angell a playful kiss. "I will rock your world, sweetness."

"Watch it." Flack said. "Or Devine's gonna think you loved her and left her. Kissing her and moving on to Angell so quickly."

Angell gasped dramatically. "You cheated on me? Sam! How could you!? Bad enough you've been cheating on me with Flack. But Carmen too?"

"Don seduced me and I got pregnant. I didn't mean for it to happen."

"I seduced you?" Flack laughed. "I wasn't the one prancing around in a guy's shirt with no underwear on and making eating an oreo cookie a lewd act."

"You could have just said no." Sam reasoned.

"He's a guy." Angell said. "When do they say no to the booty?"

"Hey! No male bashing!" Danny cried. "It's an even number in the car!"

"We can make it more women by tossing your ass out the window." Angell suggested.

"And miss the girl on girl between you and Sam? I don't think so. They ever let you join in Flack?"

"If they did Danny, the rest of you would be walking and the three of us would be back at the hotel by now."

"Pervert." Sam laughed. "You really are a dirty minded bastard."

"You wouldn't want me any other way, baby."

She smiled and leaned across the seat to kiss his cheek.

"You know," Danny said, after a long silence had passed between the occupants. "We're all changing. One by one. First Flack, than Mac and Stella. Now Carmen and Tim. Hell, even Gus and Adam are getting in on the action. All these different things that are happening in such a short period of time."

"We're all growing up, Dan-o." Flack said. "Or at least attempting to."

"It's just nice to know that there's one thing that will never change." the CSI said.

"What's that?" Hawkes asked.

"We'll always have each other. We'll always be friends. No matter what."

Flack frowned. "Are you drunk? You sound like a damn Hallmark card."

"Make fun of me all you want. You know it's true. I just have the balls to say it out loud."

No one said a word in response to that. Because they all knew, for once in his life, Danny Messer was completely right about something.

* * *

Tim Speedle was thankful that the hardest part of the day was over. Despite his cool, calm and collected demeanor prior to the ceremony, he'd in fact been a nervous wreck. And it had shown during the vows when he had gotten three words in and dissolved into tears and could barely comprehend what the reverend was saying let alone respond in a proper fashion. It had been a culmination of events that had led to his emotional meltdown. Starting with the parole drama with Matthew that had prompted Carmen to call of their relationship. Hearing her tell him it was over had nearly destroyed Speed, but he'd been hear strong and resilient in his determination to get her back. Thank God for Flack and his zero tolerance for bullshit and his hard line stance of telling things the way they were. You didn't hand Flack a line of crap and get away with it. And he hadn't gone easy on Carmen. Not in the least. He'd been mean and hurtful and brutally honest. But had gotten the results both he and Speed had wanted in the end

Just when they had gotten things back in order, there was the work related car accident that had landed Carmen in the hospital and the investigation by doctors for internal injuires that had led them to the discovery that she was expecting a baby. After what Matthew had done to her years ago, she'd all but been told to forget ever having a child of her own. Yet there was their miracle, growing inside of her, her heart beating strongly and a lifetime of hopes and dreams laid out in front of her. Despite both of them being shocked and having reservations about being parents, there'd never been a doubt in their mind that they would have their baby and become a family. They were scared and nervous and most of all excited. And as the months passed and Carmen grew larger with their child, Speed's love for the two most important people in his life grew as well.

And now, here they were, husband and wife. In the middle of their wedding reception. They had had their first dance to Keith Urban's Making Memories of Us and mingled with their guests before an exceptional seven course meal and endless glasses of champagne and the traditional cutting of the cake. He'd posed for photographs in in the past few hours than he had for his entire life. They'd listened to Delko and Sam both give speeches that made everyone in attendance laugh before bringing them to tears. And as his new wife partied up a storm in the middle of the dance floor with other guests, he grabbed himself a rye and coke from the bar and joined Mac, Flack and Hawkes at one of the tables. Danny and Adam had found themselves dragged up onto the dance floor.

"Well," Flack said as Speed slipped into the chair beside him. "Welcome to mine and Mac's sad little club."

"What club is that?" the CSI asked, sipping the amber coloured drink.

"The old married people, screwed and tortured for the rest of our lives club." Flack said with a smirk. "Your life as you know it is over. See that ring on your finger? That's not just a symbol of undying love and devotion. It's a sign of our enslavement. We belong to them and we're doomed to spend our lives making them happy. Regardless of how much it costs. Both emotionally and financially."

"What about them belonging to us?" Speed asked.

Flack laughed. "Right…you say that to Sam, that she belongs to me, she's smacking you upside the head. She took my name, that's it. She didn't hand over ownership of herself."

"Marriage is not that bad, Flack." Hawkes said. "You wouldn't have done it if you found it the most awful thing in the world."

"I never said there was anything awful about it. I love being married. I love having a wife and a kid and all the domestic bliss and even the non bliss that comes with it. Having someone to come home to after a long day that won't judge you and who will listen to you bitch for three hours straight. Who will clean up after you and do your laundry and make you something to eat and take care of you when you're hurt or sicker than a dog. Who you can wake up to every morning. Who when every time you look at her you think to yourself how proud and grateful you are to have her and you wonder how in the hell you got so lucky and how she puts up with you."

Al three men stared at him in both amazement and concern.

"How much have you had to drink?" Speed asked, nodding to the glass in front of Flack that they all knew had no booze whatsoever in it.

"All I'm saying is that marriage is the second best thing that ever happened to me. The first is my kid. Sam's not perfect but she's a great wife. She puts up with my shit day in and day out and loves me regardless. So if anything, I belong to her. Wholly and completely."

"So you're whipped." Speed concluded.

"Pretty much. But I still wear the pants in the family. I just let her think she's got the power and control sometimes."

"Surely you're not talking about me." Sam said, catching the tail end of his sentence as she and Stella arrived back at the table. The DJ having just announced it was time for the bouquet toss and all the single women went scurrying to the dance floor.

"I would never say a negative word about you." Flack assured her.

"Sure you wouldn't." she said and picked up a her half glass of champagne that she'd left on the table. Taking a swig, she plopped down onto his lap and rested her arm across his shoulders.

"Adam…." Flack shook his head as his brother in law came swaggering towards the table with a beer bottle clutched in his hand. "Are you drunk?"

Adam shook his head. "No…." he slurred slightly. "Well….maybe…..but just a bit…" he held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "Just a little, little bit."

"Just no pissing on any blue and whites, okay?" Speed asked. "Got it?"

Adam gave a thumbs up and swayed drunkenly. "Gotcha." he replied, than dropped into the nearest chair with such force he nearly tipped over. He righted himself and smiled. "You know, Flack…" he said. "I think you and my sister are a really, really, really nice couple. Looks wise, I mean. 'Cause personalities wise, man, it's like dynamite and a match."

"Here we go." Sam said with a sigh and sipped her drink. "Adam's going all sentimental on us."

"It's true!" Adam insisted. "You two…you're both really nice looking and all that….Flack's got them blue eyes and that dark hair…."

"Ross, I'm flattered you have a boy crush on me, but stop while you're ahead." Flack said.

"I know you love my sister and she loves you and you guys got Kieran and you're this happy little family…and I am happy for you guys…I really am…just thought you both should know that."

"That's nice, Adam." Sam told him. "Now maybe we should find Gussie and have her take you home."

The lab tech shook his head and leaned forward and clapped a hand on Flack's shoulder. "I mean it. You're really good for my sister. You take good care of her and my nephew. My nephew is my life. My best buddy. You know that."

"I think you've had enough to drink." Flack told his brother in law and pried the beer bottle from Adam's hands. "We'll get you some coffee and start sobering you up a bit."

"I am serious." Adam told the detective. "I only speak the truth. My sister would be dead if it wasn't for you."

"You've had too much to drink." Flack responded.

"Who knows what Zack would have done if you hadn't have been there that day. She could have been dead and dismembered somewhere and God knows what else."

"Enough, Adam." Sam said. "Be quiet now."

"No. It's not enough. I have to say what I feel." he told her, than leaned in close to Flack. "I love you, Don." he declared, and pressed a sloppy kiss to his brother in law's cheek. Much to the chagrin of everyone at the table.

"You can tell you and your sister are definitely blood relatives." Flack quipped, wiping Adam's saliva off of his cheek with the back of his hand. "You both can't handle your liquor."

"I beg to differ." Sam said and downed her champagne.

Adam jumped up as she sat the empty glass down on the table and scooped the champagne flute up. Juggling it a few times before getting it under control. "I shall get the lady another." he announced, and wobbled off towards the bar.

"Are you sure he's not adopted?" Speed asked.

"My mother insists we have the same parents." Sam replied. "But I swear to God, he was either left on the door step or someone in the hospital switched him and my real brother after birth. And if Kieran didn't have dark hair and blue eyes and look just like Don, I would think the same way about him. Because he is just too evil to be ours."

"You're kidding right?" Stella laughed. "He may look like his daddy but he is you in every other way Sam. He's his mother from head to toe."

Flack nodded in agreement. "They're both supremely evil." he said.

Sam elbowed him playfully in the stomach and kissed his cheek as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her into him. She rested her head on his shoulder and looked out towards the dance floor where Carmen was getting ready to toss her throw away arrangement of flowers into the small gaggle of anxious women.

"If Erica catches it, Messer will be on the first bus out of New York City." Flack declared.

"I was going to say the same thing about Delko if Max catches it." Speed said. "He won't be able to get his ass back to Miami fast enough if she does. Apparently, and this is just between this table, she got a little clingy after sex and insisted on him staying the night."

"Did he?" Sam asked, helping herself to a sip of Angell's left behind champagne.

"Yeah…but he high tailed it out of there when the kid walked in on them butt naked in bed in this morning."

Sam laughed. "That's why you put a lock on the door that locks from the inside. To prevent that from happening. Even we know that and Kieran can't even walk or get out of his crib yet. But at least he stayed the night. He didn't just fuck her and leave."

"Fuck her?" Speed laughed. "You hang around us men too much."

"Don and you guys are a bad influence. But it's true. Most guys after a one time hook up don't bother sticking around for seconds in the morning. They do their business and leave."

"Speak from experience?" Stella teased.

"I was lucky. Don only took off while I was still asleep and than sent me an e-mail afterwards. At least he sucked it up and slept on my brother's ratty old couch."

"He would have shit if you took off in the middle of the night." Speed said.

"I considered it. But I figured I didn't have anywhere else to go so I might as well stick it out and see where I get with him. And now look! Domestic and wedded bliss. Who knew?"

"So was it amazing mind blowing sex that kept you there or the fear of sleeping on a bench in Central Park?" Stella asked.

Sam considered it.

"You actually have to think about it?" Flack asked. "What's there to think about? Should be an easy answer."

"Well I don't particularly like splinters in my ass." Sam replied.

A massively dirty comment about what she does like in her ass was on the tip of his tongue but Flack kept it to himself. There were just some things you didn't discuss in front of your co-workers. Particularily when one of them was your wife's boss.

Adam returned with the champagne and sat it down in front of his sister. In his other hand was an uncorked bottle of Dom Perignon.

"Thanks, peanut." she said and saluted him with her drink before taking a sip.

"You are so very welcome, madame." he responded in a thick, faux French accent and bowed gallantly. Nearly losing his balance and toppling over head first. "I'm good….I'm good…." he exclaimed, straightening himself up and cuddling the bottle of booze to his chest. "Now if you would all excuse me, Dom and I would like to be alone."

"Someone tell me that Adam and Gus have a drive home." Flack said, watching as his brother in law stumbled away, clutching the bottle tightly to his chest.

"We'll make sure they get home safe." Stella assured him. "I am after all the designated driver for the next several months at least."

"Boy am I glad those days are over." Sam said. "Mind you, I probably shouldn't drink too much tonight because the breast milk is running out in the freezer and sometime tomorrow I need to go back to being Kieran's meal ticket. Three more months and he's going on regular or soy milk. That's it. I've had enough of being a Holstein cow."

"I seriously don't know how you stuck with it this long." Stella commended her. "I've already decided to wean the baby onto formula when I go back to work. I'm not even pumping. Forget it. Too much of a hassle."

* * *

There was a loud commotion on the dance floor. Ladies shrieking and frantically scurrying for the bouquet of flowers Carmen had just sent sailing backwards over her head. Like linebackers on a football field they shoved each other out of the way and tackled each other into the hardwood floor in a vain attempt to snag the coveted prize.

"That is just fucking insane." Flack declared. "It's like watching WWE wrestling. All for the sake of snagging some flowers."

"Tradition, Flack." Hawkes said. "It's a huge tradition. Supposedly the woman who catches it will be the next to get married. And get alcohol into the mix and the elbows start flying and they start scratching each other's eyes out and pulling hair."

"For flowers?" Flack shook his head in disbelief. "Makes no sense."

After an intense battle, a lone figure finally stood up, victoriously holding the now shredded bouquet over her head.

"Oh no." Hawkes said and hung his head.

"WAY TO GO JESS!!" Sam shrieked, jumping up and giving her friend a round of applause.

"You are so screwed." Speed chuckled, clapping a hand on Hawkes' shoulder.

"Want me to make you out a club membership now or a few months down the road?" Flack asked.

"Way to put the boots to them!" Sam exclaimed, as Angell came to the table and the two women exchanged tipsy high fives.

The DJ got back onto his microphone and asked for the groom and all single men to come out onto the dance floor for the traditional garter toss.

"Well seeing as my bachelor status went down the toilet almost a year ago, that leaves me out." Flack commented as he stood up. "I'm going to go out for a smoke and call home to make sure my kid is asleep and hasn't burned the house down or sent my mother or sister to the nut house."

"Well get up there." Angell encouraged Hawkes, giving him a gentle shove towards the dance floor. "Let's make it two for two."

"Screwed, Doc. Screwed." Flack chuckled, as Speed had to nearly drag Hawkes behind him. "Wanna come with?" he asked his wife. "You can say goodnight to your baby boy and give him hell if he's still awake."

"Fresh air sounds mighty good right about now." Sam agreed as he helped her shrug into his suit jacket to protect her from the cold night air.

She drowned in the massive jacket. The sleeves miles too long and the bottom falling below her knees. She grabbed her champagne flute and he took her other hand and lead the way towards the French doors on the opposite of the room. They stepped out onto the open air patio over looking Rockefeller Centre. Soft white Christmas lights sparkling in the bushes and the trees and lining the white tent set up to serve as a bar for guests mulling outside.

They journeyed over to the edge of the patio. Flack reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, his hand brushing against the side of Sam's breast.

"Impatient, are we?" she giggled. "You need to resort to feeling me up in public?"

"As much as I know you'd like that," Flack said with a grin and pulled out a pack of smokes and a lighter. He held them up for her to see. "I need to have a cancer stick."

"You need to quit." she said. "Again."

"I will quit. For a second time. Or is it the third? I've lost count." he shook out a cigarette and slipped it between his lips and lit it.

Sam sat the glass of champagne down on the ledge reached into the side pocket of the jacket and pulled out his cell phone. Flipping it open, she dialled the familiar number and waited for two rings before handing the phone to him. "You be the bad guy and wake everyone up." she said and went back to her drink.

"I doubt my mom or Allison are asleep….mom? How are things? Is everyone still alive there?…How about sane? Is everyone still sane?"

Sam grinned and leaned against the cement in front of her, forearms resting on the edge as she peered down at the traffic and noise three storeys below. Listening to the animated conversation that her husband was having with his mother. Judging by the number or sighs and curse words that he was muttering, something had gone down today and it wasn't good. Usually she'd have her cackles up over mayhem in the house, but Sam had downed enough champagne that she could barely feel her toes let alone care about what was happening twenty minutes away.

"Well?" she asked, as he snapped the phone closed and tucked it back in the jacket. "Do we have a house to go home too?"

"Kieran's got a black eye to go with his stitched up chin." Flack replied, taking a long drag of the smoke and exhaling slowly.

"How'd that happen?"

"He pulled Daria's hair and she elbowed him in the face."

"Wonderful. A four year old picking on a nine month old. At least we know who she gets the whole bully thing from."

"Sam…no need to get nasty. You and Max are supposed to be friends, remember?"

"For your sake maybe." Sam snorted.

Flack sighed. "My mom put ice on his eye and the swelling has gone down but he's going to have nasty shiner when we walk through the door tomorrow."

"Hmmm….maybe we can just run away from home." Sam said. "I think that's what we should do. Just skip town with the clothes on our backs and never return. Think we could do that?"

"I don't think we'd get very far. You get home sick too easily. Remember the fourth of July when you went to Arizona to see your folks? You called me bawling your eyes out two nights in a row."

She shrugged. "I missed you guys." she said. "I get lonely sleeping by myself now. I like having you to snuggle up to in the middle of the night. Listening to you breathe and stuff like that. When you work nights is bad enough never mind being away for a couple of days."

Flack smiled. "I knew you loved me." he said, finishing off his smoke and dropping it to the ground. "You just hate admitting it."

"I just don't like you thinking I'm clingy and possessive."

"You're my wife. You're suppose to be a little clingy and possessive. I'd be worried if you weren't." he reached out and drew her into him, wrapping his arms around her slender body, her back pressed into his stomach and chest.

"Everything else is okay at home?" she asked, leaning her head back against him. Enjoying the feel of his warm, strong arms around her as they looked out across the well lit city.

"All the kids are fast asleep. My mom and Allison won't be far behind. You know, for a little guy, Kieran's pretty tough. And strong. When I was holding him down while Hawkes stitched up his chin, I couldn't believe how strong he was."

"Like his father." Sam said. "Going to be big and strong."

"Smart like his mother though. Hope he stays that way. Goes to college and gets a good job. Doesn't have to slave away for an ungrateful city. I want better for him than that. I don't want him to end up like me."

"I don't know," Sam said. "I don't think you turned out that bad. I wouldn't have been with you if I didn't find you a decent guy. You're smart and funny and you always have a way of cheering me up when I've had the most shitty day. And you're reliable and dependable. I can always count on you to put me and Kieran first. And that's what makes you a good man. Not the number of arrests you've made in your career or how fast you climbed the ranks. It's how you are at home."

He sighed. "I'm not home enough. I don't spend enough time with you or Kieran. I hate that. Makes me feel like a prick."

"You try your best. I know you do. I know it's hard for you to balance everything. I've never faulted you for trying. You're a damn good husband, Donnie. And you're an amazing father and I wish you'd start giving yourself a little more credit."

"Are you drunk?" he asked teasingly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Things haven't always been easy for us, have they."

Flack shook his head. "They haven't been all bad, either. A mix of everything. And like I told you when you were pregnant with Kieran and we had that scare, life would be way too boring if we were normal. I love my life. I wouldn't give up either of you for anything."

She smiled. "Not even a shot at Jennifer Aniston or Denise Richards?"

"Nah. Not even they could come close to you." he said and leaned down to nuzzle her neck.

"That is so corny." she told him with a giggle. "I know we always joke about how bad and evil Kieran is, but I miss him."

"Yeah?" he asked. "Enough to go home tonight?"

"Hell no." she replied and they both laughed. "Did you mean what you said last night?" she asked, turning around to face him. "About wanting another baby?"

He nodded and wrapped his arms around her slender waist.

"Because I'd really like that, Donnie. For us to try. To have them close together. What do you think?"

"I think trying is the best part."

"Spoken like a true man." she laughed.

He kissed her. Soft and slow and patient at first, than much more hungry and passionate, his tongue pushing against her teeth, demanding entrance into her soft mouth. As their tongues met in an intense erotic dance, his hands slipped around to her sides and down her hips and than behind her to her ass. Squeezing and fondling it and drawing her lower body against him. She moaned into his mouth at the sensation, her hands gripping the front of his shirt.

"Maybe we should take off early." he said, after the kiss had ended and his lips found the side of her neck.

"As much as I want to…."

"No one will miss us." he assured her. "We deserve this. Alone time. Where you can beg and plead and scream and make all those porn star noises that turn me on so bad. And you can't tell me you don't want to just take off and go upstairs."

"I do. Believe me I do. But Carmen…."

"You really think she's going to care? After all the work you've done for her? She should be encouraging you to take off and do something for yourself."

"Myself, huh?" she grinned up at him. "That really does something for you, doesn't it."

"Absolutely." he said and kissed her again.

"Than how about this. I will take off earlier and go upstairs with you on two conditions."

"What are those?"

"One, you explain to Carmen why we're leaving…."

"No problem."

"Two, you dance with me."

Flack frowned. "Now that's asking a lot." he said.

"You can wait another couple hours if you want." Sam told him, and ran a hand lightly over the front of his pants. "And I don't think you want that." she said and squeezed his cock through the fabric of his pants.

"Just one dance?" he asked, yanking her hand away from his crotch.

"Just one." she promised.

"Consider it done." he said and pulled her back towards the ballroom.

* * *

"You're leaving?" Carmen asked in disbelief and disappointment. "But there's at least another couple hours left before Tim and I head out."

"You don't need us sticking around." Flack told her. "Sam more than lived up to her matron of honour duties. I want my wife back now. You've had her long enough."

"You can't have her back in a couple hours?" Carmen challenged.

"Come on, Devine. She's put in more than her fair share of work. She's made sure everything was running smoothly all day long so you'd have a great time at your own wedding. She barely even had anything to eat because she was busy catering to other guests not to mention dropping everything when you all but snapped her fingers in her direction. Us taking off is not going to screw up the rest of the night."

"I just wanted her to be around for the whole thing." Carmen said.

"She's been around for enough for the last three months. Time for me to have her all to myself. That doesn't happen very often with a kid in the house and the stresses of our jobs. So I'm taking full advantage of one night completely alone with her. You'll see her in four days when you and Speed get back from Boston."

Carmen sighed. "My wedding night and you two will be getting laid before I will."

"Them's the breaks." Flack said. "Tough shit. I gotta alot of baby making ahead of me."

She grinned. "So you guys are going to try, huh?"

"We're starting to second we get upstairs."

"Good luck. I hope it happens right quick. You two were made to have babies. Look at Kieran, he's drop dead gorgeous. Maybe it will be a girl this time. You'll have to beat the boys off with a stick."

"As long as it's healthy, doesn't matter to me what it is." Flack said. He hugged his friend tightly and kissed both of her cheeks. "Congratulations. You looked beautiful today."

"Thank you. And thanks for everything. Especially walking me down the aisle. It meant a lot to me, Don. You did a great job. Especially getting all the nerves sorted out."

"We all need a little kick in the ass sometimes." he laughed. "And don't worry, Addie's in good hands with Sam and I."

"You're the only two I'd trust her with. And I saw you out there dancing. You're pretty light on your feet there, Sergeant."

He smirked. "I had to bargain with her to get her upstairs early. That was part of the bargain."

"The way you look at her, Don….it takes my breath away. Sounds corny, but it's true."

He blushed slightly. "I don't hide it. It's all out there for everyone to see. And Speed's the same way with you. We managed to land some pretty hot women."

"You're the two luckiest men in all of New York." Carmen laughed. "The free world for that matter."

Sam joined them, having returned from the bathroom. She carried her shoes. Her feet had began aching halfway through the evening and she's been going around barefoot since.

She and Carmen hugged tightly and exchanged kisses on the cheek. "Congratulations, Carmen." she said. "I hope that this day was everything you wanted."

"And than some." Carmen assured her. "You did an amazing job. Now go. Before this man hear spontaneously combusts. He's had to share you long enough. Go and make babies. God knows how much you guys enjoy it. And how good you are at it. Just try not to disturb the neighbours too much. I'd hate to see security called up to your room."

"Goodnight, Devine." Flack said with a chuckle, and taking the shoes from his wife, carried them in one hand while holding her hand with the other.

Carmen smiled and watched them go.

Imagining, and hoping, as they chatted and smiled at one another, that they would be just as in love and happy as they were at that moment.

* * *

The twelfth floor was quiet. There were no other guests lingering in the halls. Do Not Disturb signs hung from nearly every door handle. The only sounds the rattling off the ice machine at the end of the hall and the sound of television programs trickling from underneath some of the doors.

"I'm starting to think that we have a serious fetish for elevators." Flack commented, as hand in hand, he and Sam headed for their room. A slight make out sessing on the way off had turned into something a little more, resulting in torn buttons on his shirt and his tie and her underwear tucked in his pocket.

"I'm starting to think we're nymphos." Sam said.

"You're just starting to think that?" he laughed. "I could have told you that more than a year ago. And we're still newlyweds technically. So the more sex the merrier."

"So when our first anniversary hits than we stop being nymphos or we stop having sex all together?" she asked.

"Are you crazy? I hope we're still having tons of it twenty, thirty years from now."

"You'll get tired of me," she said as they stopped in front of room 1202.

"No chance in hell." he argued and pulled the key card from his wallet. He swiped it through the security bar mounted below the handle and there was a dull click. He pushed the door open with one hand, motioned for her to go ahead of him with the other.

The sound of laughing coming down the hall from the elevators captured Flack's attention and he paused before entering the room and looked back to see what was going on. Voices. Two women and a man. And he recognized all three. Appearing from around the corner, was Eric Delko, Emma Maxwell and Kendall the lab tech. Adam's old girlfriend. Delko had his arms around both women and was alternating whispering in one of their ears, than the other.

Flack stuck his head into the room. "Sam!" he whispered loudly. "Sam! Come here! You need to see something!"

"What? Why are you taking so long? I thought you were raring to go."

"Just come here for a second. You have to see this."

She came to the door and popped her head out into the hall and looked at what he was referring to. Several doors down, Eric Delko was opening his hotel room door and ushering both girls inside. The door closed, than re-opened briefly as he slipped the Do Not Disturb sign on the handle.

"Never mind do not disturb." Flack said. "Plain disturbing is more like it."

"You're just jealous he's getting a threesome and you're not. Ever."

"That's the last two women in the world I'd want one with. Now you and Devine or you and Angell…"

"Never going to happen. Not in a million years."

"Max and Kendall," he shuddered at the thought. "Don't you find that just plain nasty?" he asked.

"You know what I find?" she asked in response, yanking him inside the room. "I find you're wasting too much damn time. Now shut up, get to work and make me a baby."

"Yes, m'am." he said.

**Thanks for everyone who is reading and reviewing. I appreciate and love every one of you! Even the lurkers!! I am currently in Niagara Falls with the b/f. He got a promotion and a transfer to a new department! We're celebrating. Just me, him and my lap top. LOL.**


	8. My how the years go by

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK, KIERAN FLACK AND THE OTHER FIVE FLACK CHILDREN. CARMEN DEVINE BELONGS TO APHINA. THANKS TO HER FOR GRACIOUSLY LENDING HER OUT AND TRUSTING ME WITH HER.**

**My how the years go by**

"A Baby's born, Momma cries she sees a glance of his daddy there in his eyes  
take him home and watch him sleep, stand and wonder who he's gonna be  
then its Tonka trucks and baseball gloves, then his first kiss and his first love  
oh the innocence, just don't last  
our dreams in our future go by so fast  
,Mountains move, rivers run, shadows fall with the setting sun,  
thunder rolls and lighting strikes  
the darkness covers and swallows up the light… and time flies."  
-Time Flies, Johnny Reid

* * *

**A/N 1: FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVEN'T READ MY PROFILE, I HAVE A TWO YEAR OLD SON WITH DOWN SYNDROME. HE'S A WONDERFUL, AMAZING CHILD. SO I DECIDED TO TRY A LITTLE SOMETHING DIFFERENT WITH THIS STORY.**

**A/N 2: DUE TO THE POPULARITY OF THE FUTURE CHAPS IN MOB, I AM INCLUDING THEM IN THIS STORY AS WELL. THIS FUTURE CHAP TAKES PLACE FIFTEEN YEARS AFTER KIERAN'S BIRTH.**

* * *

It was unusually and unbearably hot for the end of March. The scorching sun beat down on New York City. Massive white clouds filled the electric blue sky and a slight breeze drifted off of the water and provided some relief for the record breaking spring heat wave that had descended on the city during the past two days.

Danny Messer was covered in sweat. He could feel it trickling down his back and his legs. It beaded on his forehead and trickled off his nose as he leaned over the partially decomposed body on the ground at his feet. The salty perspiration burned his eyes and got into his mouth. It felt like well over a hundred in the hull of that cargo ship. There was little to no ventilation and the fact he was in coveralls only made the heat worse. He longed for a smoke break. And about a gallon of ice water.

The Anastasia Nicola was a twenty-two thousand pound freighter hauling iron ore out of the Ukraine and bound for the steel mills in Detroit. Acting from a tip from anonymous sources, the United States Coast Guard had intercepted it as it approached New York City and seized the vessel and boarded it promptly to inspect for what their sources had said was a large supply of both drugs and weapons. No weapons had been discovered, but there were, from their rough estimate, at least two hundred kilos of what appeared to be cocaine, and over a hundred illegal immigrants packed inside the cargo holds. Ten immigrants were dead. Obvious trauma to the bodies had been enough to make the coast guard realize the deaths weren't voyage related and the crime lab had been called in along with the narco and homicide detectives.

And the Department of Homeland Security. DHS, as all Americans had come to know it as, was an executive department of the U.S. Federal Government and had been established after the nine eleven attacks. Their main duties were to prevent terrorist attacks, reduce the country's vulnerability to terrorism, and assist in the recovery after an attack. Many different government agencies made up DHS. The coast guard, FEMA, Secret Service and the Bureau of Citizenship and Immigration as well as the United States Customs Service. The last two had been contacted by the coast guard and alerted to the situation on hand.

Their official headquarters was located in Washington D.C. but the agency had many smaller offices all over the states, including one that handled both immigration and customs that operated out of the same building as the crime lab. It took up the fifteenth floor and employed over five hundred people. They were the bane of the NYPD. Being Feds, they had supreme authority over the NYPD and weren't afraid to exercise it. Much to the dismay of the crime lab now attempting to work as quickly as possible to collect evidence DHS wouldn't poach from them.

Not all DHS agents were royal pains in the ass. There was one in particular that the crime lab was quite fond off. An old colleague who five years ago had decided enough was enough with the NYPD and set forth on a different professional path. One none of them ever begrudged her for and admired her for attempting.

Danny couldn't stand the mask over his mouth and nose anymore and he peeled it off and sat it on top of his head. He just couldn't breathe with the damn thing on, and the smell of partial decomp was more bearable at the moment than the feeling of suffocating.

He snapped off several more pictures and than straightened his back. Stretching and twisting it from side to side until it cracked noisily. They'd been in that ship for nearly half an hour and there were still hours of work ahead of them. Danny, as second in command to Tim Speedle, who'd been running the lab since taking over for Stella two years ago, had his pick of the litter when it came to who he wanted on his crime scene.

Most were newbies. Some of the old faces long gone. Stella had packed it in and decided to concentrate on being a housewife and enjoying her home and her family. Mac had been appointed commissioner nearly six years ago now. He'd been the mayor's top choice, and as overall boss of the NYPD, Mac was excelling. Most served only five years once appointed, but Mac had hung on for another year before deciding to retire. His retirement party was scheduled for that night. A dinner for the new and old members of the team and their families at Ruby Tuesdays in Times Square.

Speed ran the crime lab like a well oiled machine. He was strict and well organized and had higher numbers of cases solved than both Mac and Stella put together. It was like he'd been born to do the job and everyone liked working for him despite his tendency to be a no nonsense hard ass. Hawkes was long gone. He left shortly after Mac and got a job as a forensics professor at Columbia. He'd gone on to marry Angell. They'd been hitched going on fourteen years now and had two kids to show for it. Angell was a captain. One of the few females to every be promoted to the position in NYPD history. Adam had married Gus. They had no kids, but Gus had opened a private practice out of their Long Island home and Adam had become a CSI.

Times they are a changing, Danny thought, and brushed sweat from his forehead with his forearm.

"What'cha got over there, Devine?" he inquired, casting a glance towards the auburn haired CSI twenty feet away. She was hunkered down beside one of the bodies in her own overalls and mask, painstakingly collecting trace evidence.

"Some skin under this guys' fingernails." she said. Carmen was one of the main stays. She had no desire to leaving the lab. She enjoyed her job and excelled at it. She was a level one now and was happy with her career and with the way she was balancing it with her personal life. A husband and two kids and a house in the suburbs.

"We're going to have to line all the living guys up and get DNA samples." Danny said. "And some from the DB's here."

"Already on it." a voice said from the far corner.

Patrick O'Dell was a newbie. Fresh out of the academy and a Columbia grad. One of Hawkes' former students, to be exact. Hawkes had given the tall, muscular blond haired kid an outstanding reference and Speed had hired him without a second thought. He was big and strong. His arms looked like they could snap telephone poles. And he wasn't scared to mix it up with a perp and was an intimidating force in interrogation.

Danny and the others really liked him. They'd trust him to have their back in a heart beat. Brandon Powell rounded out the crew Danny had brought along with him. Powell was dark skinned and quiet but a force to be reckoned with. He'd been an integral part of the team for six years now. He didn't talk much and remained somewhat of a mystery to the others. He rarely socialized outside of work with the team and never mentioned his personal life. That was okay by them. He could be trusted to watch your back and that's all that mattered.

Their other new CSI was Traci Scott. She had been hired three years ago. She was the daughter of an old colleague of Mac's in Chicago. She was short and somewhat overweight with shocking red hair and freckles from head to toe. A high pitched, nails on the chalk board kind of voice. But she could kick ass with the best of them. She was with Adam in Soho investigating a bodega robbery.

"What's the word over there, Deli?" Danny asked, using his favourite nickname for the kid.

"Took some samples from the other vics." he replied. "And elimination prints. And pulled some trace that may be cocaine from one of their pockets. I'm gonna run it through the narco test kit."

"Music to my ears when you people know what you're doing." Danny said. "I wanna get this scene processed within the next hour. I got Powell outside with homicide taking prints from the captain and rest of the crew."

The walkie talkie resting inside of Danny's open kit crackled to life and Powell's deep voice emanated through it.

"Those morons from DHS are on their way down."

Danny and Carmen looked at each other and smirked.

"Think it's our favourite agent?" Carmen asked, swabbing the inside of the dead man's cheek.

"Guess we'll know in a few minutes." he replied.

* * *

It was the sound of heels clicking on steel that they heard first. Than it was that thick Brooklyn accent barking out orders to the small team of agents that had accompanied their supervisor to the scene.

"Chris, I want you to go to the wheel house and get the captain's logs…Amber, head to the captain's and first mate's cabins and search them thoroughly…Alberto, you do the same with the rest of the crew…Jeff, I want you to find the cargo record books. I'll be up as soon as I'm done mixing things up with the crime scene investigators. Gwen, you hang tight with me for a bit."

DHS agents nodded and obeyed and scattered into separate directions. The sound of those heels grew closer and closer and when they stopped, Danny glanced over and saw that familiar face in the doorway. She was all business in a trim black pencil skirt and a simple soft pink blouse under a navy blue windbreaker that bore the letters DHS in white on the back. United States government ID dangling around her neck and a badge and gun on the waist of her skirt. A skirt and nylons of all things. She never dressed like that a day in her life when she worked at the crime lab. Danny figured maybe the government was a little stricter with dress codes.

Golden eyes surveyed the scene. Than lit up as a smile spread across that ageless face as she spotted her friends.

"No rest for the weary." she commented.

"Agent Flack," Danny greeted. "What? You out slumming with the crime lab today?"

"As much as I'd like to say this is a social call, this is a major customs and immigration situation."

Samantha had left the NYPD shortly after her last child, a boy named Liam, had arrived. She'd been two months pregnant when she'd been shot processing what was said to be a secure scene. Thankfully, an earlier report of gunfire at that scene had prompted all responding officers to wear vests, and hers had caught the bullet that would have no doubt pierced her heart and ended her life. She wasn't physically harmed, but the emotional and mental injuries had been long term. She had been plagued by nightmares and panic attacks and under a therapist's strict watch.

She'd stayed off on sick leave for two months before returning to work and being placed on lab duty. Six weeks after Liam had been born, she returned to the field. Her first crime scene had been her last when she suffered an anxiety attack brought on by a sharp, sudden noise. She'd panicked and fled the scene, leaving evidence unattended. She realized than she couldn't do the job anymore and it was best for her, and the integrity of the lab, to walk away.

A supervisor from DHS had been courting her for a position for two years prior. And when he'd found out she'd quit her job and was looking for a new field to pursue, he called her up with the offer of a job in the United States Custom Service. She took night classes to learn the ins and outs of customs and immigration and passed the final exam with flying colours.

Customs was her speciality. She sometimes dabbled in immigration and every so often, assisted in emergency preparedness. Eight months ago, she'd been promoted to lead hand and was given her own team of eager, young agents to supervise and work alongside of. She was missed in the lab. But being friends outside of work and having their families so close and their offices in the same building helped keep up the tight relationships.

"The inspector ain't gonna be too happy when he gets here and finds you poking around his crime scene." Danny commented, going back to snapping overalls.

"You already called him? You bastard, Messer. Thought for sure you'd give me a bit of leeway."

"Speed called him in as soon as we heard you guys were on the way. Guess he wants the big guns making sure you don't walk off with anything important to our case."

"Your case?" she smirked as she stepped over puddles of blood and dead bodies. Pulling a pair of latex gloves from her jacket pocket, she snapped them onto her hands. "This is obviously a scenario for DHS."

"Obviously." Danny agreed. "But you can't be touching our scene and you know that."

"Who said I was touching your scene." Sam said, and crouching down, used a gloved finger tip to open the dead man's pocket. A passport came tumbling out.

"Samantha…." Danny shook his head.

"This I believe belongs to me." she said, plucking up the small booklet.

"But that came from my DB." Danny argued.

"Well," Sam snatched a plastic evidence bag from Danny's kit and dropped the passport inside and sealed it up tight. "Now it's property of the United States Government."

"You're a witch." Danny informed her. A huge grin on his face. "God I miss not working with ya."

Sam smiled. "So what you guys got? Fill me in."

"Ship was seized just inside U.S waters and escorted here." Danny began. "Coast Guard was acting on an anonymous tip that the good ship was hauling something a little extra. Mainly drugs and weapons. They did a search and found roughly two hundred kilos of what appears to be cocaine."

"Appears to be?" Sam asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Drugs are being escorted to the lab by DEA. Samples will be taking there. Coast Guard never found weapons, but they did find over a hundred illegal immigrants being held in the cargo area. Ten of which were deceased."

"Human trafficking?" Sam asked, a pen and notebook in hand.

"Looks like. But could be just people looking to get out and thought this was the only way. Who knows? Homicide and narco detectives are talking to the ship's captain and crew as we speak."

"Well we'll be taking over that." Sam said. "Where did the ship originate from?"

"Ukraine. Haulin' iron ore. Bound for Detroit."

"How many in the crew?"

"Fifteen. No one is talking."

"What else is knew. Any I.D. on the vics?"

"Still checking that out." Danny told her.

Sam crouched down alongside the body between her and Danny. "Obvious blunt force trauma to the head," she observed.

Danny grinned. "Easy, Brooklyn. You walked out on us a long time ago, remember?"

Sam smiled and stood up.

"Nice hair, by the way." Danny complimented, checking out her new extremely short pixie like 'do. Spiky at the top and smooth on the sides. "Suits ya."

"My husband disagrees with you. He thinks I look like a boy."

"Sam, there is no way in hell you could ever look like a boy. You guys still comin' to Mac's thing tonight?"

She nodded. "It'll be hell on earth getting six kids ready and out the door, but we'll manage. And God forbid Kieran goes more than a twelve hours without seeing his girlfriend. He'll make sure we get there."

Carmen grinned. "Addie does nothing but talk about him. Must be the dark hair and the blue eyes that just does her in."

"I know the feeling." Sam said. "It's what hooked me."

It was hard to believe, that despite the nightmare of a pregnancy Sam had endured with Kieran, that she and Flack would go on to have five more kids. The pregnancy after Kieran had resulted in triplets. Two girls and a boy. Reghan, Alannah and Declan. After their birth at thirty four weeks, they spent two months in the NICU. All had been less than three pounds at birth but had been strong and healthy.

During Declan's first few days of life, a paediatrician had noticed a few things, appearance wise, that didn't seem quite right about the fragile infant. A blood test was ordered a karyotype done to study the baby's chromosomes. Three days later, his parents had received a clear cut diagnosis. Trisomy 21. Down Syndrome. Everyone had been shocked. But no one as much as Sam and Flack.

Nothing had been spotted in maternal blood work or ultrasounds that suggested there was a problem. It had been a harsh blow and a long, long road to acceptance. Declan was doing very well. He'd had surgery at four months to correct a heart defect and had no health problems save for low thyroid that was treated with daily medication. He was considered high functioning and at thirteen, was developed, in most areas, at an eight year old level. His speech and always been a struggle. Mostly with intelligibility. Sam and Flack had learned baby sign to help their son communicate better and they'd come to be able to understand him when most others couldn't.

Declan was a blessing to all of their lives. He was bright and energetic and lovable and had touched everyone. And Danny had found that he, and the others, were learning more from Declan than the child was learning from them. He'd taught them that human life was precious and all people, regardless of abilities or lack there of, deserved to be loved and treated with dignity and respect.

Mikayla arrived three years after the triplets. And than along came Liam, the baby. After that, both Sam and Flack had said enough was enough and she had had her tubes tied. It was a massive family. Most never imagined Flack with one kid, let alone six. But there was a lot of love in the Flack house.

"How's D doing?" Danny asked, grabbing a bottle of water he'd packed in his kit and cracking it open. He took a large gulp. It wasn't as cold as he would have liked it, but it was better than nothing. "Flack was telling me yesterday morning that D had some test at the cardiologist."

"Just a yearly check up." Sam replied, snapping her note book closed and slipping it into the pocket of her coat. "He wants to play floor hockey with a special needs program being run at the Y. We needed to have him looked at and get him a clean bill of health. He's doing great. Some things remain a daily struggle, but…" she shrugged. "We manage."

Danny nodded in understanding. "Well you and Flack do a hell of a job. I said that from day one after you guys first found out. I honestly don't think I could have done it."

"I know I couldn't have." Carmen spoke up. "And that's why you and Flack got him. God only gives these kids to special people and He only gives you what you can handle."

"It's been my motto for thirteen years." Sam sighed. "My saving grace. Other than you guys of course. And if we hadn't have had a strong marriage at that point….I don't know. I hate to think what would have happened to us. I better take off. I'm going to head out and have a word with the captain."

"He doesn't speak any English." Danny told her. "A department interpreter is with him and Santucci."

"Thanks for the brief, guys. Let me know if you find anything else."

"You'll be the last person we call." Danny assured her.

She grinned over her shoulder, than disappeared out the door.

* * *

It was shortly before ten a.m. when Flack pulled into terminal seven of the New York and New Jersey Port Authority. He parked his unmarked squad car alongside the looming cargo ship and just behind the DHS vehicles. He grumbled and muttered curse words at the sight of the navy blue GMC Denalis with the government logo on the front doors. Fucking feds, he thought, killing the ignition and unbuckling his seat belt. They were bastards to work with and almost impossible to work alongside of. They had precedence over the department and weren't afraid to take over. He was just glad the two departments' paths didn't cross that often. Especially when he happened to be married to a fucking Fed.

He climbed out of the car and pocketed his keys and journeyed over to the two uniforms guarding the entrance to the ship. One of them was a veteran. Sergeant Mike Nelligan. The other a fresh face rookie he'd never seen before.

"Inspector Flack." Nelligan greeted him.

Flack nodded in response. "You guys see the DHS people?" he asked. "Specifically the one that's in charge?"

Please tell me it's not her, he prayed. Their paths rarely crossed at work since she left the crime lab. And when DHS was called into a crime scene and he showed up to supervise everything, they always butted heads. But he had found that not working together on a routine basis had been a God send. Their marriage was closer and stronger. There was less conflict at home and he liked being able to walk into her office for a social call and not feel obligated to discuss cases.

"Up in the wheel house confiscating the captain's logs." the rookie told him. "And a whole bunch of other crap. It's a she. A hot little brunette…really short hair."

Jesus Christ, Flack thought in dismay. He had half a mind to tell the rookie to shove that last comment up his ass. Instead, he headed off to board the Anastasia Nicola.

And towards what he knew wouldn't be the most pleasant encounter between husband and wife.

* * *

Sam was busy instructing two of her team members to pack log books and records and various other files into large blue plastic tote boxes. She had just turned to pose a question to the NYPD interpreter, who was beside the burly, dishevelled captain who was restrained in cuffs and being guarded by a uniform. Rick Santucci, who'd become both a detective and Max's husband thirteen years ago, glanced over at the doorway as Flack entered and offered up a nod. The two DHS agents visibly blanched when they saw the familiar face that stepped into the room. Seeing that irritated look in his eyes.

Flack knew all of his wife's team members on a first name basis. And vice versa. They'd been at his house many a time when Sam held strategic planning sessions and even for casual dinners and barbecues and swimming in the summer time. He attended her office Christmas parties and was on friendly terms with all of her colleagues socially. But at work, Flack was strictly business. With both them and his wife.

"What you guys got in there?" he asked, glancing in the boxes. There were mounds of papers and files and computer hard drives and lap tops. "I want all of that put back. This is an NYPD crime scene."

"Your crime scene is in the cargo area of this ship." Sam informed him, quickly coming to the aid of her agents. A leather bound business ledger in one hand, evidence baggy in the other. "Homeland Security has seized this vessel and the NYPD has been served notice to keep to said crime scene. Anything outside of it belongs to DHS."

"You people can't just come in here and take over," Flack told her.

"We're the United States Federal Government." Sam reminded him, dropping the ledger into one of the boxes. "So yes, we can."

She nodded to the two agents, giving them the go ahead to leave.

"What about that bag in your hand?" Flack asked. "Which, just by looking at it, looks oddly enough like crime scene evidence."

"It's a passport." she informed him. "And therefore, custody of U.S. Customs. So it's my evidence."

"And that white powdery substance on it looks a lot like coke, which makes it my evidence. So hand it over."

"Now that it's in my custody, it is property of the United States government." Sam remained firm. "If you and the NYPD want it, than you'll have to subpoena me for it."

Flack smirked.

Santucci, uncomfortable witnessing the show down between husband and wife, cleared his throat noisily.

"Gentlemen," Sam bid farewell, casting glances at the detective and the interpreter and the uniforms before turning back to Flack. "Always a pleasure, Inspector." she said, stepping past her husband and brushing against him in the process.

He watched her go. Than looked at Santucci who just shrugged.

The uni guarding the ship's captain also watched the tiny brunette as she strode confidently past the window.

"That is one raging bitch." the young man commented.

"That, kid, is my wife." Flack said.

He didn't give the shell shocked officer a chance to respond before heading from the wheel house and following the path his wife had just taken.

* * *

Three hours later, Flack stepped off the elevator at 3553 Broadway and onto the twenty second floor. It was a remarkable difference from the hustle and the bustle of the crime lab. The halls here were devoid of activity and the only sounds were that of his shoes on the highly polished tiles and the distant ringing of telephones. Everything was white. The flooring, the walls, the high ceilings. The only splash of colouring was the blue lettering on a simple sign that read DHS and had an arrow pointing to the left.

That was the direction that he went in. Towards the massive glass sliding doors with DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY CUSTOMS AND IMMIGRATION scrawled across them. He showed his badge to the armed guard that was posted by the entrance and had to secure his weapon before he was allowed to go any further. Flack was used to the drill. It had become second nature to him and no longer irritated the crap out of him like it had the first couple of dozen times.

He headed for the receptionist. A bubbly, talkative young woman named Beth. Tall and shapely with rod straight black hair and stormy grey eyes, she was born and raised in the Bronx and possessed an accent that could rival Sam's Brooklyn one any day. Beth had joined the department a little over a year ago and had become a regular face around the Flack household, along with her boyfriend Trevor, a detective working out of the 112 in Staten Island.

"Good afternoon, Inspector." Beth greeted cheerfully. "How's life keeping ya?"

"Not bad. You? How's it going with Trevor?"

She snorted. "Can you believe the shmuck? Guess what he bought me for our year anniversary. Just take a wild guess."

"I don't know. Clothes? Perfume? Jewellery?"

"I wish. Seasons tickets to the Mets. Can you honestly believe that? I hate baseball! I have just enough mind to dump his sorry ass."

"You do that and I just might hook up with him." Flack teased. "I wish my wife would buy me Mets season tickets. Half the time she barely lets me watch them on television. Lucky she doesn't mess with my Rangers. 'Cause that's grounds for a divorce."

"Men." Beth huffed.

"Speaking of the love of my life…is she in?"

"Down in her office. I'll let her know you're here."

Flack printed and signed his name to the visitors log and journeyed down the carpeted hallway to his left. She had a spacious corner office with a hell of a view of the city that was even more remarkable when the sun was going down or the surrounding buildings were lit up for the night.

Sam was at her desk. Hanging up the phone as he sauntered in. She offered a smile and picked up a bottle of vitamin water resting beside her and took a sip.

"You here with that subpoena?" she asked.

"That's behind me." Flack replied, holding up the beverage carry tray and the large paper bag in his hands.

"A peace offering, huh?" she asked with a grin.

"I brought you some lunch. Us, some lunch, actually."

Flack walked over to the glass coffee table in the middle of the room and sat the drinks and the bag down on it before shrugging out of his suit jacket and tossing it on one of the light beige couches that sat on either side of the table. He unbuttoned the cuffs on his shirt and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows.

Sam got up from her chair and slipped out from behind her desk. Joining him as he set to work unpacking their meal. "Thai food." she said with an impressed, appreciative nod. "And from the Lemongrass Grill nonetheless."

"It's one of your favourites." he reasoned.

"So we're friends again?" she asked.

"There was never a time we weren't." Flack responded, bending down to give her a soft kiss. Short and sweet. "Friends, lovers…I've always wanted to bend you over your desk and…"

"You're a dirty man, Don." she told him, taking a seat on one of the couches.

He took a seat beside her and opened the food containers. They sat far enough apart to keep the professionalism between them, but close enough that part of their bodies still managed to make, and maintain contact. Neither of them mentioned the case. Instead, seizing the opportunity to spend their lunch break just spending some quality time together. To talk about normal, every day things. To just be in the close proximity of each other and not discuss work.

* * *

"So you'll be able to get home in time to meet the kids?" she asked, digging into her favourite papaya and mango salad.

"I'm leaving the office at three thirty." he replied. "I should be home no later than quarter after four. So the little bastards won't be alone for too long." he popped a forkful of spicy fried pork and white rice into his mouth. "You gonna be really late? 'Cause we got that thing for Mac to go to."

"I should be home no later than five. By the time I brief the agent and the team relieving us at three thirty, I should be walking out the door by quarter after four, four thirty. You'll survive? Being alone with all six?"

It wasn't often he was home alone with all of his kids. But he'd always been a natural as a father and hadn't had any massive difficulties keeping control of the brood when he did find himself watching all of them. And with Kieran being fifteen, he was old enough and somewhat responsible enough to keep an eye on things. And he was aggressive and assertive when need be. Like his father from head to toe.

"I think I'll manage." Flack told he. "We're lucky, you know. Kieran's a huge help usually and Alannah and Reghan can be responsible when they feel like it."

"When," Sam stressed with a laugh. "That's the perfect word. And you're right. Kieran is for the most part, an asset."

"Kid needs to get a job." Flack said.

"He's fifteen years old. Just turned fifteen. Why does he need a job?"

"Because he's eating us out of house and home and his clothes and sports stuff is damn expensive. Not to mention every time he takes Addie out we have to give him money for it. And he doesn't just take her to the movies and fast food. He's taking her to expensive places to eat and to the mega-plex that costs nearly twenty bucks a person just go get in. And never mind all the times he buys her flowers and gifts. That's all coming out of our pocket. Not his."

"And where's he going to get a job to support his lifestyle? All he can get is something minimum wage and he couldn't afford to buy his own clothes or have a social life."

"Than he wears less expensive clothes and doesn't have a social life. He's fifteen. Why does he have a girlfriend anyway? He needs to be concentrating on school and hockey. Not making out with girls. I'm telling ya, the next time I walk into the basement and find him and Addie nearly naked, I am calling her father to come and get her and Kieran's being locked in his room for a month."

"They weren't doing anything. They had all their clothes on. You're over reacting."

"Sam, he had his hand down her pants. You weren't the one that walked in on them. Imagine what the hell would have gone on if they'd been home alone."

"Don, if they aren't doing it in the house, they'll be out somewhere in public trying to do it. And the last thing I think you want is a call that your son was picked out for public indecency in Central Park."

"Last thing I want is my son having sex." Flack said.

Sam sighed and arched an eyebrow.

"What?" he asked. "What's that sigh and that look for?"

"Nothing. I just think it's time you had a discussion with your son about condoms."

"Why? He's fifteen. He shouldn't be doing anything that requires a condom at fifteen."

"Kids are doing things that require them at an even younger age." Sam informed him. "And if you walked in on something like that, you can bet there's more going on behind our backs. And if it hasn't happened yet, it will soon. Don't you think it's a good idea to talk to him before that happens?"

"He's fifteen!" Flack argued. "That should be the last thing on his mind. I don't care if kids are having sex at eleven, twelve. I've heard the stories about these pre-teen engaging in oral and what not in school bathrooms. But that's other peoples' kids. Not ours."

Sam calmly bit into a piece of mango. "How old were you when you first had sex?" she asked.

"You know the answer to that."

"Humour me. How old, Don?"

"I don't know. Fourteen, almost fifteen."

She grabbed a napkin and wiped her mouth. "Talk to your son." she said.

"Fine…fine…" he grumbled. "I'll talk to him. But when I'm ready to."

"That's all I ask." she said.

"And I still think he needs a damn job. I was a caddy at the golf course in Long Island and my old man would either drive me there or I had to take the subway. And I had my first real job at fifteen."

"You flipped burgers at McDonalds." Sam reminded him.

"Still a job. You worked at Dunkin Donuts when you were fifteen, sixteen. We both had to chip in around the house money wise at that age and buy our own clothes and pay for our own fun. He's no different."

"Something else you can bring up during your talk. And I thought you were hell bent on him to keep up his schooling and his hockey. How's he going to do that if he's working too?"

"He'll manage. Guess he'll just have to stop making out with his girl all the time."

Sam smirked. "Like father, like son." she said and swallowed some water.

"I'm forty-five years old. There's a huge difference in what's appropriate for him and what's appropriate for me." Flack reasoned.

Sam held her hands up in surrender, "And when you get home, please don't forget to give Declan his thyroid meds and let him help you take the dogs for their walk."

"Samantha…how long have I been giving him his meds? Since he was six months old. I know what I am doing. I have it all under control."

She smiled. And thought about those dark, desolate days following Declan's diagnosis when she feel into a deep, impenetrable depression. Regardless of vowing that you'd accept your baby despite whatever problems may occur, the reality that something had happened, something that was life altering and permanent, had hit them both like a ton of bricks. Because they had never expected it **to **happen. That was something that happened to other families. Complete strangers. And when it was brought home, it was devastating. But although he'd been struggling and hurting himself, he had taken time off of work to take care of two month old triplets and a toddler son and a wife who couldn't, and wouldn't, get out of bed. Thankfully they had family and friends to lend a hand.

He'd never judged her or called her crazy. Instead he'd called in Gus who made a phone call to a colleague of hers. An excellent psychiatrist, who, after rounds of therapy and countless prescriptions for anti-depressants, she'd finally shaken the mood and accepted her son. That didn't mean there weren't hard days. Even thirteen years later she'd lie in bed some nights and think 'Holy shit, he has Down Syndrome' and burst into tears. And her husband would hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay.

It was situations that revolved around the child that made it hard to cope some days. Both parents struggled with it but Flack was better at both hiding how he felt for the sake of his family, and turning things into something more positive. But it wasn't easy to hear and see Declan come home from school bawling because some asshole kid had picked on him. It crushed them when he stopped being invited to birthday parties for classmates because kids who once been his friends now didn't want 'that retarded kid' around them. Those closest to their family remained Declan's truest friends.

But no one was a true and loyal as his older brother. When Declan first started at the same high school, Kieran would constantly wind up in the principal's office and his parents called in to deal with the fact that their oldest child had seriously busted up a senior student that had picked on his brother. Siblings picked on and tormented each other all the time. But pity on the outsider who did it.

"You made sure that you have Saturday off to coach Kieran's hockey game?" Sam asked, sipping vitamin water. "It's their first play off game and you've missed about five coaching duties over the regular season."

Flack nodded. "Scagnetti said to go ahead and take it off. Or should I be calling him Chief Scagnetti."

After nearly three and a half decades toiling for the NYPD and slowly climbing the ranks, their good friend had been named Chief of Detectives three years ago. Five days later, Flack had been passed the exam and been promoted to inspector.

"I never thought I'd see the day that he was chief of detectives." Sam said, shaking her head. "Or that you were an inspector or Mac was commissioner or Tim Speedle was running the crime lab."

"Lots of changes in the past several years." Flack said. "I mean, if someone had have told me back when that you would end up a Fed, I would have said they were crazy. And that I'd still be married to you after you became one? Insane."

"Let it go, Don." she laughed. "Just let it go and live with it."

"Can't believe you busting my balls at that scene today." he shook his head in both amusement and disbelief.

"I was merely asserting my authority over you."

Flack laughed. "Asserting your authority? How about you assert your authority over me later tonight when all the kids are in bed. Because that I would die for."

"We'll see." Sam said. "Maybe if you're a really good boy for the rest of the day."

"I was a really good boy at six in the morning," he said with a smirk. He ran a hand over her recently shorn hair and down to the small of her back.

When she'd walked in the house yesterday with the new style, he'd nearly had a heart attack. Where'd his wife go? He was not impressed. Even the kids had looked at her like she was insane. Until Declan put his arms around her, and announced, in his 'mouth full of cotton' way of speaking and his slight stutter, "You look pwetty anyway, mommy."

"I know," Sam sighed. "You hate my hair."

"It's growing on me. It's just different. Way different. Why so short?"

"I'm forty-seven years old, Don. It was time for a change. Now if only I could do something to my body to make that look different."

"Nothing wrong with your body." he told her. "I think you're hot."

"My hips are wider. My boobs are bigger and don't understand the meaning of the word gravity sometimes. And I never got rid of the stretch marks from having babies."

"You've had six kids," he pointed out. "Three of them at once. And if you ask me, you look amazing. You know damn well you don't look forty-seven. You barely look out of your mid thirties. Me, on the other hand….I look older than you."

She reached out and combed her fingers through his short hair. "Why? Because you're completely grey now? I think it's sexy. Very Richard Gere in Pretty Woman."

"Yeah?" he grinned. "How sexy do you find it? Will you show me later?"

"Like I said. If you're a really good boy…"

He leaned sideways and kissed her. A long, gentle kiss. Nothing scandalous or inappropriate. Just something simple and loving.

"Agent Flack…" a voice said from behind them in the doorway. "I just had a few…"

There was a slight commotion as a woman gasped in surprise and files and papers fluttered to the floor. Bringing an abrupt end to the kiss.

They looked over. A young, red faced Asian woman barely out of college that Flack recognized that day from the wheel house stood in the doorway. Her hand to her chest and her eyes wide in shock at what she'd witness.

"Oh my God…." she stammered. "I am so sorry….I had no idea that…"

"It's okay," Sam assured her. "I was just on my lunch break."

"If I had have known…oh my God…this is embarrassing. I just assumed that when you said you were married and I saw pictures of all your kids that you were happily married and.."

Sam smirked, realizing that her new agent had come to the assumption that because she'd never seen her supervisor's husband and had met Flack as strictly an NYPD inspector hours before, that her boss was having an affair.

"Gwen," she said in a gentle voice as she stood up and face the door. "Come in for a second."

"I don't want to interrupt. I've interrupted enough and…"

"Please, just come in." Sam said, and smiled.

The flustered young woman hurriedly gathered her papers up and cautiously and nervously approached.

"Don, this is my new employee, Gwen Nicado." Sam introduced. "She started this morning."

Flack offered his hand. "Nice to meet you," he said.

"Uh….likewise, sir. I saw you, on the ship. Should I call you sir or inspector or…."

"Just call me Flack." he said. "At least away from business."

She blinked at the shared last name between the handsome middle aged man and her boss.

"Gwen, this is NYPD Inspector Don Flack," Sam said. "My husband."

Gwen blushed furiously. "I am so, so sorry," she clamped a hand over her mouth. "I just assumed when I saw the two of you that…and I'd seen you this morning but I've never seen the husband and…I am so embarrassed."

"It's an easy mistake to make." Sam assured her. "You had something to ask me?"

"I just had a few questions about policies and procedures regarding what happened this morning. But if you're on you're lunch break…."

"It's okay," Flack said, gathering up the trash from the coffee table and tossing it into the waste basket by Sam's desk. "I gotta head out anyway. I have a meeting with the Chief of Detectives and the soon to be ex- Commissioner at two thirty. Than shit loads of paper work to finish up before I can leave the office."

"Tell Scagnetti and Mac I said hello." Sam said.

"I will," he laid a hand on the small of her back and gave her a small kiss in farewell. "It was nice meeting you, Gwen. Good luck. My wife can be a real dragon lady."

"Nice meeting you as well," the young woman said, smiling as he headed for the door. "Any advice on how to deal with her?" she inquired jokingly.

Flack paused in the doorway and thought about it. Than smiled broadly. "Yeah," he said with a nod. "Lots of tranquillizers. For her and you."

"You're very funny, my dear." Sam laughed.

"It's worked for me for the last fifteen years," he joked, winking at her before stepping out the door and disappearing down the hall.

"So you had some questions to ask me?" Sam asked her employee. Snapping the young woman out of the daze she'd gotten herself into. Interrupting her from staring at the now empty doorway.

"Actually, I only have one now," Gwen replied, looking at her boss.

Sam arched an eyebrow at the enthusiasm in the younger woman's voice and eyes. "What's that?"

"Does your husband have a younger brother?"

* * *

It was a few minutes past four thirty when Flack pulled the Escalade into the double driveway of the five bedroom, brick and aluminum siding back-split house in Flushing, Queens. When Liam was born, they realized the time had come that they'd outgrown their old home a mere fifteen minutes from where they now resided. When Sarge had died, he'd left both of his children huge chunks of an estate no one had ever expected to be as massive as it was. Combined with both of their salaries -Sam with DHS and Flack as a captain at that time- and the money they made off the sale of their old house, they had been able to purchase something larger in a more affluent community.

Alannah and Reghan still had to share a room much to their dismay. They were complete opposites and fought constantly. Alannah was the tomboy. She played every sport she could get her hands on (and that her parents allowed) and preferred to dress in athletic attire and wear runners and baseball caps as opposed to her sister's penchant for anything pink, purple or frilly. She snubbed her nose at the thought of skirts or makeup. Reghan on the other hand, couldn't wait to get her hands onto some blush and lipstick, although her father had caught her once coming into the house with it still on. She had 'borrowed' some of her mother's and taken it to school and applied it there. Only she wasn't expecting her father to be home early from work. From that day on, no makeup until sixteen. At the earliest.

Both girls were tall and willowy and had rod straight dark hair that fell at the small of their backs and big blue eyes. All the kids looked like their father save for the freckles on all their noses. Liam was the runt of the litter, as Flack fondly referred to him as. He was petite like his mother and had her hair and her eyes and her smile. Mikayla had inherited her Uncle Adam's unruly, thick curls. Declan, despite the physical characteristics that accompanied the Down Syndrome, still looked and acted like his father.

And than there was Kieran. All six feet and two hundred pounds of him. The kid was fifteen and built like a brick shit house. Broad shoulders and powerful arms and legs and big feet. Last time Flack had taken the kid for shoes, Kieran had been a size fourteen. The sales clerk had said that if those feet got any bigger they'd be visiting a speciality store or getting the kid's shoes made.

Right now, the main source of contention with Kieran was his hair. Both mother and father had been on his ass to get a hair cut for the past six months. It was thick and wavy and hung to his shoulders. It reminded Flack of the way that country star Keith Urban, who been popular fifteen years ago, had worn his hair. It also reminded Flack of how he wore his hair long before he ever met Sam.

The front yard was littered with mountain bikes and rollerblades and whatever else crap the kids had managed to drag out in the past hour they'd been home.

Kieran, hearing the sound of a car in the driveway, appeared at the screen door, still possessing all his hair. A can of coke in one hand and the cordless phone in the other. A backwards ball cap on his head and wearing a hideous pair of blue and white surfing shorts and a ratty old t-shirt.

"Dad's home!" he yelled over his shoulder, his deep voice booming over the screaming and carrying on going on behind him. "Hey! Shut up and be good! Dad's home and he's gonna come in and go all cop on ya and kick all your asses!"

Flack had long ago realized that if ass was the worst word Kieran said in the house, they were lucky. Besides, he heard the mouth the kid had on him on the ice. And it wasn't pretty.

Kieran had to jump out of the way to avoid both Liam and the two dogs that now came hurtling out the door and down the front steps. Maximus was a massive German Sheppard just heading into his senior years. A retired police dog, he was loving and affectionate with the kids. Cujo was the newest member of the family. A tiny white haired Chihuahua that Sam just could not resist. Slippers the cat had succumbed to old age several months before. She'd been a damn good pet and Flack had cried when he found her, curled up, stone dead at the foot of their bed.

"Daddy!" Liam cried, tossing himself at his father's legs as the dogs barked and jumped excitedly.

Flack sat his briefcase down on the walk and effortlessly scooped his youngest into his arms.

"Hi, daddy!" Liam, still in his navy blue pants and white polo shirt that served as his school uniform, chirped and pressed a noisy kiss to his father's cheek.

"Hey, buddy. You being good for your brother?"

"No." Kieran responded, setting the can of pop on the porch before journeying bare foot down the steps to reign in the dogs.

"Whose on the phone?" Flack asked, nodding to the cordless in his oldest son's hand.

"Uncle Tim."

"Bull. Maybe the call's coming from his house. It's more like Addie. Didn't you just say goodbye to her when you walked her home from school an hour ago?"

"She called to ask what time we were going to be there at. We just got to talking."

"You start your homework?"

"I haven't had time, dad. I've been watching the damn wild natives and doing up the dishes like mommy asked me to do when I got home."

"Well how about you tell Addie you'll see her tonight and go in and start on your homework. You've got some heavy duty projects due soon don't you? Essays and crap like that?"

"I'm almost done my rough draft for my biology essay but I need Uncle Shel to look it over. And I've got a pretty good idea where I'm going with French and my English papers."

"What about math?"

Kieran shrugged. "Math is in the shitter just like it was when you asked me about it yesterday."

"Hang up the phone and go inside and do your homework." Flack ordered. "Before I hang that phone up and take you in there and wash your mouth out. Than the next time you and Addie are playing tonsil hockey, she'll wonder why you taste like Palmolive dish detergent."

Kieran frowned. "I gotta go," he grumbled into the phone. "The inspector is home and on the war path."

"Kieran," Flack's tone was serious as was his face. "Now."

The fifteen year old hung up promptly and handed the cordless to his father.

"And take the dogs and put them out back until Declan and I get out to walk them. Can you handle that?"

"Thought you wanted me to start my homework?" Kieran asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Kieran." Flack raised both eyebrows and glared at his son.

He knew better than to get too smart with father. Admitting defeat, he scooped up Cujo and tucked him under his arm and grabbed Maximus by the collar and tugged him towards the house.

Flack sighed and turned his attention to his youngest. "How was school?" he asked, crouching to pick up his brief case before heading up the stairs.

"Okay. It was fun." Liam replied.

"What did you do?" he asked, yanking the screen door open and stepping inside the foyer.

"Same crap, different day." Liam replied.

Flack bit his lip to keep from laughing and shook his head. "What did you do?" he repeated.

"You know, we read some and worked on math and wrote some stories and had a spelling test. I got seven out of ten."

"That's good." Flack said, toeing off his shoes. "You'll have to tell your mom when she gets home. Where's your sisters and your brother?"

Liam shrugged.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"Mikayla is in the front room playin' with Declan and Reghan and Alannah are upstairs fighting."

"About?"

Liam shrugged.

Flack sat his son on the ground and sat his briefcase by the door and dropped his keys and the cordless on the hall table.

"Can I have a snack and a drink, daddy?" Liam asked hopefully.

"Sure. A drinking box and one of those fruit roll up things. No pop and no chocolate. Okay?"

"Okay." Liam agreed with a defeated sigh and ran off.

Flack unbuttoned his collar and loosened his tie. He wasn't two feet into the living room when he heard the commotion upstairs. The slamming of doors and the stomping of feet down the hardwood floor and the very angry voices of two thirteen year old girls.

"What the hell is going on up there!" he shouted up the stairs.

"Reghan's thieving again, dad!" Alannah called back.

"I am not a thief!" Reghan responded.

There was a loud thump. Followed by a crash.

"Look what you did! You broke mom's vase!" Reghan screeched at her sister.

"You broke it, you liar!"

"I'm not a liar, you bitch!"

Flack took the stairs two at a time and found his daughters embroiled in an all out hair pulling, nail scratching, biting fight in the middle of the upstairs hallway.

"What in the hell is wrong with you two?" he bellowed, grabbing Reghan by the back of her shirt and lifting her off of her prone sister. "Are you two insane? What is so wrong that you two are up here killing each other?"

"She took my sweater!" Alannah pointed an accusing finger at her minutes older sister.

"All this is over a sweater?" Flack shook his head. "Bites and scratches and chunks of hair ripped out over a sweater!?"

"She went into my closet and…"

"You know what?" Flack interrupted his daughter gruffly. "I don't wanna hear it! Alannah get in your room and…"

"But dad, she…"

"I don't wanna hear it! Get in there and clean yourself up! Reghan, go chill out in mom and mine's room and wash your face and clean yourself up!"

"But, dad…." Alannah wailed.

"Go! Now! And don't come out until your mom gets home. Either of you."

"Hope your happy." Alannah huffed at her sister and turned on her heel and stomped off to her room.

"It's all your fault you crazy…."

"Enough!" Flack roared. "Just both of ya get the hell into separate rooms and stay there!"

Fuming, both girls took off down the hall and slammed the doors behind them. Leaving their furious father standing in the middle of the hallway.

Wondering just how in the hell he'd found himself in a house like that.

And knowing he wouldn't give up his kids or the craziness that came with them for anything in the world.

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I love hearing from all of you so don't be shy and drop me a line!**


	9. La Familia

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND ALL THE FLACK KIDS**

**A/N: I HAVE DECIDED TO DO ANOTHER FUTURE CHAP FOR ALL OF THOSE WHO REQUESTED MORE OF THE KIDS! ENJOY!**

**This chapter goes out to laurzz. I've brought someone back permanently just for you! You'll just have to be patient until the end! smiles**

**La familia**

"I learned how to write it, when I first started school  
Some bully didn't like it, said it didn't sound too cool  
So I had to hit him, and all I said when the blood came  
It's my last name  
Grandpa took it off to Europe,  
to fight the Germans in the war  
It came back on some dog tags,  
nobody wears no more  
It's written on a headstone, in the field where he was slain  
It's my last name  
Passed down from generations, too far back to trace  
I can see all my relations, when I look into my face  
May never make it famous, but I'll never bring it shame  
It's my last name  
Daddy always told me, far back as I recall  
Son you're part of something, you represent us all  
So keep it how you got it, as solid as it came  
It's my last name."  
-My Last Name, Dierks Bentley

* * *

A quicker and smoother than usual staff meeting and less traffic on both the FDR and Queensboro Bridge saw Samantha home in a record setting half an hour. The journey over the bridge was the one and only gripe she had about living in Queens. Usually the traffic was bumper to bumper and patience among other drivers on short supply. Nerves were frayed and tempers sizzling as people made their way home after long stressful days. There'd been many a time she'd found herself stuck in traffic for a good hour, sometimes more, her head pounding and her knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel tightly out of frustration and irritation. Thinking about how much easier on the nerves it would have been to just live in lower Manhattan.

It was a cost and space issue that had sent them looking for places to live in other boroughs. Staying in a two bedroom apartment with four kids had been out of the question. The moment that doctor had pointed out three separate heartbeats on the ultrasound the decision had been made. They had to move. There were no ifs, ands or buts about it. The first thing they did, after picking themselves off the floor at the news they were having triplets, was start looking in the paper and on line for a house that they could afford. They hadn't even bothered looking in Manhattan. Prices were outrageous and even with the money from the sale of the house in Arizona and small loans from the bank and their respective set parents, the most they could afford remotely close to work were two bedroom condos or small, cramped homes with no yard and barely an breathing space. Long Island had briefly been considered but neither liked the idea of a long commute. Sam had nixed Brooklyn before the name even escaped Flack's mouth. She had no desire to move back to the place she had been born and raised in for most of her life.

It had come down between the Bronx and Queens. Flack, as much as he loved his parents and had patched things up with his old man, had no desire to live that close to his family. His mother had always been an outstanding help with Kieran, but he knew full well that if they were anywhere near his parents, his mom and dad would become regular fixtures around their home. And that he could just not deal with. The vision of the meddling mother from Everybody Loves Raymond played over and over again in his head. That was his mother. To a tee. She meant well and genuinely thought she was helping out with all her ideas and suggestions and constructive criticism on how Sam did or did not to the housework and her lack of ability on making creative meals every night. Most of the time the two women got along well and Sam shrugged off her mother in law's behaviour, but as the pregnancy progressed and Sam's hormones hit an all time high, emotions were running wild.

There had been nothing appealing in the Bronx. And when Sam got to her sixth month and it appeared that they'd be sharing their bedroom with triplets for God knows how long, they'd finally come to the collective decision that Queens was the way to go and that they'd find something close enough to his parents that they could visit regularly, but have to drive to do it. His mother had suggested looking at homes that were in the same neighbourhood. How nice it would be to be that close to her son and his family. No way in hell, Flack had thought.

Less than two months before the twins arrival, they finally found a four bedroom house that they could swing on the money they had. It was somewhat of a fixer upper, but there was enough space for all of them and a good size backyard for their children to play in when they got older and was in a quiet neighbourhood. The initial plan had been to stay there forever. It was close to the Catholic elementary and high school that they wanted their kids to attend and a decent drive to and from work. It was their first home and they were proud of it and prepared for the long haul.

Than Mikayla arrived. The fourth bedroom that once was an office now became a nursery and things slowly began to get crowded once again. And than, out of the blue, along came Liam. Liam had been a surprise. No one expected him. The decision to stop at five kids had been made. Five was a handful, and Declan and his needs made it feel as if there were six or seven kids in the house already. Plans were made for Flack to go in for vasectomy. He had his family and was happy with what he had and figured after the hell Sam had gone through bringing his children into the world, getting the snip was the least he could do. Only he got the flu a week before the operation and couldn't have it done and the next schedule appointment was for three months from that date. In the meantime, despite using the patch, Sam got pregnant. Surprise! The news had winded them both. They questioned the results, arguing with the doctor that there was no possible way that it could have happened while she was using birth control. And the doctor had reviewed Sam's file and gotten a sheepish look on her face and told them that the medication Sam had been taking for a bladder infection she'd contracted, had in fact, reacted with the birth control and made it completely ineffective.

So their unplanned baby arrived seven months later and Sam said to hell with that and had her tubes tied at the same time her c-section had been preformed. They weren't taking any more chances of adding to the often out of control brood. Thankfully, the increases in salary that came with their promotions and a savings account and the payout from Sarge's will had enabled them to buy a larger, nicer house in an even better neighbourhood. And everyone in the area knew the Flack kids. Unfortunately, it wasn't always because of how cute they were or the novelty of triplets. Most of the time it was because how loud and unruly and obnoxious the older ones could be. And because Kieran was popular with the girls even at an early age and there were always young females hanging around the house and irritated fathers coming to pick them up.

Sam checked the mailbox mounted by the front door and found it empty. Either there'd been nothing delivered, or someone had actually remembered to take the mail into the house already. There was a half empty can of Coke sitting on the top step and she sighed and picked it up and let herself in the house through the unlocked screen door. She dropped her keys onto the hall table with a clatter and slipped out of her shoes. The tv in the living room was on. She could hear the voices coming from characters from Bob the Builder and Liam's hyper chattering and Declan's slow, stuttering speech. There was no telling who was actually supervising who out of the pair. Declan was closer development and mentality wise to Liam than he was to Reghan and Alannah and even Mikayla. The two boys got along well and when Liam once asked why his brother was older than him but talked kind of funny and liked the same things he did, Sam and Flack had attempted to explain just what was wrong with Declan.

Liam had listened to the explanation with wide, interested eyes. His little brain processing the information as best as it could, than he'd smiled that dimply smile and shrugged.

"Oh well," he'd said. "Just means he's more special. 'Cause if he's got one more thing than everyone else than he's more special than we are."

Liam had never asked again. The explanation his parents gave was good enough for him and his brother was still his brother. Extra genetic material or not. The others accepted their brother and everything that came with him, but there was still that sibling jealousy. That Declan always seemed to get more attention than anyone else. Like all brothers and sisters they fought and called each other names. Kieran and Alannah worried about Delcan having to live with them when mom and dad were too old to care for him anymore. Reghan had said it was okay if he stayed with her, but pointed out, through research she did on the internet, that Declan might be able to live somewhat independently on his own someday. Mikayla and Liam were too young to concern themselves with such things.

"Hi, guys," she greeted the pair of boys camped out in front of the television, school books and various toys scattered around them. The volume up as high as they could possibly bear it. A necessity if you wanted to hear anything over the various music and stomping and yelling going on overhead.

The house was a mess. It was always a disaster zone and looked like a category five hurricane had blown through. Flack liked to call it organized clutter. Sam called it a pig sty. It didn't matter how many times you cleaned or dusted or vacuumed. With that many kids, it was impossible to keep the place tidy.

"Hi, mommy," Liam greeted, glancing over his shoulder but not bothering to tear himself away from his show.

"Hi, mom," Declan came over and circled her waist with his arms and rested his head against her chest.

He was affectionate and lovable to a fault. What was acceptable behaviour when he was younger had long ago became almost an embarrassment. He hugged and kissed and played with the hair of anyone he came in contact with. Parents and brothers and sisters and close friends were one thing. Strangers were another story. And the comments from people on the street that 'that's what Downs kids are like' had become annoying and repetitive. It was a stereotype and Declan had personality traits all his own. He was stubborn and humorous and bubbly. At home he was treated no differently than the others. He was expected to follow the same rules and his behaviour was kept in check. At first, they had been tempted to go softer and easier on him because of his disability. Feeling sorry for him for being different and having to struggle with things that came so easily to other kids.

They excessively spoiled him and never punished him. And he was smart enough to use it to his benefit and manipulate them. Until the developmental pedetrician had scolded them for being that way. Reminding that the Down Syndrome was just part of him. Not all of him. He was a child first and he had to be treated as such. No excuses.

"How was school?" she asked, running a hand over her son's smooth nearly black hair and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

She didn't mind the extra hugs and kisses. She wished her other kids would be more affectionate. Half the time they were mouthing off or rolling their eyes. Flack on the other hand, as much as he loved his son, just could not handle being hugged and kissed that much. Sometimes Sam wondered if Declan laid the affection on thick with his father because he knew it made dad somewhat uncomfortable and Declan enjoyed seeing the reaction he got.

People may have called the kid retarded, but he wasn't stupid.

"Okay," he replied, than went into a long winded, stammering and stuttering re-cap of his day. Most people couldn't understand half of what he said most days. Even those closest to them struggled and had to look for an explanation. Yet his parents and siblings got it. The majority of the time, anyway.

It took patience and a good attention span to carry on a conversation with Declan. You had to listen carefully and watch his hand movements. He'd never forgotten the majority of the baby signs he'd been taught and still used them to get his point across.

"How w-was your d-day, mom?" he asked at the end of his tale.

"It was long and boring. Did your dad give you your pill?"

Declan shook his head.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Didn't want it."

"You have to have it. Where's your dad now?"

Declan pointed to the ceiling and than followed close on his mother's heels as she headed into the kitchen.

Sam was thankful to see that the dishwasher had been emptied and the small pile of breakfast things washed and put away. There were school books and binders and pens and pencils and a lap top computer littering the table. She rinsed the Coke from the can she'd brought in and dropped the can into the recycling bin by the back door.

"Knock it off!" Flack's voice boomed from overhead.

"She won't leave my stuff alone, dad!" Alannah bellowed back.

"I told you two an hour ago to knock your crap off! One more time and you'll both be staying home and grounded for a week! Got it!?"

Sam sighed and got the bottle holding Declan's prescription from the cupboard above the sink.

"Fight," Delcan said a matter of factly, shaking his head in disapproval.

"Too much," Sam said and dumped a small pink pill into the palm of her hand.

"Dad," Delcan said, and tapped his mother on the shoulder to get her attention. When she looked over, he pretended to slap himself upside the head.

"You're right," Sam agreed. "He should smack them out."

Declan nodded enthusiastically.

She grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it halfway with some water from the tap and handed her son both the glass and the pill.

"Take it," she said.

He shook his head and clamped his mouth shut.

"Declan, I'm not fooling around. You need to take your meds. So either take them willingly or I get your dad to come down here and do it. And with the mood he's in right now, I don't think you want that."

That was a scenario that he knew would not go over very well. That dad wasn't one to be messed with when he was a foul mood. He reluctantly popped the pill into his mouth and gulped down the water. Than opened his mouth wide and moved his tongue around to prove to his mom that he had indeed swallowed it.

"Good?" he asked in a sarcastic tone that he'd inherited from his father.

"Good," she replied, than watched as he raced out of the kitchen.

Smart ass, she thought. You're your father's son through and through.

Once, when they were down at Coney Island for some family time, Sam and Flack had been sitting on the grass having lunch with their kids. Kieran had just turned four a couple of months before and the triplets were crowding three. Kieran and his sisters were running around causing havoc chasing seagulls while a still diaper wearing Declan stumbled along behind. He had just learned to walk on his own and was none too graceful on his feet. They'd gotten used to people staring by that time. Flack would always ask people what the hell they were looking at. Not like the kid had two heads or anything.

There'd been another family with small children picnicking nearby that stared and whispered constantly. They allowed their children to play with Kieran and the girls, but when they approached Declan, they hurriedly scooped their kids up. It tore Sam apart and she was near tears right there at Coney Island. And she recognized that stare. That 'I'm so glad my kid isn't like that stare'. It was becoming old hat even if it did irritate the shit out of them. At the end of the meal, the mother approached Flack and in all seriousness asked if Declan had Down Syndrome.

When he confirmed that his son did, the woman looked at him in utter amazement and said, "But he looks so much like you."

"Well who would he look like?" Flack had responded. "The cable man?"

"I mean that he has some of your features even though he has it."

It. That sounded like she was referring to some dreadful disease.

"He's got another forty six chromosomes that are perfectly fine," Flack told her. "So yeah, he has to look like either me or my wife. And you know, your kids could have played with him too. It's not contagious. He's not going to sneeze on them and they'll wake up tomorrow with Down Syndrome."

She left red faced and apologetic.

"Fucking morons," Flack had muttered to his wife when he caught up with his family.

Sam still laughed when she thought about it. And felt a surge of pride in her husband that he was able to just accept things the way they were. It was his blood and that was that. End of story. He'd defend the kid to the death if he had to.

* * *

The day's mail was sitting on the microwave. She scooped it up and flipped through the stack as she headed back through the living room and up the stairs to the hub of chaos and commotion. Loud music was blaring from Kieran's room. It all but shook the door and the walls and had to compete with the equally as ear popping music and squabbling coming from the Reghan and Alannah's room. The door to Mikayla's room was shut tight. The homemade NO BOYS ALLOWED (EXCEPT FOR MAYBE DADDY) sign on prominent display. The bathroom door was closed as well and the shower running.

Sam journeyed into the master bedroom, where her husband of fifteen years was working on his own lap top in the middle of the unmade bed in a pair of cargo pants and a t-shirt. Keeping one eye on the computer screen and another on the television in the corner that was tuned in to ESPN.

"We need a vacation," Sam said in way of greeting and plopped down onto the bed, laying her head on his shoulder.

"Your fucking kids are driving me nuts," Flack told her.

"So they're just my kids when they're being bad. I seem to remember you having an active and willing roll in the conceptions of all six. What's the deal with Alannah and Reghan?"

"They're fighting over a sweater. They were in all out cat fight when I got home. Over a sweater. Who fights over clothes?"

"Girls," Sam responded. "You can tell you're not home much. They fight like that all the time over stupid shit. Where's Kieran?"

"Showering. For like the third time since he got home from school. How often does that kid need to shower?"

"He likes to look and smell good for the girls. Remind you of anyone?"

Flack snorted.

"You've had a hell of time, haven't you." It was more a statement than a question.

"I get home and there's toys and crap everywhere. Inside and out. I just clean it up and they mess it up again. Reghan and Alannah are all but killing each other and Declan's giving me a hard time about everything and than Mikayla and Liam get into it because Liam was touching things in her room. And than, to top it all off, the dogs dug a hole under the fence in the backyard and Cujo squeezed through it and made a run for it. Kieran chased him for three blocks."

"And now you're hiding out and doing homework."

"Actually," he said with a grin "I am IM'ing with my mistress."

"She can have you. I'll even pack your bags and drop you off at her place."

"Please. You'd miss me too much," he declared and kissed the top of her head. "I'm working on some budget stuff Scagnetti asked me to go over."

"Are you getting a raise?" she asked hopefully.

"I wish. It's just departmental crap. Crime lab budget is being cut again."

"I am so glad I don't work there anymore," she said and yawned noisily. She sat up and flipped through the mail. "There's a letter from the school board," she told him. "How much to you want to bet Declan's EA funding got chopped again?"

"What the hell good is it anyway? The EA barely shows up and when she does she has three other more difficult kids to deal with. Kid already told us he spends most of his day sitting in the corner learning to print his name and string beads. I know you're all for this integration stuff, but what's the use when he's alone anyway? If he went to that school Hawkes suggested, he'd be with kids like him and learning a hell of a lot more."

"He'd be with just kids with disabilities," Sam said. "And we want him with all kids."

"He has five 'normal' siblings," Flack reminded her, making air quotes at the word normal. "He's around them all the time. He doesn't need to be around them at school too."

"Do you have the thirty grand a year it will take to send him to this other place?" Sam asked, tossing the mail onto the night stand, deciding to deal with the crap and bullshit and bills later. 'Cause if you do I'd like to know where you've been hiding it."

"We can find the money," Flack told her.

"We have six kids to feed and clothe," Sam reminded him. "He's doing fine where he is."

"He's thirteen and can't even read books meant for grade ones yet."

"We knew from the beginning that he may never read. Most are visual learners."

"He should know at thirteen how to read cat and dog and print his name and tie his shoes," Flack argued.

Sam sighed.

"What the hell have they been doing at that school? Shoving him in a closet and letting him fend for himself? Neither the EA or the teacher has done shit the entire year. I thought you filled out one of those IEP or whatever the hell they're called."

"Individualized education plan," Sam said. "And I did and I was assured it would be followed."

"Well guess what? It's not. 'Cause there's no difference now than there was in September when he started high school."

"He's learning, Don. Just not as quick as you want him to."

"Don't give me a lecture, Sam. I know he's never going to catch up to the other kids and be a college graduate. But I want more for him than to be stuck working at community living making plastic cutlery and putting together cardboard boxes. And don't tell me that you think that's good enough for him or I'll call you a damn liar."

"I want what's best for him," Sam said, leaning over and kissing her husband's cheek. "And he'll do the best that he can and make us proud no matter what he ends up doing when he's older."

"I know," Flack said with a sigh. "But you know what else I know? I know that every day for the last thirteen years I've cursed that fucking extra chromosome and wish I could take it out of him. Wave a fucking magic wand and make him like everyone else. And you know I love him Sam. To death. But sometimes…"

"It's okay to be angry," she told him. "You're always telling me that when I get down about it. And what's brought all this on? You're usually so upbeat and positive about things."

"This old fucking bitty when we took the dogs for a walk."

"What about her?"

"Delcan was walking ahead of me with Cujo and this old woman comes up to me and says what a lovely son you have. I've heard Mongoloid children are very sweet and affectionate."

Sam shuddered at the word. "And what did you say?"

"I said he is. But he's from the United States of America. Not Mongolia. That shut her up right fucking quick."

Sam couldn't help laugh. Imagining the look on the woman's face when those words came flying out her husband's mouth. He was very protect of Declan and became extremely defensive when anyone threatened or picked on his son.

"People like that piss me off," Flack said, angrily pounding at the keys on the lap top. "It's ignorant. This isn't the old days where these kids were sent to live in institutions and locked away like they were some shameful, horrid secret. There's nothing wrong with what he has. He didn't ask to be born like that. It just happened. And people need to just get their heads out of their asses about it. You'd think this day and age, they'd be more accepting."

"People **are** ignorant, Donnie. You can't change the world."

"Yeah, well all I know is that it makes me sick and there could be a lot worse things wrong with the kid than an extra chromosome."

Sam smiled and kissed his cheek once again. "I love you," she said. "And you're the best possible advocate our son could have."

"I should be going to that school and busting some heads."

"Think that will work? Knock out the head of the school board to get us better funding?"

"Worth a try," he said.

Sam grinned and slipped off the bed. "I'm going to get a shower and get ready," she said, shedding clothes on her way to the ensuite bathroom.

"Hey!" he called, before she could shut the door behind her.

She stuck her into the room.

"I don't know how you do it, Sam. All the kids and work. Especially Declan's stuff. I seriously don't know how you manage. But I admire you and I really appreciate everything you do for this family."

She smiled. "You're welcome," she said. "It's nice to hear that once in a while."

"I mean it. You've done a great job holding it all together. I know it's not easy. But I couldn't do it. An hour was enough for me. I see now why people say taking care of kids is a full time job in itself."

"Where's my pay cheque than?" she laughed, and went to close the door.

"Sam!"

She looked back out at him.

"I love you, too," he said.

She winked at him and disappeared into the bathroom.

* * *

Kieran was at the kitchen table, eating cold pizza while immersed in homework when his mother walked into the room. His hair was still damp from the shower and he was wearing excessively baggy black dress pants, an untucked and wrinkled baby blue dress shirt and a loose tie. Adidas running shoes completing his ensemble.

He glanced up as she entered. All his friends were constantly telling him how hot his mother was. A MILF they called her. He always called them sick bastards for thinking about his mother that way. This was the woman that carried him for nine months, and, according to the stories his grandmother told him, went through sheer and utter hell to bring him successfully into the world. And while he was the first to admit that his mother was a beautiful woman and that she was strong and feisty, the last thing he wanted to hear was his buddies talking about her in a derogatory way. It was his mom. And he respected her and loved her more than words.

"Kieran, seriously," Sam said, tightening the sash on her deep plum silk wrap dress. "Can you tuck your shirt in and get your father to show you how to do a tie up properly? And you have dress shoes in your closet."

"These shoes are more comfortable," he reasoned. "Besides, I don't want to dress old like dad. And he only dresses like that 'cause of his job. He's actually pretty cool when he's not playing cops and robbers."

"I'm sure your father will be thrilled to hear you call him old," Sam said. "And your hair…"

"Dad used to wear his hair like this when he was younger," Kieran pointed out.

"I know. I've seen the pictures, too. And your father looks much better with his hair really short and so would you."

He rolled his eyes. "The ladies like the way I look, mom," he told her.

She pressed a kiss to her son's cheek. "And pizza? We're going to be eating in less than an hour."

"I was hungry now. I'm a growing boy, mom. I have to keep on the weight for hockey. We're just getting into playoffs. That's a huge deal."

"How was school?" she asked.

Kieran shrugged his broad shoulders.

"What are you working on?"

"Chemistry. I hate it. I don't know why you and Uncle Peanut liked it so much. And I need to get Uncle Shell to look over my biology essay. Do you think he'd read it?"

"If you bring it along tonight, I am sure he'll take it home and look it over and get it back to me or your dad before you have to hand it in," Sam told him. She journeyed over to the sink. On a shelf above the sink were a pair of simple gold hoop earrings. She grabbed them and slipped them into her ears.

"And I need to take my game skates in to be sharpened and I need new shin pads. Can you take me on Friday? I need them for Saturday."

"I work on Friday I have that case to testify in on Monday and I need to go into the office to prepare. Ask your dad. I'm sure he'll pull himself out of the office long enough to take you."

"But both you and dad are coming right? To the game?"

Sam nodded. "Everyone is coming. Your brothers and sisters and Aunt Gus and Uncle Peanut and Uncle Tim and Aunt Carmen. I even think Papa Mac and Stella are going to try and make it."

"I know they're all coming. I mean you and dad. Are you both coming?"

"Have we ever missed any of your games?" she asked.

Kieran thought about it. "A couple of times. Mostly dad though."

"Well since you're dad's become inspector, he has a lot more responsibility within the department. But he's not going to miss an important game. Did you ask him?"

Kieran nodded. "He said he'll be there. I mean, he's supposed to be. He's the assistant coach."

"If he promised you, he'll be there. Is Addie coming?"

Kieran nodded and got up from the table with his dirty plate. He rinsed it at the sink and popped it into the dishwasher. "Of course she is," he said. "She is my girlfriend."

He opened the fridge and pulled out the milk container. Pretending he was going to take a drink straight from the jug, he watched and waited for his mother's reaction, his eyebrows raised.

Sam glanced over. "Kieran Shaun Donald Flack!" she scolded. "Don't even think about it! That is so gross!"

He chuckled. "Just playin' with ya, mom," he said and sitting the milk on the counter, got two glasses from the cupboard above her head. Pouring a drink for himself and another for her.

"Thank you," Sam said with a smile, watching as he returned to the table and settled back down with his homework.

Her first born was still her baby. Although she'd never tell him that. And he was growing into a fine young man. Even if he was a little shit from time to time. She thought of how much he looked like his father sitting there, brow furrowed in concentration, blue eyes riveted on his school work. Kieran was a self described brainer hiding in a jock's body. He pulled in nearly all straight As without trying too hard and had always been a bright, fast learner. But sports and his girlfriend were his two main loves. Much to his parents dismay.

"Can you go and help Declan get ready?" she asked.

"Do I have to? He's only going to fight with me. He only wants dad to help or Daria. His girlfriend."

"She's his special needs worker," Sam corrected her son.

"He's special alright," Kieran commented dryly.

Sam glared at him. "If your father hears that…"

"He'll smack me upside the head. I know, I know. He's daddy's favourite. You know I love Declan. He's just a pain in the ass."

"Kieran.."

"Butt. Pain in the butt. But than all the kids in this house are. Its why you and dad had me first. So I could set them all straight."

"We had you first because that's the way the cookie crumbled kid," Flack said, catching his son's comment as he journeyed into the kitchen. "And get a hair cut. And some clothes that fit."

"These are your clothes, dad," Kieran told him, standing up and gathering and tidying his school stuff. He picked up his empty milk glass and rinsed it at the sink and slipped it into the washer. "They just look better on me."

Flack frowned. "Than get your mother to take you to get your own clothes. You look like a bum. Especially with that hair. Tomorrow after school, you're getting it cut."

"Come on, dad. I'm like Samson. I need my long flowing locks to help me crush people on the ice. I get it cut and I might as well be figure skating out there."

"After school, I'm taking you for a hair cut," Flack informed him. "Even if I have to drag you there kicking and screaming and I have to hold you down."

Kieran clapped his father on the shoulder. A couple of more inches and twenty more pounds and they'd be the exact same size. "You're getting to old for that now, dad. It's why they made you an inspector."

Flack glared at his oldest. "Go upstairs and put on clothes that fit," he said.

"This look is cool," Kieran argued. "It's style."

"It's not going to be cool or stylish if you walk into Mac's party tonight with a tanned ass," Flack told him, a stern tone in his voice. "Don't tempt me, kid. Now go."

Kieran held his hands up in surrender. "By the way," he said to his mom and leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek. "You look really nice, mommy. Regardless of what dad says about your hair."

"That's how short you're getting it," Flack told him.

"I'll think about it," Kieran said, grabbing all of his books and binders and his lap top into his long, strong arms before heading from the kitchen and into the living room. "Come on, Declan. Let's go. Haul ass."

"No," came his brother's response.

"Yes. I'll help you get dressed."

"No," Declan remained firm. "Dad. Want dad."

"Dad's busy," Kieran told him.

"No he's not."

"Yeah, he is."

Sam and Flack listened in amusement as an argument ensued. Their sons battling back and forth for several minutes. No, he's not, yes, he is. Over and over again. Until finally Kieran had had enough and flicked off the television. Which sent his brother into a rage and the two of them became tousling and wrestling in the middle of the living room.

"Kieran will sit on him and crush him," Flack said, observing his children from the doorway.

Kieran finally got the upper hand and none to gently dragged his brother up the stairs.

* * *

"God give me strength," Sam sighed, as Flack rejoined her in the kitchen. "What is wrong with our children?"

"They all have the same mother," he reasoned, standing in front of her, an unspoken request to do his tie up for him. He'd been doing his own for years, but there was something sweet and romantic and loving about getting his wife to do it. "Like I was telling you earlier, I had to play referee between Alannah and Reghan. Over a sweater. A juicy sweater at that. What the hell is a juicy sweater?"

"Juicy Couture," Sam told him. "Designer. Stella bought them each one for Christmas."

"Those ugly knit things?"

Sam nodded. "Reghan has a pink one and Alannah's is purple. Which one were they fighting over?"

"All I know is that Reghan had on a purple sweater and Alannah and her were pummelling each other."

"And where's Reghan's sweater?" Sam asked, tightening the knot in his tie.

"I guess she left it at Carmen and Speed's. That last sleep over with Addie and Sophia. She hasn't gotten it back yet."

"And what was Mikayla's issue? I went in after my shower to say hi to her and she nearly bit my head off."

"Some boy at school that likes her friend instead of her," Flack told her. "Guy's a major prick if he doesn't like my daughter better. Look at her. She's gorgeous like her mom. He must have no taste. Probably is a huge asshole."

Sam grinned. "They're eleven years old, Don."

"Still. Another girl over her? My baby girl? Guy's a moron. His father's a lawyer. Defense attorney. No wonder he's such a creep."

"Yep," Sam said, nodding in agreement as she folded the collar of his shirt down. "That explains everything."

"She also was pissed 'cause Liam got in her room and was touching things. She's now demanding a lock on her door and her own phone line."

Sam laughed. "She can demand all she wants. It's never going to happen."

"You know what she told me? She told me I was too cop. You think so? That I'm too cop on them?"

"I love it when you go all cop on me," Sam said with a grin.

Flack smirked and kissed her quickly. "That's why we have six kids," he told her. "Because you like it too much."

He walked over to the fridge and opened it. Pulling out the milk container and three pieces of the cold pizza that were enclosed in sandwich bags.

Sam handed him a glass and wrinkled her nose as he dug into the pizza. "We're eating in less than an hour, Don," she told him.

"Yeah? Well I'm hungry now."

"Funny, your son said those exact words to me about fifteen minutes ago."

"Like father, like son," Flack reasoned. "Come on," he held the pizza up to her. "You know you want some."

"Eww…it has mushrooms and bacon and sausage on it. I think not. Gross."

"Says the woman who loves pineapple on pizza. Fruit does not belong on pizza. So what's the word on the case today? Anything?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," she said evasively and filled her milk glass.

"This is just me and you talking. A wife telling her husband about her day."

"It's an immigration issue. A huge one. I have over ninety refugees looking for asylum in the U.S. That's a whole lot of paper work. I don't know what the deal is with the captain and the crew. We have interrogators speaking to them tomorrow."

"Interrogators, huh? I love government interrogators. You guys gonna use cattle prods to get info from them or go hard core and go with Japanese water torture?"

"Sorry," she said. "We don't take interrogation lessons from anyone born with the last name Flack."

He smirked. "That's harsh," he said.

"All I know, is I have hours, if not days and weeks of paper work ahead of me trying to get these people into the country legally."

Flack shrugged. "Just send 'em all back to where they came from."

She slapped his shoulder. "And you call me harsh!"

"I am just joking, honey," he said.

"Sure you are."

"Maybe we can hire on or two illegals to take out the garbage and cut and water the lawn. Under the table of course."

Sam laughed. "Don, you're a moron."

"I know. I'm a moron and an asshole and an insensitive bastard and whatever other name you can come up with. But in the grand scheme of things, I'm your husband and you love me."

She smiled and he leaned over to kiss her softly.

* * *

"Must you?" Reghan asked in disgust, as she and Declan walked in and interrupted the moment. "Seriously, dad. Can't you leave mom alone for once?"

"If I did, none of you wonderful, well behaved children would be here," Flack responded dryly. "So you finally won the battle of the purple sweater, huh?"

"Alannah thinks she's all big and bad because she plays hockey and football and what not, but I can still kick her ass."

"Reghan…" Sam said with an exasperated sigh. "Watch your mouth please."

"Hey, dad," Declan said, wrapping an arm around his father's waist and leaning his head against Flack's arm.

"What's up, buddy?" Flack asked, handing him a piece of pizza and the remainder of his milk.

"Do I have to wear dis?" Declan inquired, holding up the end of his tie.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"Not good answer, dad."

"Because your mom said so," Flack told him, opening the cupboard by his head and taking down a curvy novelty straw that the speech therapist had given Declan on one of his many visits.

Drinking from a straw helped strengthen the weak muscles in his mouth and the hard, flat disk near the top of the straw worked as a barrier to encourage Declan to keep his tongue in his mouth instead of letting it hang into the glass. And in the end, all these little exercises would help improve his speech. So far, they were still waiting. Although many kids, disabled and non disable were a lot worse.

Flack dropped the straw into the milk. It was all old hat now.

"And mom the boss," Declan stated.

"Exactly," Flack agreed. "And she wants us guys to look good for Papa Mac's party."

"Why party?" Declan inquired, sipping his milk.

"Because Papa Mac is old and too tired to work and needs to be out out to pasture," Flack told him.

"Dad, you are so mean!" Reghan exclaimed, clearly disgusted at the comment. "Is Aiden going to be there tonight?" she asked curiously.

"He should be," Sam replied.

"Why?" Flack inquired.

"Just wondering," Reghan responded with a shrug and a dreamy sigh. "I mean, he is Kieran's best friend and all."

"Don't even think about it," her father warned.

"What?" she asked innocently, batting those long lashes inherited from her mother.

"You and Aiden Messer. Don't even think about it."

"Why? He's a nice guy. And he's really cute."

"First off, your thirteen. You're way too young to be interested in boys and you're not allowed to date until you're at least fifteen. And second, even if I was going to let you go out with a guy, he'd be the last on my list. Why can't you be into Eric or Tyler?"

Eric and Tyler Hawkes. Twelve and ten respectfully.

"Uh, hello, dad…Tyler is way too young. He's practically a baby. And Eric is too caught up on Tiana to notice anyone else. It's all those wild exotic curls and jade eyes she got from Aunt Stel. All the guys love her."

"What about Aaron Santucci?"

Reghan laughed. "He's cute and all, but I think he's more into Kieran than he is me."

Flack coughed on the remains of his pizza. "He's what now?"

"Into Kieran. I think he has a boy crush on him. Or he's just full out gay."

"Remind me to never let that kid sleep over here again," Flack told Sam, as he grabbed a paper towel to clean off the mess Declan was making of his face and hands.

"There's nothing wrong with being gay, dad," Reghan informed him. "It's perfectly acceptable. And people should be free to love whoever they choose."

"Well he can love whoever he wants," Flack said. "As long as it's not any of my sons."

"Don't be such a homophob, daddy. There is nothing wrong with it."

"You're right. There's not. And I'm not a homophob. I just don't want any of my kids being gay. Okay?"

"What if I was a lesbian?" his daughter challenged.

"Reghan, honestly," Sam said. "Why do you start these debates with your father?"

"It's not a debate, mom. It's just a question. And it's fun to see dad get all flustered. You know, how his ears go bright red and that vein in his neck looks like it's going to explode."

"Are you a lesbian?" Flack asked.

"Don!" Sam huffed and rolled her eyes. "Don't entertain her, okay?"

"What that word mom?" Declan asked.

"Don't worry about it," Sam replied. "Go downstairs and put some food and water in the dogs bowls. We have to get going soon."

"What it mean?" he insisted.

"It's when two girls are in love and have sex," Reghan informed him.

Declan scrunched up his forehead and his nose as he thought that over. "Sex?" he asked.

"What mom and dad are doing when their door is locked. And the reason why there's so many kids in this house."

"Mom?" Declan needed clarification.

"Go and find Kieran and get him to help you with the dogs and than tell him and the others it's time to go. Okay?"

Declan nodded and leaned into his father once more. "Dad?" he asked, rubbing Flack's back.

"What?"

"Thank you. For pizza. I love you, dad."

"I love you, too. Now listen to your mom and go and do your chores before we leave."

Declan hurried off, leaving Reghan alone with her furious, irritated parents.

* * *

"What the hell was that all about?" asked Flack.

"You guys can't shelter him from real life stuff 'cause he has Downs. He needs to know things. It's not like he's stupid. He's real slow and looks a bit different but who cares? Not his fault some damn extra chromosome attacked him when you guys made the three of us."

"Well thank you, Miss Know it All," Flack snapped. "Thanks for your little tutorial on your brother's disability. I had no idea what was wrong with him. We've only gone thirteen years dealing with it and getting him therapy and everything he needs."

"I am just saying that he needs to know this stuff," Reghan defended herself. "Especially when he gets a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend."

A disgusted look took over Flack's face. "For Christsakes," he grumbled.

"They have boyfriends and girlfriends, too. Some even get married. He deserves to have someone to love and to love him. It's normal dad. Don't be so anal."

"I am not anal," Flack argued. "I just don't like the idea of him, or any of my kids, having sex. All right?"

"Kieran has sex," Reghan informed her father. "I saw condoms in his room. Still in the box."

"What were you doing in his room?" Flack asked.

"Please, dad! He goes in my room all the time! Why can't I go in his?"

"Because he's fifteen and needs his privacy."

Reghan rolled her eyes.

"Don't do that," Flack scolded her. "You remind me of your mother when you do that."

"Good," Reghan said as she stood up. "I'm glad at least one of us kids take after her and got her sense and her brains."

"You're a smart ass," Flack informed her.

"Just like you, daddy," she said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Than bouncing off, her pony tail swaying back and forth.

Flack looked at Sam. "And you wonder why I wanted all boys."

"Right, and that would have been so much better."

Alannah and Mikayla, coats in hand and shoes on, joined their parents in the kitchen. Mikayla went to her father and wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his stomach. Flack combed his fingers through her thick curls.

"He's not worth it, Mikki," he told his daughter. "First, you're only eleven. Second, if his dad's a lawyer, than this kid is a first class A-hole."

"Not all lawyers are evil, scum suckers, dad," Alannah told him, slipping into one of the chairs.

"Yes, Lani," he said. "They are."

"All boys are first class A-holes," Mikayla sniffled.

"That's not true," Sam assured her, standing behind her older daughter and fixing the braid in Alannah's hair. "Your daddy isn't a first class A-hole."

Alannah snickered.

Flack glared at her.

"But that's different, mommy," Mikayla argued. "He's a boy but he's different."

"Why?" Sam asked.

"Because he's daddy and daddy makes everything better."

Alannah laughed. "You poor delusional child."

"There was a time when you wanted daddy to make everything better," Flack said.

"Yeah…'til I figured out that mom's the brains of this operation."

"You're right," Flack agreed. "I'm just have the devastatingly good looks that I was gracious enough to pass down to you all you ungrateful, spoiled brats. And you're actually wearing a dress? These are times I actually remember you're a girl."

"Well I refuse to be a tart like Reghan. But mom made me wear a dress tonight. She said if I didn't I couldn't go to hockey camp with Kieran this summer."

Flack looked at his wife and nodded his approval. "Bribery….I'm impressed."

The phone resting on top of the fridge rang noisily and Alannah lunged for it. Only to have it stop after three rings.

"Mom!" Kieran bellowed from the family room. "Mom! Aunt Linds is on the phone!"

Lindsay Monroe had slipped back into their lives a little over seven years ago. Danny and Erica had had a nasty, bitter split when Erica, tired of being a cop's wife, had decided to take off with her ex-husband who'd she'd been secretly cavorting with since Chloe was just a toddler. Erica decided the high life was the better life and chose the financial payday the ex provided over Danny and his city salary and their two children.

Angell, who had kept in contact with Lindsay after she departed New York City, had called her friend to share some office gossip and just so happened to slip in there that Danny was now a single father struggling to keep his sanity. Angell knew Lindsay had never stopped loving him and couldn't resist playing match maker. Lindsay herself had walked away from a horrible marriage and was feeling down and out and needed a moral booster. Within a week she was back in New York and sleeping in Hawkes' spare bedroom and she and Danny went out for coffee.

Long simmering feelings came to the surface and within six months, Danny Messer had done the unthinkable. He'd gotten married. To his Montana. And they welcomed their own child, a son they named Daniel Messer Jr, three years ago.

Sam and Lindsay had collectively agreed to try their hand at friendship. To put the jealously and issues of the past behind them. They were both older and wise and more mature now. And they found that they liked each other immensely and both wondered why in the hell they'd never tried harder the first time around. Lindsay had become one of Sam's closest, truest friends. Although no one could come close to Carmen in the best friend category.

Flack tapped a finger to his watch as his wife reached for the phone.

"I know," she said. "You get the kids ready and loaded in and I'll be right out."

He smirked. "Is that a request or an order, Agent Flack?" he asked, scooping his keys off the microwave.

"Little bit of both," she replied.

He kissed her softly. Short and sweet. "All right, let's go," he said to his girls. He went to the door leading to the family room. "Kieran! Declan!" he yelled. "Come on! We gotta get a move on!"

"Be right up, dad," Kieran told him.

"Liam!" Flack called as he and the girls headed out of the kitchen. "Reghan! Let's go! Before we're late!"

Footsteps pounded up the stairs from the basement and down the stairs leading to the living room. Utter chaos ensued as six kids scrambled for shoes.

"It's like our own Von Trapp family," Flack called over his shoulder to his wife, who stood in the doorway between the living room and kitchen, watching the madness.

"Well let's just hope they don't break into song," she laughed.

"Don't tempt me, mom," Kieran said. "We are doing Fiddler on the Roof at school this year. I should try out."

"I've heard you sing in the shower," Flack told his oldest son. "Stick to playing hockey."

"I can't get my shoes on!" Liam wailed, on his ass in the middle of the foyer, one foot in the air.

"That's 'cause you got them on the wrong feet you dope," Kieran told him and bent to switch the shoes around on his little brother's feet. Then assisted Liam in doing up his coat.

"Thanks, K!" Liam exclaimed and bolted out the front door.

"Shoulda really used condoms more, dad," Kieran needled his father. "If ya stopped at one you wouldn't have all that grey hair."

"If I'd never talked to your mother that day fifteen years ago, I'd be even better off," Flack teased, pushing his oldest out the door.

"Come on, you'd miss us. Especially mom."

Flack smiled and cast a glance over at his shoulder. To where his wife was pacing the living room with the phone pressed to her ear.

It was amazing how a fifteen year old could be so right sometimes.

* * *

The kids were all buckled in and the SUV running and the air conditioning and radio both blaring when Sam finally slipped into the front passenger seat fifteen minutes later. If they'd been heading to a sports event or away camping for the weekend, they would have had to take both vehicles to transport all the bodies and gear.

She dropped her purse on the dash and reached for her seat belt.

"Everything okay?" Flack asked, waiting for her to buckle herself in before putting the vehicle in reverse and back out of the driveway. "Kieran!" he called into the back. "Bend down. I can't see anything over you big head."

"Addie says the same thing all the time," the fifteen year old said. "About my big head."

Sam spun around. "Kieran!" she exclaimed, horrified by the comment, at the same time that Alannah was slugging her big brother and telling him how gross he was.

"Kidding, mom," her son said. "Kidding."

"Good to hear he takes after me in every way possible," Flack commented.

"Donald," Sam shook her head. "Don't encourage him."

"So what was wrong with Mrs Messer?" Flack asked, pulling clear of the driveway and putting the SUV in drive.

"She had a bit of an issue. Chloe started her period and since Lindsay went through menopause right after Danny Jr, she didn't have any pads or tampons in the house and had to send Danny out to get them."

"Mom!" Kieran cried and made a gagging noise. "Way too much information!"

"So Danny came home with every kind of tampon and what not on the market," Sam continued. "Took one look at his daughter's blood and promptly vomited."

"Amateur," Flack snorted. "Try having two girls going through it at the same time and the mother not even in the state. Now that was one of my finer moments."

"Dad! Come on!" Kieran cried. "Bad enough I gotta look at that stuff when I go in the bathroom and Alannah and Reghan leave it lying around. But now I gotta hear ya talk about it too?"

"Addie gets a period too, you know," Alannah informed her brother.

"I know that…but gross! I don't wanna hear my mom and dad talking about it! Its traumatic enough knowing people as old as them are having sex!"

Flack grinned at Sam. "I think he's traumatized for life."

"He's not a baby anymore," Sam said with a sigh.

Flack looked through the rear view mirror and at his oldest child A spitting image of his father. Laughing as he took the good natured teasing from his sisters. It seemed as if just yesterday that he was a curious baby smacking his face off the floor and splitting his chin open. A scar he sported to that day. Now he was fifteen years old and big and strong yet very much still a child.

His first born. His baby.

"He's growing up," Sam said, almost sadly.

Flack sighed and turned his eyes to the road.

"Don't remind me," he said.

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers! Although I do wish you'd drop me a line!**


	10. Wives and Kids

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND ALL OF THE FLACK CHILDREN AND THOSE THAT BELONG TO OTHER CHARACTERS.**

**Wives and kids **

"She's a Saturday out on the town  
And a church girl on Sunday  
She's a cross around her neck  
And a cuss word 'cause its Monday  
She's a bubble bath and candles  
Baby come and kiss me  
She's a one glass of wine  
And she's feeling kinda tipsy  
She's the giver I wish I could be  
And the stealer of the covers  
She's a picture in my wallet and my unborn children's mother  
She's the hand that I'm holding  
When I'm on my knees and praying  
She's the answer to my prayer  
And she's the song that I'm playing  
She's the voice I love to hear  
Someday when I'm ninety  
She's that wooden rocking chair  
I want rocking right beside me  
Everyday that passes, I only love her more  
Yeah, she's the one  
That I'd lay down my own life for."  
-She's Everything, Brad Paisely

**A/N: I have decided to take VFB in a different direction. Instead of doing most of the chaps in the past ie: Kieran and the children when they are babies and youngsters, I am going to focus mostly on the present with them and Sam and Flack older with some past chaps tossed in every so often. Thanks to hope4sall for encouraging me to give it a try!**

* * *

Tim Speedle sat behind the wheel of his gun metal grey Chevy Blazer and drummed his fingers impatiently on the his thighs. Eyes riveted on the front door of his modest three bedroom townhouse as he waited, for the last fifteen minutes, for the three women in his life to finally emerge.

Living in a household of women was an adventure. It was non stop bickering and PMS. If it wasn't Carmen than it was Addison. If it wasn't Addison it was Sophia. There was never a week out of the month that someone wasn't craving chocolate, complaining about cramps and acne break outs and bloating or just walking around the place bitching and moaning and biting everyone's head off. At least Carmen was starting to mention that she thought she was going through menopause. She was waking up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and suffering dizzy spells and saying she was cold one moment and than hot the next. He hadn't yet figured out which was worse to suffer through. A menopausing wife or PMSing daughters.

As Speed sat there, he thought about how far he had come with his life since that night nearly sixteen years ago when Flack took the proverbial bull by the horns and single-handedly transformed Speed's dull, predictable life. Speed had gone from a lonely and bitter man to someone with a heart. Someone who loved completely and unconditionally and unselfishly. A husband and a father. The head of the New York City Crime Lab who owned a decent home and drove an SUV as opposed to a Ducati motorcycle.

He checked the clock on the dashboard. Twenty-five after six and they still had to make the drive into mid-town. He laid on the horn. Going anywhere with three women required a lot of patience. And required you to get into the shower first before they used up all the hot water. Because once Addie and Sophia got in the washroom and started fussing with their hair and makeup, there was no telling when they were going to come out. It took them forever to pick up a simple outfit and they had changed four times in the past hour alone because they weren't satisfied about how they looked. And forget about going shopping with them. Two hours waiting while they tried on clothes and bickered with each other about their choice of clothing was enough to drive anyone insane.

Thank God for Catholic school uniforms. A couple hundred bucks a child saw you through a school year and depending on how much they grew and how rough they were on the clothes, some of the pieces could last two years. Although, the way Addie had been lately, getting caught making out with Kieran Flack in a back hallway (and at Kieran's house) and rolling her skirt up to the point it barely covered her ass, Speed was seriously considered boarding school. In a different state. Hell, on the other coast was preferable.

She was too young to have a boyfriend. When she'd come home from school one day seven months and announced that after only her first day of school she had met a great guy and he was her boyfriend, Speed had nearly had a heart attack. Carmen had told him to just take it easy. That most first loves didn't last and it was probably just a passing thing. Let the girl go out on a couple dates to the movies and out to eat and see how she felt about this boy in a month. Speed said fine, but I want to meet this guy first. Imagine his surprise when said boy knocked on the door for a dinner with his girlfriend's folks and when Speed answered, there stood Kieran Flack. His wife's godson. A nephew to Speed. All the kids had been growing up together for years.

Addie admitted that she and Kieran had been 'close' for almost two years. Nothing sexual outside of kissing. Although Speed highly doubted that. It wasn't so much that his daughter had a boyfriend that bothered him. It was who the boyfriend was. More importantly, whose genetic material the boyfriend shared. Speed could not handle the fact that his baby girl was in love with Flack's son.

It was nothing personal against Flack or Sam as parents. They were great parents that kept their kids in check. They had set house rules that were more than fair and were quick to hand out punishments in way of groundings and privileges taken away if one of their kids fouled up. And any couple that could balance their hectic careers, each other and six kids deserved some kind of award for just managing to maintain their sanity. Flack was one of Speed's closest, truest friends. He was among a rare, small group of people Speed let get close to him. Flack had matured drastically since becoming a husband and a father almost sixteen years ago. He was strong and solid and dependable. But he was also somewhat of a risk taker. It was what Flack had been like before taking on a wife and starting a family that worried Speed. Most importantly, his track record with women and how he treated them. Kieran was just like his father. And he was only fifteen. Not old enough to care about settling down. Speed worried that this kid was going to hurt his daughter. And pressure her into having sex. His ideal guy for his daughter was the quiet, shy bookworm type. Someone too nerdy to push Addie into anything. Instead she got herself mixed up with a handsome, charming and confident jock.

Sexy. That's what Addie called Kieran. Speed had heard her on the phone the other night with Mac's daughter Tiana. He hadn't caught a lot of the conversation, but he had heard his daughter refer to her boyfriend as sexy because of the apparent muscles he had. Most specifically his six pack. Kieran was a big boy just like his father and spent what spare time he had working out and playing hockey and football.

The front door banged open and the girls came hurrying out. Addie with her long, wavy auburn hair tumbling to the middle of her back and wearing a simply navy blue and white sundress with slender straps that crisscrossed near the nape of her neck just reached her knees. A lovely dress that she was now covering with a heavy high school hockey jacket.

Speed sighed at the sight. The moment that Kieran Flack had coughed up that jacket three months ago, Addie never took it off it seemed. And she also had one of his game jerseys that she wore as pyjamas every night. She would even do a whole load of wash just to make sure the jersey was clean. She was a smart girl. She consistently brought home good grades and hung around with the right crowds. But she was much happier at this point in time to be a pretty face. And that she was with her vibrant green eyes and porcelain skin and slim figure. A spitting image of her mother.

Than there was Sophia. She was of shorter stature and smaller build and took after her father. Dark eyes, thick, almost unruly dark hair that came to just below her shoulders and smooth, pale, flawless skin. She was pretty little thing and devastatingly smart. Her father's daughter through and through. At only twelve, Sophia was already in grade ten at the same school her older sister was also a student at. Addie had been mortified at the thought of walking the same halls as her little sister and having to hang out with her. And even more horrified when Sophia had been placed in an enriched, gifted program. It was tough accepting your awkward little sister was smarter than you were.

"What took you guys so long?" Speed asked, as his youngest slipped into the backseat.

Her unruly hair tied back and the loose pieces tucked away and held with bobby pins. A soft white shawl over her slender shoulders and covering the top half of a pale yellow sundress.

"Sorry, daddy," she said, leaning forward to peck his cheek before settling into her seat and doing up her belt. "Addie had issues."

He frowned. "What kind of issues?"

"Girl issues," Sophia replied. "'Cause mom bought her a new bra and Addie doesn't like the way it looks. Says it flattens out her boobs. And she doesn't want them flattened out 'cause Kieran likes her boobs."

Jesus Christ, Speed thought as he looked back at the house and shook his head in dismay. He briefly wondered if Kieran Flack had seen what was under the bra or hadn't gotten that far yet. The thought of that Flack's son seeing his daughter even semi naked both infuriated him and made him feel sick to his stomach.

Carmen stepped out of the house last, locking the door behind her. Even after all the years they'd been together, his wife still had the knack for taking his breath away. And tonight was no exception. Her red hair put back in a loose sweep, her trim, alluring body clad in a simple and elegant halter style jade green dress that tied around her slender neck.

He loved her more and more every day. And prayed that they had many more years ahead of them to enjoy each other and their family.

Addie opened the back seat and climbed in and reached for her belt.

Speed looked at her over his shoulder as Carmen climbed in beside him. "Addison, you are aware it's almost eighty five out and you're wearing a coat meant for fall and winter, aren't you?"

She rolled her eyes. Like most teen girls, dads were the lamest, most clueless people on earth. "Yes, dad. I know that. I'm not stupid."

"Well if you're with a Flack, than something isn't quite right in your head," Speed told her.

"That's mean," Carmen scolded her husband.

"Aunt Sam isn't stupid," Addie pointed out. "In fact, she's probably one of the smartest people I know. And she married Uncle Don."

"My point exactly," Speed said. "Something's wrong with all you brainy girls getting involved with these guys."

"Something must be screwed up in my head seeing as I'm married to you" Carmen scoffed, doing up her belt.

Speed frowned.

"You tell him, mom," Addie cheered her on. "And Kieran's a nice guy, dad," his oldest daughter informed him. "He's smart and funny and really handsome and he treats me really good. He's a gentleman."

"He's fifteen," Speed said. "And he's a Flack."

"And she's fourteen and a Speedle," Carmen told him. "So deal with it."

"Well I think it's good that Kieran is a Flack," Addie declared. "Because that means Uncle Don is his dad and Uncle Don is a very good looking man with those blue eyes. And Kieran looks just like him."

"And when our daughter and Sam and Flack's son get married somewhere down the road, Sam and I will finally be related," Carmen told her husband. "Happy day when that happens."

"The day our daughter marries their son is the day I jump off the Brooklyn Bridge," Speed murmured.

"Be nice, daddy," Addie said. "You need to give Kieran a chance."

"Kick in the ass is what he needs," Speed declared as he pulled the SUV out of the driveway.

"Tim," Carmen sighed. "Lay off. He's my godson. And he really is a good kid. He can be a bit of a shit, but he's got a good head on his shoulders. He's well spoken and has good manners and he's respectful, And cute as hell."

"Don't you start," Speed said.

"Why didn't you ever get mixed up with Uncle Don when you guys were younger, mom?" Addie asked curiously. "I mean, I've seen pictures of him when Kieran was a baby and from when him and Aunt Sam got married and he was quite the hottie. Didn't you find him attractive?"

"Sure. Lots of women find him attractive. But when I met him, he was already with your Aunt. They were just in a new relationship and starting to fall in love with each other and I wasn't going to infringe on that. Your Aunt Sam was nuts about him pretty quickly and the two of us became best friends rather quickly and I respected her too much to hurt her like that. Your Uncle Don and I have always been very good friends. He's helped me out through some tough times. And if it wasn't for him not minding his own business one night, your dad and I wouldn't have gotten together in the first place and neither you or Sophia would be here."

"So he's a pretty good guy to have around," Addie concluded.

"Absolutely," Carmen said. "And Kieran takes after him and you're a very lucky girl to have found someone like him."

Addie smiled proudly.

"Ask me, he's damn lucky a girl like her even bothers with him," Speed said.

Carmen shot him a dirty look.

"Kieran is one of a kind," Addie said with a dreamy sigh.

"Addie's in love!" Sophia sing-songed and giggled.

"Shut up, nerd! You just wish you were!"

"Gross! In love with Kieran! I don't think so! He's cute and all, but no thanks. It's gross what you guys do. Necking and your tongues down each others throats. Making out on mom and dad's bed."

"You did what!" Speed nearly roared, shooting his daughter a furious glare through the rear view mirror.

"You're such a loser!" Addie punched her sister in the shoulder. "We do not make out on mom and dad's bed!"

"I sure as hell hope not!" Speed fumed.

"We don't, dad! She's making that up! No boyfriends in any of the bedrooms. I always follow the rules."

"Yeah, they just make out in the basement or in Uncle Donnie's basement!" Sophia roared with laughter.

"Moron!" Addie shrieked and became pummelling her sister in the back seat.

Carmen looked over at her husband. His mouth was set in a firm, grim line and his hands clutched the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"I'm thinking I'm getting that kid a chastity belt," he replied. "Or castrating Kieran Flack."

* * *

It was quarter to seven by the time Flack found a parking spot in a lot remotely close to Ruby Tuesdays. For an early Thursday evening, Times Square was packed. Mostly from tourists out enjoying the unusually warm March weather and locals having a bite to eat before catching the Knicks face off against the Orlando Magic at Madison Square Gardens.

"How come I still gotta sit in a car seat?" Liam asked in disdain, as his father unbuckled him. "It's for babies!"

"Because it's the law, buddy," Flack explained. "You're still under seven."

"But I'll be seven soon!" he exclaimed. "Just a couple months. No one will know I'm not seven yet, daddy."

"But I know you're not seven and I'm the one driving," Flack told him, setting his son on the ground. "And because I'm a police man I'll get in extra trouble if we're out driving around with you not in your car seat. And you're too small yet to wear a normal seat belt."

"Why do I gotta be the tiny one?" Liam pouted.

"Someone had to take after your mom and it was you. Look at how small your mom is. Sometimes I think she needs to be a in a car seat still too."

"I heard that," Sam said from the curb, smiling at her husband.

"Mom would probably fit too," Kieran piped up.

"You're very funny," Sam laughed. "You're getting more and more like your father every day."

"Just wait until I'm out of the academy and busting heads like him and grandpa Flack," Kieran said. "Can you see me in a uniform, mom? Chasing perps and putting the beats on them?"

"Don't even think about it," Flack told him. "You're gonna be going in the opposite direction. College. Like your mom."

"But what if I want to be a cop?" Kieran asked.

His main desire was to follow in his father's footsteps. He admired his dad and respected him and wanted nothing more than to be just like him. Climb the NYPD ladder. From a simple patrolman to the powerful Chief of Police. He knew one day his dad would get there, and Kieran wanted to be right behind him making him proud.

But every time he brought up the subject, his father acted like it was the worst, most awful suggestion he'd ever heard. Kieran wasn't sure if it was because his dad genuinely didn't want him being a cop and putting himself in harms way, or if his dad thought he wasn't capable of doing the family name proud. Dad wasn't the kind of guy to come right out and tell you he was proud of you. But he was quick to tell you when you fucked up. And even quicker to tell you what you were, and weren't, going to do.

There were moments, in the heat of a squabble with his father over something stupid that had gone down, that Kieran seriously wondered if his dad approved of anything he did. There were times that nothing seemed good enough no matter how hard he tried. And he loved his dad. More than words. But there were times he wondered if his dad loved him.

"Just forgot about it, Kieran," Flack told him as he shut and locked the doors of the SUV. "You're not going to be a cop."

"But if I want to dad I don't see why…"

"I said forget about it," Flack instructed, pocketing his keys. "I don't want to hear about it. Not tonight, not any night."

"Fine," Kieran huffed and his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slumped, headed off with his three sisters down the sidewalk.

"Don't be such a bastard," Sam snapped at her husband. "Why did you talk to him like that?"

"Because he's talking a whole bunch of crap," Flack told her. "He's fifteen years old and thinks being a cop is some fairy tale."

"He's not stupid, Don," she said, taking a hold of Liam's hand. "All his life his father's been a cop. He's seen you get the shit knocked out of you by perps a couple of times and he's seen you on the news after high profile busts in a bullet proof vest talking about how high risk things were and loosing some of your guys. He knows full well that being a cop is hard, dangerous work. And that it's crappy pay and very little respect you get in the end."

"He's not going to be a cop, Sam. End of story," he said, feeling a hand curl around his. He looked down at Declan's smiling face and sparkling eyes.

"Why not? If that's what he wants.." Sam stopped walking and turned to face her husband.

"Because he's better than that," Flack said, stopping as well. "He needs to stay in school and get a degree and make something more of himself. I don't want him out there putting his ass on the line every night. I want him discovering a cure for cancer or taking care of sick people or working on Wall Street. Not serving and protecting a city that won't appreciate what he's doing."

"It's not your say in the end when he's out of school and can make his own decision," she argued. "I think you should be proud of him instead of putting him down all the time."

"I'm not putting him down. I'm just telling him the way it is. He's not going to become a cop. And that's the way it is." And with that, Flack tightened the grip on Declan's hand and started off down the sidewalk.

"Don't dismiss me like that!" Sam said, hurrying off after him, Liam in tow. "I'm not one of those little interns around the office or a lowly public servant working below you. I'm your wife and Kieran's my son and you don't have a right to talk to him or me like that."

"Look, I don't want him becoming a cop. All right? That's all there is to it. We've had this conversation, Sam. Me and you have talked about how we didn't want him becoming a cop. You even said yourself you weren't sold on the idea of joining the NYPD. What's changed?"

"He was ten years old when we talked about that! And it came up because he had you go in and talk to his class for career day and he and every other boy in that class were all sold on becoming a cop. And than he did that essay of his. What was it called? Who I Admire the Most. And he picked you. Why can't you see that all he wants is to be like you? He looks up to you, Don. He loves you and respects you and he deserves to get that back from you."

Flack sighed.

"Do you ever tell him that you're proud of him?" Sam asked. "Or that you love him? Do you feel that for him?"

"Of course I do. He's my son. My first born. I love him more than I could ever tell him. And I am proud of him. But he doesn't need me telling him that. He's a man."

"No. He's not. He's a fifteen year old boy that's working his ass off to gain his father's approval. And if you keep holding back on him and not telling him how you feel, he's going to give up and than go the opposite direction to get your attention. And than you want have to worry about him becoming a cop. You'll be worrying about bailing him out of jail or packing him off to rehab."

Flack snorted. "That's just a little dramatic, don't you think?"

"Would it really kill you to just hug him and tell him you love him? When's the last time you did that? You do it with Declan and Liam and Mikayla all the time. I've even heard you say it to Reghan and Alannah when they've done something wonderful. But never Kieran. The last time you did that with Kieran he was a little boy. He was five years old and knocked out his front teeth when he wiped out in the living room."

"Kieran's different, Sam. He's just different."

"That's the lamest fucking excuse I've ever heard."

Both Liam and Declan giggled.

"Mommy's going to get her mouth washed out," Liam said. "She said the F word."

"Well sometimes mommies and daddies get mad and we say it by mistake," Sam told her youngest.

"It's a bad word, mommy," Liam informed her.

"I know. I'm sorry. I won't say it again. Just your daddy's being a stubborn, mean SOB."

"Don't teach him that," Flack frowned. "Now he's going to be calling me that all the time."

"Well right about now, you deserve it. I know you love Kieran, Don. But I don't think he knows it. And he needs to hear it from you. Please, for me? Just tomorrow when you're out with him after school, just tell him that you love him and you're proud of him. Because he's doing so well in school and with his sports and he's a damn good kid. And he wants nothing more than to hear that from you."

"Fine," Flack said. "For you, I'll do it. I do love him, Sam. How can I not? He's my son. And my first born. But it doesn't mean I'm going to agree with him on everything he says or does. And being a cop is one of those times I can't be on his side. And nothing's going to change my mind."

"Okay," Sam conceded. "But if and when he does decide that that's what he wants to do, I hope you support him. Because you know full well what it was like not to have your father behind you. And I know you don't ever want Kieran feeling the way you did."

Flack chuckled and shook his head.

"What?" Sam asked. "You find that funny?"

"No. What I find funny is that you always have a way of making me feel like the biggest A-hole on earth and shutting me up."

"I love you, Don. You know I do. But sometimes, you act like the biggest A-hole on earth."

Flack stopped in his tracks several feet from the entrance of the popular family restaurant, The rest of his kids had long arrived and were chatting with Carmen and Speed and their girls. Kieran was joking around with Carmen, calling her Auntie Red. His nickname for her since he was just a little boy. And the only kid she let call her that.

He also already had an arm wrapped securely around Addie's slender waist. Much to Speed's dismay. He was already glaring at the kid.

"Declan," Flack leaned down to speak to his son. "You and Liam run up ahead. I just want to talk to your mom for a second, okay?"

"'Kay, Dad," he agreed, dropping Flack's hand and than grabbing a hold of Liam's and nearly dragging his little brother down the sidewalk.

"Come here for a second," Flack said, holding his hand out to his wife.

She eyed him suspiciously. "Why?" she asked.

"Just come here. What? Do you think I'm going to attack you and rape you in the middle of Times Square? I'm waiting until we're home and the kids are in bed to do that."

She grinned and laid her hand in his and giggled as he pulled her into him and circled her body with his big, strong arms.

"I love you, Sam," he said. "And I love my son. I love all my kids. I wouldn't give any of you up for the world. But Kieran being a cop? It scares me. Because I don't ever want to be getting a phone call that something has happened to my son. And I don't want you dealing with that either. I know what it was like for my mom when the bombing happened and she didn't think I was going to make it. And I don't want you going through that."

"I worry all the time, Don," she told him. "I've been worrying every day for almost sixteen years now. Worrying that every time you step out the door you're not going to step back in. Do you remember that raid? When I was still pregnant with Kieran? You could have died that day."

"It's not the same thing, Sam. He's your son. He's your baby."

"And you're my husband. The love of my life. And you're his father. Without you he wouldn't be here. So don't try and tell me that I'd be more devasted to lose him than I would you. You can't compare those two things, Don. Because he's my son and you're the reason I have my son."

"I don't want him being a cop, Sam. And you shouldn't want that either."

"I want him doing what makes him happy. And you know what, he's fifteen. There's three years until he graduates high school and has to make the decision to either join the academy or to to university. And it's up to him. I don't want you pressuring him to make a decision that he's going to kick himself in the ass for later. We want him to happy. And he won't be if he feels your forcing him into something. Can you do that, Don? Go easy on him and let him figure out what he wants?"

He sighed heavily. "I can try," he said.

Sam stared at him, eyebrows raised.

"I will back off the kid. But it doesn't mean I'm going to be overly thrilled if that's what he decides. I'll support him and go to his academy graduation, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

"No. You don't. But you put a smile on your face and tell him you're proud of him and you love him. And he needs to hear that. Even now. He loves you and admires you and respects you. And he needs to know you feel the same way about him."

"I know," Flack said. "I guess I just look at him and he's this big, strong kid and he seems older than he is and I think maybe he doesn't need to or want to hear that sort of thing."

"He's still a child, Don. And he does need it and want it. Promise me you'll talk to him tomorrow. It will do both of you a world of good."

"I promise," Flack said, and kissed her softly.

* * *

"Hey! None of that!" Speed called. "That's why you guys have six kids!"

Flack smirked and took his wife's hand and headed for the small group. "And you being a square is why you only have two," he told his friend. "Don't worry, though. Devine gets bored, she can always join us."

"Mommy," Liam tugged at Sam's dress. "I gotta go pee!"

"I'll take him, mom," Kieran offered. "I need to go too."

Liam visibly blanched at the idea of his oldest brother taking him to the bathroom. Liam had an abnormal, nearly hysterical paranoia about standing up to go to the bathroom. Up until seven months ago, he'd had to stand on a stool to even hit the inside of the bowl. The first time that he'd been able to stand like a big boy, Kieran had been in the washroom at the same time brushing his teeth and proceeded to tell his baby brother about the time when he stood for the first time and the toilet set fell and nearly chopped his privates off. A totally made up story that Kieran thought was quite hilarious.

That was it for Liam. After that he'd been terrified of having what he called his 'noonie' cut off by the toilet seat. No matter how many times his father insisted nothing was going to happen to him, Liam refused to go unless he was sitting. It didn't help that the few times he did try, Kieran was right there pretending he was going to drop the lid.

"No way!" Liam balked. "You're mean!"

"I was just joking all those times," Kieran assured him. "Come on, I won't do anything to scare ya."

Liam shook his head and clung to his mother's legs.

"Gimme a break, Liam," Kieran said. "You really want mommy to take you? Only babies get their mommies to take them to the bathroom."

If Liam hated anything more than the thought of losing his noonie, it was being a baby. He caved in and accepted his older brother's stretched out hand.

"I promise I won't let the lid chop it off," Kieran said. "Or the alligators that hide in the pipes to come out of the bowl and bite it off."

"Kieran," Sam said with an exasperated sigh, shaking her head.

"Not funny, K!" Liam cried, near tears.

"I will take you," Sam told her little son and grabbed his hand. "But you're standing whether you like it or not."

"Don't let the gators get my noonie, mommy!" Liam wailed as they headed into the restaurant as the others followed behind.

"How in the hell do you manage?" Speed asked Flack, as the two men lingered behind on the sidewalk to have a smoke. "Six kids. Seriously. I can barely manage two and you have three times that much. And one of them is like having two in one with all the troubles and struggles that come with him."

"I manage because I have an amazing wife that does most of the work," Flack admitted, shaking a cigarette from the package in his pocket and placing it between his lips. "Sam keeps everything running smoothly. She pays the bills, spends most of the time with the kids. Fits work and me in there somewhere. She's not perfect, but she tries damn hard."

"You wanted want her perfect, Flack. Imagine how boring that would be."

"True," he said and lit his smoke and took a long drag. "I kinda like our crazy, noisy, hectic existence. If the kids weren't around, I'd be damn lonely. And if Sam wasn't here.." he shook his head. "I don't even wanna think about that."

"Don't worry, Flack. It's not weak or less manly to admit you'd die without her. I feel the same way about Carmen every second of every day."

"When Sam got shot and I got that call…I can still remember it to this day. I drove to that hospital and all I kept thinking was what if she hadn't have had that vest on? She wouldn't have made it. And I'd have all these kids to tell that their mother is dead. And have to carry on for them when all I would really want to do is curl up and die. And I was terrified for the first time in my life at the thought of not having her anymore."

"It wasn't her time to go," Speed reasoned. "And it was blessing she had that vest on and all that sent her to the hospital was shock."

Flack nodded.

"Heard you get handed your ass by DHS today."

Flack laughed. "Big time. She's something else when she's at work. She wasn't going to let me boss her around. She didn't care who was there. She told me where to go and how to get there without even blinking an eye. She's tough. Little but tough."

"Tested all those drugs. It was coke. Ninety-eight percent pure."

Flack whistled lowly.

"No kidding. Huge haul, too. Nearly three hundred kilos. DEA is in their glory. What's the news of the DHS side of things?"

"Not much."

"Come on, Flack. You're husband and wife. She must tell you things."

"She does. As a wife telling her husband. Strictly personal. And I don't take it back and use it against her to poach a suspect or step on her toes. So even if she did say anything to me, I wouldn't tell you."

Speed grinned. "You're a loyal, bastard, Flack."

"She's my wife. I'm not going to sell her out or stab her in the back because the NYPD wants the glory. Can't do it. Sorry."

The other man just nodded.

"I was thinking," Flack said, as he finished his smoke and exhaled and dropped the butt to the ground. "I think we need to have a talk with our kids."

"About?"

"You know what about. Kieran and Addie are getting pretty serious, Speedle. And I don't want to be a grandfather anytime soon. So we need to sit them down and talk to them."

"How about you sit your boy down and tell him to keep his hands off my daughter?" Speed suggested.

"What good is that going to do? My kid isn't pressuring your daughter into anything. She's right into it. And we can't forbid them to see each other. What good will that do? They'll just sneak around behind our backs and do it. Better we just tackle it head on, give them both a talking to and that's that."

"You do want you want with your boy, Flack, I'll do what I want with Addie."

"Come on. Going iron-fisted on them isn't going to work. You know what's going to happen if we even try? They'll rebel. And our families will be the next Montagues and Capulets."

Speed couldn't hold back a chuckled. "Don't tell me you're a Shakespeare man."

"You kidding? I've seen the movie. About a dozen times. Sam way back in the day had a thing for that Leonardo DiCaprio and made me watch that and Titanic over and over again."

"You poor man," Speed said, and tossed his own smoke.

"I'm serious," Flack told him. "About our kids."

"So am I," Speed said, clapping his friend on his shoulder before heading towards the door to the busy restaurant. "Tell your kid to keep it in his pants."

Flack smirked and watched his old friend go.

Easier said than done, he thought, than followed behind.

* * *

"Mommy?" Liam asked, as Sam pushed her way into the spacious, well lit bathroom. "Why does it smell so bad in here?"

"It's a bathroom," she replied.

"Yeah, but even the bathroom at home doesn't smell dis bad and Kieran uses it."

Sam couldn't help but smirk. At six (almost seven, Liam was constantly reminding people, than giving them a detailed list about what he'd like for his birthday) her son was full of curiosity and never ending questions. Liam said what he felt without no thought about whether he was embarrassing himself, his mother, or other people. He told it like it was without realizing the implications of his words. Just like his father in that respect.

That curiosity surpassed innocent inquiries. Liam had to touch everything. He wasn't afraid to approach a dead bird or squirrel on the sidewalk and poke at it with a stick. He could pick up worms and mice and the garter snakes they got in the back garden without even blinking an eye. Bringing such things into the house with wide eyed exuberance and a 'Here you go mommy' before dropping his treasures at her feet.

He played in mud. Hell, he even ate mud. And glue and Play-Doh a couple of times at school. He jumped off the top ledge of the play set in their backyard and broke his arm twice and sliced his head open a number of times. He was fearless and couldn't sit still. And in the midst of his boundless energy, he was constantly banging into people or tripping over objects or his own feet. And the harder he seemed to fall, the more he got up, dusted himself off and did it all over again. He was the tiniest of the Flack children at his age, but he was possibly the toughest. Even Kieran, as big and solid as he was now, hadn't been that adventurous at that early of an age.

She pushed open one of the stall doors and let her son pass through before following behind and latching the door behind them. She lifted the lid and waited for him to get down to business.

"Close your eyes, mommy," Liam said. "A guy needs some privacy."

Sam fought off a giggle and closed her eyes. Liam had obviously been listening to Kieran a little too closely to make a comment like that. She heard the rustle of clothing being dropped the floor and than the quite tinkling.

The door to the bathroom opened. Heels clicked on the tile floor.

"Someone's in here, mommy!" Liam exclaimed, ready to stop mid job.

"This is a public bathroom," she told him.

"Oh…oh yeah…" he said, and continued with his business.

Next to them the stall door closed and locked. More clothing being disposed off. Than the sound of someone going to the washroom.

"Someone else is going pee, mommy!" Liam cried excitedly in an unnecessarily loud voice.

Sam felt herself flush from head to toe. What is wrong with my child? She thought.

The occupant next to them started to laugh at the little boy's outburst.

"I know that's you, Liam Flack," a familiar voice said. "I can recognize that little voice anywhere!"

"Auntie Montanie!" he shrieked happily, and nearly sprayed the walls and the back of the toilet. Uncle Danny had been drilling it into him since he was four years old that it wasn't Auntie Lindsay or Auntie Linds. It was Auntie Montana. Liam had since come up with his own version of the nickname.

Lindsay laughed even harder.

"It's Auntie Montanie, mommy!" Liam informed Sam, finishing up and drying himself up with a fistful of toilet paper and hastily yanking his clothes back up. Sam had to straighten out his pants and make sure the fly was done up before letting him out of the stall and leading him to the bank of sinks.

"Don't touch 'em!" Liam cried when he saw his mother reaching for the taps. "Daddy said always use a paper towel because of the germs!"

"Well you're dad's a bit of a freak," Sam said, but grabbed some paper towl to appease her son. Knowing that if she didn't, an all out temper tantrum over other peoples cooties would no doubt ensue.

"Hey, guys," Lindsay greeted, as she stepped out of the stall and came to the sinks, where Sam was holding Liam up to wash his hands.

"Hi Auntie Montanie!" Liam chirped. "Guess what?"

"What?" she asked, soaping up her hands.

"I'm gonna be seven soon."

Lindsay grinned. "I know. You told me yesterday. And the day before, and the day before that. Remember?"

"I thought maybe you forgot," he said. "You gonna come to my party, right? Mommy and daddy are having a party for me. At our house. You gonna come right?"

"Uncle Danny and the kids and I wouldn't miss it for anything in the world," she assured him. "What was it that you wanted again? A football?"

"Uh-uh," Liam said, shaking his head.

"A baseball glove?" she tried again.

"Nope."

"Soccer ball?"

"No. A hockey stick and a helmet, silly. So I can be just like Kieran. He plays hockey, you know. So does daddy. But not so much now 'cause mommy says he's getting too old for that sort of thing. And that he's not a spring chicken anymore. What does that mean?"

"It means your dad is slowing down a bit," Lindsay told him, drying up her hands. "He needs to take it easy."

"Mommy says it's 'cause his legs and his back ain't what they use to be."

"That's probably it, too," Lindsay said.

"But we can't tell daddy any of that," Liam told her. Than lowered his voice to a loud whisper. "It's our little secret."

"Gotcha," Lindsay laughed.

"And I lost another tooth," the little boy informed her. "See?" he tilted his head back and opened wide. "It feel out at school and I couldn't find it. But daddy says the tooth fairy will still come 'cause she sees everything and knows I lost it and couldn't find it. Do you think that's true, Auntie Montanie?"

"I know it's true," Lindsay told him. "In fact," she snapped open her small purse and pulled out her wallet and zipped open the change compartment. "Your mom was telling me on the phone that you got a really good score on your spelling test."

"Seven outta ten!" he exclaimed proudly.

"That's great. So I have a little something for you. But it's just for you, okay? Don't tell your brothers and your sisters. All right?"

He nodded, his eyes widening as she held up a twenty dollar bill. "For me?" he asked, nose and eyes crinkling as he smiled, the same way his mother's did when she was happy.

"All for you," Lindsay said. "Here," she folded the bill and held it out to Sam. "Your mommy will hold it for you until you get home. Okay?"

"Okay," he agreed. "Thank you, Auntie Montanie."

"You're welcome. But you have to promise me you won't tell anyone about it."

"Just me, you and mommy."

"Exactly. Promise?"

"Promise," he said, than made the sign of the cross over his heart. "Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye. Kieran taught me that. Funny, huh? Can I go now, mommy?"

"Wait for me to…"

Sam didn't get the words out of her mouth. Liam was already bolting from the bathroom. Throwing the door open and rushing out into the busy restaurant. Colliding head first into a pair of unsuspecting legs as they emerged from the men's restroom.

"Watch where you're going, little Flack," a familiar voice said. "You're gonna get hurt."

"Uncle Danny!" he cried happily. By the shrieking and giggling that followed, Sam and Lindsay both knew that Uncle Danny had scooped the little boy up and was now tipping him upside down or tickling him to death. Or both.

Sam sighed and briefly closed her eyes and shook her head.

"He's definitely the hellion out of the six," Lindsay laughed. "But out of half a dozen, one of them had to be."

"I need a vacation," Sam declared, as her friend looped her arm through hers and led the way from the washroom.

* * *

It was well after nine pm when the large, boisterous party finally left the restaurant. It had been a fun night of reminiscing and sharing laughs among the old team. It was amazing the major differences that had occurred in most of their lives. Professions had changed for some while others had stayed where they were but had moved up the ladder. Others had left all together to take care of family obligations.

The biggest changes were each and every one was personal. Each and every one of them were parents now. Their respective children sitting at their own table nearby, entertaining each other and watching out for the little ones. Liam clung to Chloe. Danny's daughter with Erica was his favorite of all his cousins and he never left her side and she relished the attention and looked after him with patience and love.

Declan had hung out with the adults. There was no way he was going to sit with the kids. Too boring as far as he was concerned. And he liked being able to sit with his dad and Papa Mac and all his aunts and uncles who didn't treat him any differently and listened patiently and intently when he had something to say. Sam and Flack's main concern, when they had found out about the Down Syndrome, would be how their friends and colleagues would react.

Those people were their family and it mattered how they felt and what their opinions were. Every person they had told had said the same thing. "I'm sorry." They didn't want peoples' pity. They had wanted them to just say that Declan was going to do great and that they'd love him no matter what. There was nothing to be sorry about. He was a beautiful, relatively healthy baby once he was past his cardiac problems, and his parents weren't going to treat him any different than their other children.

It had been Angell that stepped out of the norm and shocked Flack with her reaction. She'd come to the hospital to visit the triplets in the NICU. She and Hawkes had been on vacation when the babies arrived unexpectedly, and the tests had already come back to confirm Declan's disability.

Angell had stood over each of the incubators and looked in and put her hands inside and stroked the tiny hands and feet and spoke to them in a soft, melodic voice that Flack had never known she possessed. She had went to the girls first, than moved over to Declan and ran a finger over his tiny head covered in thick black hair. Touched his cheek gently. Smiling as he instinctively turned his his to suckle at her finger tip.

"He's my favorite," she announced. "He definitely looks just like you, Flack."

"He has Down Syndrome," Flack had said. The words tumbling out. His heart breaking as he heard himself admitting it out loud that his son was far from perfect and would never be like other kids. How could he ever cope with that?

"Really?" Angell asked in surprise. "Hmm..well he's a beautiful little guy anyway. You should be proud of him. He's gorgeous. You know, my older brother has Down Syndrome."

Flack had been shocked. Angell had never mentioned it before. He knew she had older brothers and her father was an ex-detective, but that had been as much information as she'd ever given him.

"My mom and dad were shocked as hell," she had continued. "Not what they were expecting. Mom came around pretty quick. It was his son regardless. But my dad…" she sighed. "He never could accept it. Made my mom send John away to an institution. He would have done so much better if he'd stayed at home with all of us. But my dad was embarrassed. He couldn't deal."

Flack had said nothing. He had just stood and watched Jessica Angell softly stroke his five day old son's hair.

"Promise me you'll never do that to him," Angell had said, voice choked with emotion. Tears in her eyes as she studied the barely three pound baby. "He's your son. Love him and be proud of him. Don't ever feel embarrassed or send him away. Because he's a blessing and he came to your for a reason."

Flack had never forgotten that day. Or the power Angell's words had had over him, Nor had he ever told anyone that the conversation had taken place. It was something they had shared and he planned on keeping it tucked away in his memory.

But he thought about it now and many other things that had happened in the last sixteen years, on the drive home in the dark to Queens. Alannah and Reghan sharing the earphones to an iPod while Mikayla was already asleep with her head on Reghan's shoulder. Kieran was in the back playing his PSP he took every where while Declan slept soundly on one of Kieran's shoulders and Liam had his head in his oldest brother's lap.

"We need a vacation," Sam announced from the front passenger's seat. She'd been quiet and dozing throughout most of the trip.

"I wholeheartedly agree," Kieran piped up from the back.

"With six kids?" Flack asked. "We can't afford that."

"Don't be cheap dad," his oldest son said.

"I meant just you and me," Sam told her husband.

"We have six kids," he reminded her. "And we don't know anyone that owes us that many favours."

"I can watch the brats for a week, dad," Kieran offered.

"Like hell you can," Flack said. "Over night is one thing. But a week? Never going to happen."

Kieran shrugged his broad shoulders. "Just offering," he said. "Mom deserves to go away. When was the last time she went anywhere? Even to the grocery store on her own?"

"Why don't you go away?" Flack asked his wife. "Get Carmen or Lindsay or both to go somewhere with you."

"Because I don't want to go away with the girls. I want to go away with you. I want to be alone with you. Not Carmen and Lindsay. You. Is that such a hard thing to comprehend?"

"We've got six kids, Sam," he stressed once again. "And I can't take time off of work right now. You know that."

"I know," she sighed and turned her face to look out the window. "I know."

"I'll go away with you, mom," Kieran said. "Me and you can go down to Florida. Daytona Beach. And you can get yourself on that Girls Gone Wild show."

"What is wrong with you?" Flack asked, looking at his son through the rear view mirror.

"Hey, in case you've been too busy to notice, dad, mom's pretty popular with the guys. Even my friends think she's pretty hot. And I scouted at least three of the waiters and a bartender tonight checking her out. You need to start paying more attention to her. 'Cause there's dudes out there more than willing to step up and do it when you start falling behind in that department."

"Tell your friends I'm going to kick their asses for looking at your mother like that," Flack said.

"Just making a point," Kieran told him. "She's put up with ya for sixteen years. But don't think she can't find someone else if you push her to it."

Flack frowned. Than looked at his wife. "Would you do that?" he asked. "Find someone else?"

"Of course not," she said. "Do I have a reason to?"

"No. Not that I know of. I mean, you're happy, right?"

She turned her head and smiled at him and reached out to rub his leg. "I'm here aren't I?"

* * *

By ten thirty at night, all the kids were tucked into bed and all the doors locked up for the night and Maximus the big Sheppard sprawled at the foot of the bed. Sam sat, freshly showered and in a night shirt and her glasses, in the middle of the bed with her lap top open in front of her and a mountain of case folders beside of her. Flack was stretched out beside her in boxers and a t-shirt, watching ESPN, scratching Cujo's belly as the tiny dog lay on his back on Flack's chest.

A knock came to the bedroom door.

"Get to bed," Flack said in response.

"Mom! Dad!" Kieran's voice sounded urgent. "I need to show you guys something!"

"Who broke something or who needs stitches?" Flack asked.

"I just need to show you guys something important!" his son replied.

"Come in, Kieran," Sam said.

Their fifteen year old son poked his head into their room. "You guys like?" he asked.

His parents looked over. He was rubbing his head. That was now baring a shorn, military style cut.

"Kieran!" Sam nearly shrieked, jumping in surprise, almost sending the lap top crashing to the floor. That was the last thing either she or Flack expected. "What did you do?"

"Isn't it cool?" he asked, running his hand over his new 'do. "Alannah did it for me ten minutes ago. We took the clippers to it and…"

"The clippers?" Flack asked. "What clippers?"

"The ones in the basement."

Sam grimaced. "Those were meant for trimming the dogs, Kieran."

"Don't worry, mom. I cleaned them first. You like it, mom? What do you think?"

"It's a surprise. But you look really good. Thank God you have a smooth head to pull that off. You look very very handsome."

"You like it dad?" Kieran asked, both his parents hearing the eagerness for his father's approval in his voice.

Sam held her breath. Expecting the worst.

"You look damn good, Kieran," Flack said. "I'm proud of you for taking on a decision like that for yourself."

Keiran beamed. His entire face lighting up. "Thanks, dad," he said. "I just wanted to come and show you guys. I'm gonna head to bed now."

"Good idea," Flack told him. "I'll pick you up from school tomorrow? Or you can meet me at the office?"

"I'll meet ya at your office. We can go and buy my hockey stuff and get my skates sharpened?"

His father nodded.

"Cool. Maybe we could go to that place by Madison Square Gardens that sells all that crazy flavoured fudge," Kieran said. "Remember dad? You and I used to go there all the time when you won those seasons tickets for the Rangers. Think we could stop there?"

"No problem," Flack said.

Kieran slipped into the room and leaned over the bed to kiss his mom's cheek. Than his father's.

"'Night, mom, 'night, dad," he said as he headed for the door. "I love you guys."

"We love you, too, Kieran," Flack responded before his wife had a chance to.

Kieran grinned. "Keep the noise down, you two," he said with a wink and than closed the door.

Sam smiled at her husband.

"What?" Flack asked, trying not to make a big deal out of what had transpired. "Can you believe that? I said to get a haircut and he shaves his whole head. Looks like he's joining the Army or becoming a skin head."

"That's not why I'm looking at you" Sam told him. "I'm proud of you. For everything you just said to your son."

Flack smiled. "I'm not always a prick, Sam," he told her.

She pecked his cheek and went back to her work.

"I was thinking," he said in all seriousness.

She stopped, her fingers poised above the keyboard. "About?" she asked.

"Me and you need to talk."

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and everyone of you!**


	11. A little mommy and daddy time

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND ALL THE CRAZY FLACK KIDS.**

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M FOR SMUT AND SMUT RELATED CONVERSATIONS. IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE, SKIP AHEAD A COUPLE OF SECTIONS. IF NOT, ENJOY!**

**A Little Mommy and Daddy Time**

"If tomorrow is judgment day  
And I'm standing on the front line  
And the Lord asks me what I did with my life  
I will say I spent it with you

If I wake up in World War III  
I see destruction and poverty  
And I feel like I want to go home  
It's okay if you're coming with me

'Cause your love is my love  
And my love is your love  
It would take an eternity to break us  
And the chains of Amistad couldn't hold us

If I lose my fame and fortune  
And I'm homeless on the street  
And I'm sleeping in Grand Central Station  
It's okay if you're sleeping with me

As the years they pass us by  
We stay young through each others eyes  
And no matter how old we get  
It's okay as long as I got you baby."  
-My Love is Your Love, Whitney Houston

* * *

Men and women alike had feared those words for years. We need to talk. Or any variation of the sort. In fact, Sam had used those words many a time herself. Each time -following Kieran- that she had found out she was pregnant, and once when she, out of sheer stupidity and foolish female pride, had asked for a trial separation just after Mikayla's first birthday. She was tired and stressed from being home alone so much with five kids. She was lonely and felt like little more than a cook, maid and occasional sex partner. She had had enough, she'd said. And felt that the best thing, for both of them, was to be apart for a while. Re-discover who they were as individuals and hopefully realize that what they had was worth fighting for.

It had only lasted seven months. But it had been the longest seven months of both of their lives and their children's. Flack had gone back to stay with his parents while letting Sam and his children stay in the house, her mom flying in from Arizona to lend a hand with things. It had been extremely difficult and heart wrenching for both of them. Mac had been pretty good about the work thing. Trying his best to keep them off of the same cases. But it was inevitable that they would run into each other at some point in time. And each meeting had been awkward and painful.

It had killed Flack to only see his kids every other weekend. Sam had said he could come around whenever he wanted. It was his house after all. And they were his children and neither of them were taking legal action to dissolve their marriage. It was just a temporary thing and she wasn't going to keep him from his kids. He had stayed away because he just couldn't handle seeing her when he came to pick the kids up for their weekend. She seemed as if she was getting along just fine without him. She was smiling and looked happy and healthy and it killed him to think that she was better off with him not around.

It was hard enough when she answered the phone when he called every night to hear about the kids' respective days and to say goodnight and tell them that he loved them. They were young, so thankfully spared the pain of what was happening between their parents. But Kieran was old enough to realize that mommy and daddy weren't getting along and that daddy hadn't been home in a really long time. He didn't understand why his dad just couldn't come home and be with all of them again. And he cried each time Flack dropped him and his siblings off after their visit and clung to his dad's legs and sobbed uncontrollably and begged his dad to come and live with them again.

Flack had no explanation to why he couldn't come home. And he certainly wasn't going to bad mouth his wife to his son. The fact was, he still loved her and she still loved him, but they just couldn't seem to get along anymore. Finally, four months into it, he'd called her, three sheets to the wind after falling off the wagon yet again, and begged her to let him come home. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep their family together. She suggested counselling. They'd been it before. When she was pregnant with Kieran, and it had done their relationship wonders. Maybe it would work once again.

The sessions had been raw and emotional. Painful. He had no idea that she felt trapped. That she loved him and all their children but she felt trapped in her life. With each child they had, the more and more controlling and possessive Flack had become without even realizing it. He had told her to cut down to part time hours so she was home more with the kids. It wasn't an option. It was his way or the highway. He kept tabs on how much money she spent and who she hung around with and talked to. He had said it was to protect his kids, but when he thought about it in that therapist's office, he'd realized he'd done it to protect himself. Because the more she was home and confined to just taking care of their children, the less he had to worry about her meeting someone and leaving him. His old insecurities creeping up again.

They'd gone out on a date at the end of their block of sessions. They'd been seeing the therapist for nearly three months and there'd be no move in either direction. No request from a divorce from either of them, yet no suggestion of him moving back in and them giving their marriage another try. Carmen had called him up and said to try taking Sam out. As if the two of them were just hooking up for the first time all over again. He'd been sceptical that Sam would go for it, and overjoyed when she'd agreed. And even more so, that when he picked her up, flowers in hand, she'd smiled and kissed him softly and told him how handsome he looked. And how much she had missed him.

They'd made love that night. For the first time in nearly a year. The kids were at Carmen and Speed's and they'd gone home and made love in the bed where they had shared many a sleepless, pleasured filled night in the past seven years. It had been like re-discovering each other again. Hands and mouths exploring each others bodies. Tasting and feeling things they hadn't in so long. Taking their time and pleasuring each other beyond anything they had ever experienced before. And afterwards, as they lay together, their breathing ragged and their bodies and sheets drenched in sweat and their limbs entangled, she'd cried and told him she loved him and their life and begged him not to leave. To just stay there forever.

And he planned to.

So why did 'Me and you have to talk' terrify her as much as it did?

She wasn't sure how long she had stared at her husband after those words had escaped his lips, but it wasn't until Flack had reached over and gently tapped a finger tip against the tip of her nose that she finally broke out of the daze she'd fallen into.

"You with me?" he asked.

"Yeah…I'm with you…but what is that suppose to mean?"

"What?"

"Me and you have to talk. What does that mean?"

"Exactly what it's suppose to. That me and you need to talk."

"I don't like it when you say that, Donnie," she said, and found that tears welled in her eyes and her chest ached. "It's never good when any of us say that."

"What?" he asked, studying her face with his concern in his eyes. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm not…I…"

She suddenly was filled with the urge to just get away. From her own husband and what she knew was going to come out of his mouth. It wasn't going to be good. She could just feel it. He was going to tell her something dreadful and awful that would rip her apart inside. That he'd met someone that could give him more than a wife and six unruly kids could. Probably someone much younger with a Play Boy bunny body and a single digit IQ. That had been the type he'd been into before they ever met and some men couldn't resist going back to an old lifestyle when they hit middle age.

It was a mid life crisis. She was sure of it. Because if he was in his right mind there'd be no talk of another woman and moving on with a new life. Maybe even divorce. He just wasn't like that. He always vowed he was in things for the long haul and would never hurt her or their brood.

She was sure that was what he was going to say. He had met someone else and wanted a different life. One that didn't include a massive mortgage and half a dozen children to feed and clothe and college tuition's to plan for. It was damn scary. It horrified her to think about it most days. And she would completely understand if he just needed something, and someone, a little simpler. In all sense of the word.

"I can't talk about this right now," Sam said, dropping her lap top on mattress beside her and slipping off of the bed.

"Talk about what?" he asked, utterly confused. "I didn't say anything. All I said was.."

"You don't need to say anything, Don," she cut him off. "You've said enough."

What in the hell, he thought, watching as she went into their walk in closet and re-emerged moments later pulling on a pair of well worn jeans and a simple tank top.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I need to go for a walk. I need some air."

He checked the bedside clock. "It's nearly eleven. You need to go for a walk now? I don't want you go out for a walk by yourself at this time of the night. Are you crazy?"

"I'll take Maximus with me. He's an old police dog. He's used to attacking people in his previous life."

"Why don't you just come back to bed and tell me why you're freaking out like this," Flack suggested.

"I'll just go and sit in the backyard for a bit," she said. "Get some air. Prepare myself for what you're going to say."

"What I'm going to say? What do you think that is?"

"You know."

"No. I don't. If you ask me you're flipping out for no reason. This is like an episode of the Twilight Zone. Nothing is making sense here. What is if you think I'm going to say to you?"

"What most men say when they're having a mid life crisis and tired of their wives and the life they have. How you've met someone else and want a new life with them. Probably someone really young with blond hair and legs that go up to her ears and huge boobs and no brains. Who doesn't want six kids in the picture so you'll cut your losses and leave them all with me."

"What?" he couldn't help but laugh. "Oh my God. You can't be serious. You actually think that…"

"It's okay, Don. 'Cause I'll be fine. You'll be coughing up half your pension to me and paying through the ass for all of your kids. Especially when Kieran and Reghan and Alannah go to college. And don't even think you're going to get the house. Because I'll stay here just to spite you so you won't get half in the divorce."

"The divorce?" he laughed even harder this time. "Jesus Christ, Samantha. You're talking crazy shit."

"I already got the best of you anyway," she told him. "All your younger, virile years. She can have you when all you have left is some fancy sports car you'll no doubt buy and enough prescriptions for Viagra to see you through until the day you die."

"You are so overreacting," Flack said. "You are way off base. I can't believe you think I've met someone else. I don't want anyone else. I only want you. I've always only wanted you."

"It's okay, Don. I understand," she said, and made for the door.

He finally realized she was dead serious about walking out and was off the bed and blocking her way before she could get a chance to even got a hand on the door knob.

"You're serious, aren't you." It was more of a statement than a question. "You really think that's what I was going to say?"

"Wasn't it?" she asked, as tears trickled down her pale, smooth cheeks.

"Jesus Christ, no. All I was going to say is that we need to talk about that whole trip thing you mentioned in the car."

"That's it?" she asked, seeing the sincerity in his blue eyes and suddenly feeling like a complete and utter ass.

"That's it," he assured her, laying one hand on her hip and using the fingertips of the other to tenderly brush away her tears.

She sniffled noisily. "Oh," she said. Than smiled sheepishly. "Ooops."

He grinned.

"I think I may have overreacted."

"Just a bit," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"I'm sorry. You just looked and sounded so serious and I went into defensive mode. It's my hormones, you know. My period bailed on me two months ago and I keep having those damn hot flashes and I can't sleep properly most nights and now I'm having that problem, you know, intimacy wise, and I…"

He kissed her softly. "It's okay," he assured her. "I know you've been a bit, what's the word…off lately."

She nodded in agreement and laid her forehead against his chest.

"Can we go back to bed?" he asked, softly kissing the back of her neck. He liked the easy access to that extra sensitive spot. Maybe there was a positive side to her new haircut after all. "You can give me a chance to finish what I was going to say?"

"I'm sorry," she said, and stepped away from him and went back to the rumpled bed. "I shouldn't have overreacted like that."

"It's okay," he assured her, moving to the bed as well and tidying up her thing. Shuffling papers together and slipping them into respective folders and saving her work on the lap top before shutting it down and closing the lid.

* * *

"I really needed to work on that," Sam said, climbing into the middle of the bed.

"Tomorrow's another day," Flack reminded her and sat all of her things on the window seat before joining her on the mass of wrinkled sheets. "I can't believe you actually thought I was going to say I had met someone else and I was leaving. And that whole part of paying out of my ass for all of the kids and how you got my younger, more virile years? Classic."

She frowned. "I said I was sorry," she mumbled.

"All I was going to tell you was that I thought about you saying that you wanted to go away. Just the two of us. And I know for a fact that Scagnetti wouldn't have a problem giving me some time off. As long as it's only for a few days and not a whole week or two. We couldn't go very far both for lack of money and time, but we could always go down to Boston or Washington DC or somewhere like that. Spend some time together. Some alone time."

She smiled. "I'd really like that, Donnie," she said.

"We'd have to give it a few weeks because things are a bit crazy around the department right now and you said yourself you've got all that paper work for those immigrants and what not. And Kieran has his hockey and he'd kill us if we missed playoffs. Especially if they get to the championships. So it's not like we could go right away. Maybe in a month or two. Before the kids get out of school for the summer and all the craziness begins around here. Is that okay? Gives us some time to get things under control and put in requests for time off at work?"

"It's more than okay," she said, and circled his neck with her arms and kissed him. Her tongue wasting no time in pushing its way between his lips and teeth and into his warm, moist mouth. Her one hand moving to the back of his head, her fingers entwining in his short hair.

It had been a while since she'd kissed him like that. Usually he was the one initiating things. Despite sixteen years of marriage and six kids and a more than satisfying sex life, she was still relatively shy about telling him exactly what she wanted. At the beginning of their relationship, after she'd gotten used to him, she'd been more relaxed and open about sex. But as each kid came along, her self confidence became to wane. And things really tanked when menopause began to set in a little more than a month ago. That was when the intimacy issues really escalated.

At first it was difficulty reaching orgasm. That had never, ever been a problem for her. Sometimes he had to do very little and she was already teetering on the edge. Multiple and g-spot orgasms were a common thing. And suddenly, after sixteen years and extensive knowledge on what got his wife off, Flack literally hit a brick wall. A half an hour of foreplay and no result? Half an hour usually guaranteed at least three, if not climaxes. Now nothing. And the most frustrated she got, the less relaxed was she and soon she was pushing his head away from her and rolling onto her stomach and completely shutting down on him.

They chalked it up to stress at work. She had a huge work load and a new team and couldn't seem to think about anything else but. He couldn't help but be slightly offended and feel like he couldn't get the job done. A couple of weeks later, she shook him awake at three in the morning and announced she thought she was ready. And needed it. Now. Who was he to turn down such a request. The lingering problem was solved in less than ten minutes and since than, had never returned.

Than a month ago, the woman who once claimed her husband could make her wet just by looking at her a certain way, suddenly could not get lubricated naturally. Flack felt like a complete and utter failure. It was frustrating as hell and he all but accused her of not being into him in that way anymore. She explained it was her hormones.

Their previous issues, her lack of a period for two months, mood swings and now personal dryness, were all signs of menopause. It was the first time she had ever mentioned the change of life to him, and Flack had to admit, he knew nothing about it. But the internet was a very usual tool and he turned to it to better understand his wife.

She was embarrassed as hell and didn't want to talk anymore about it or even attempt sex again. It was way too painful and she would hear nothing about going to a drug store to pick up lubricant. She thought it was only for people that had issues. He told her they did have issues and to stop being so damn embarrassed and ashamed about personal issues with him. He was her husband. Not some stranger off the street. Three more weeks went by before she'd let him anywhere near her.

Than three days ago, Carmen had gone up to her office and sat a beautifully wrapped gift on Sam's desk with a very strict, 'Use the damn stuff', before walking out. Having experience her own issues, Carmen had used personal experience and bought her best friend a KY 2 and 1 gift set. Flack had never been so ecstatic or loved Carmen more than he did when Sam showed him it later that night.

Only they hadn't gotten to delve into it yet. Long work hours and stress at home had all but zapped their libidos. That morning they'd had a little bit of fun that he'd been hopeful would be carried on into the night time.

And so far, things looked promising as he pushed his wife onto her back in the middle of their bed. Propped on one arm as his lips and tongue and teeth finding her ear and than her neck as his free hand pushed up her tank top. He lifted his head and grinned down at her as his hand softly fondled her breasts, the nipples hardening to his touch.

"You were going to go out with no bra on?" he asked. "Walking around this neighbourhood? Woulda gave all the old guys out for their nightly strolls heart attacks."

"It was the last thing on my mind," she said, than moaned loudly when he lightly pinched a nipple.

He pushed the top right up to her neck and she lifted her head as he stripped the flimsy fabric over her head and tossed it aside. He captured her lips with his once more, pressing her back into the bed as his hand stroked and caressed her full, luscious breasts and than slid down her flat stomach to the waist of her jeans. Snapping open the button and sliding down the zipper as he leaned down and flicked and swirled his tongue over her rock hard nipple. Taking it into his mouth and sucking firmly at the same moment his hand slid down the front of her pants and he slipped two fingers inside of her warm body.

She moaned louder than before and arched against his hand, her finger nails digging into his scalp.

His mouth released her nipple and he trailed his lips and his tongue along the space between her breasts and lower. Over that faint scar she still possessed from the c-section to bring Liam into the world. She had had the surgery to deliver the triplets safely, and afterwards, the doctor suggested using the same incision line to deliver Mikayla and Liam. The triplets had weakened her uterus and made normal vaginal delivery a risky option.

She shuddered at the sensation of his tongue tracing along the scar. Her hands were on his shoulders, encouraging him to go even lower. Sixteen years and she'd never tired of it. And he never tired of obliging her and pleasing her. His hands yanked down the jeans and he sat back on his heels to pull them down her slender legs and over her ankles and feet. Dropping them over the side of the bed.

"No underwear either?" he asked, slightly amused and completely turned on.

"Don…you know I love you, right?"

He nodded and ran his hands from her ankles and over her calves and to the inside of her milky thighs. Gently pushing her legs open and pressing a kiss to the inside of both knees.

"Than can you do me a favour? Stop talking and asking me questions and just get to work."

"Yes, m'am," he said and bowed his head to softly nip along her thigh before settling himself between her legs. "By the way," he grabbed her foot and moved it between his legs, so she could press her toes into the impressive erection that awaited her. "I will never, ever need Viagra."

She giggled loudly and dug her foot into his groin.

The mixture of pleasure and pain causing him to groan loudly before burying his face in her warm, sweet body.

Samantha cried out at the sensation of his tongue swirling over her throbbing clit. After sixteen years of wonderful, exquisite love making and foreplay, he didn't need to be told or prodded. He knew exactly what to do and how to do it and was, and had always been, an expert at it. Alternating between long, slow licks and fast, hard motions and than pressing his tongue deep inside. Than using saliva and the small amount of vaginal fluid she had managed to produce to gently insert three fingers inside of her. Curving them slightly to find, and rub, that extremely sensitive spot that always caused her to becoming completely and unabashedly unhinged.

Tonight was no exception. The four glasses of wine she had consumed had acted like an aphrodisiac and had put her nerves on edge. And before long, she was grabbing a pillow and smothering her own face to stifle the ear splitting scream that erupted from her. Her back arching off the bed and her hands painfully gripping his hair.

It was futile to resist or fight. Flack had long ago accepted pain as a by product of sex with her. If she wasn't pulling his hair, she was leaving bloody gouge marks across his back. And if she wasn't doing that, she was sinking her teeth into the space between his neck and shoulder. He had more battle wounds from her than he did in all his years with the NYPD.

When her muffled noises had subsided and her body ceased trembling and contracting, he removed his fingers slowly and gently and pushed himself up onto his knees. Flack moved up his wife's body. Her skin glistened with perspiration and she hadn't even worked that hard. It was good for the ego. He grabbed the pillow and tossed it aside. Her eyes were closed and she was panting.

He kissed her softly.

She opened her eyes and smiled dreamily at him.

"You're very welcome," he said, kissing her again and than leaning over the bed and opening the top drawer on the night stand.

"You have just been dying to use that stuff, haven't you," Sam said.

"You have no idea," he said and frowned when she slipped off the bed. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"I have to pee," she replied.

It was nothing new. He'd been dealing with her necessity to empty her bladder immediately after an orgasm for sixteen years now. But when she returned five minutes later carrying his bath towel, he frowned.

"What's that for?" he asked, already shedding his t-shirt and boxers.

"Those are brand new sheets," she replied, grabbing Maximus by his collar and opening the bedroom door and pushing him out into the hall.

She picked up Cujo and placed him out there as well. She would not, and could not, have sex with them in the room. And they'd find a warm, cozy bed to sleep in with one of the kids.

She shut and locked the bedroom door. "I paid a lot of money for them and I don't want anything getting on them."

"Are you telling me we're getting ready to do the nasty for the first time in a month and a half and all you're thinking about it the new sheets? I didn't even know they were new."

"You're so very astute, Don," she said and laid the towel over the sheets.

"Guys don't notice shit like that. But I will say, that looking at them, they are very nice sheets."

"Egyptian cotton," she told him. "I paid three hundred for them. And that was on sale."

"Come again?" he asked. "Because I would have sworn you said you paid three hundred for sheets."

"I did," she responded, and climbing on the bed, crawled over to him as he stood at the foot of the bed. She reached out and softly stroked his cock. "And I would very much like to come again. Please and thank you," she licked her lips and made to go down on him.

"Forget that," he said, and grabbed her by the wrists and pushed her onto her back.

She scooted into the middle of the bed and lay down on the towel.

He snapped open the top of the small plastic bottle in his hand and squeezed a generous amount of lubrication into his palm. And he had just applied it to his aching cock and came down to kiss her, prepared to enter her, when he suddenly pulled back and frowned, looking down in between them.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Do you smell that?" he responded with a question of his own.

She sniffed the air. "Mint," she said. "So?"

"This stuff smells like mint. Why the hell does it smell like mint? And why is my dick tingling? Don't tell me I've got an allergic reaction and it's going to shrivel up and fall off. I swear to God woman, if I lose my most prized possession because of your menopause…."

"Where's the bottle?" she asked.

Flack reached blindly behind him and scooped it up and handed it to her.

Sam squinted to read the label. "You moron," she said and laughed. "It's mint scented, tingling lubricant. Meant to enhance sexual pleasure."

"So it's suppose to smell like that and do that?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied and tossed the bottle aside. "Now put it to good use already."

"I love it when you go all bossy and aggressive and assertive on me," he said.

She raised her head to kiss him. And sank her teeth into his bottom lip.

"Fuck woman!" he nearly shrieked. "You're damn vicious."

She smiled and traced his lips with her tongue.

He kissed her savagely and grabbed a hold of her leg and drew it up and over his hip and eased into her slowly. Filling her completely and easily. The sensation of being inside of her was incredible. Mixed in with the tingling from the lubrication, the feeling was intense and he knew that he wouldn't last long. A month and a half had done a number on him and he felt like a horny high schooler getting his rocks off for the first time. No self control whatsoever.

She circled his waist with her legs, pulling him in deeper. Her eyes closed and her head tilted back.

He licked and kissed at the hallow of her throat. "Not gonna last long," he told her through gritted teeth, already holding back on her.

"It's okay," she assured him. "I didn't expect you to."

He reached between them to find her clit. Rubbing it vigorously before she came a second time that evening. Biting down on his shoulder and scraping her nails across his back as intense pleasure shot through her. The contracting of her inner muscles sending him over the edge as well. Burying his face in her shoulder as he moaned her name and spent himself inside of her warm, welcoming body.

For several long minutes neither of them moved. Their breathing ragged and their hearts pounding as they fought to compose themselves. Eventually he raised his head and kissed her softly.

"You're amazing," he told her, and she reached up to wipe sweat from his brow with her finger tips. "You always have been."

She smiled and kissed him long and soft and pulled him back down on top of her. He pulled out of her and rolled onto his side and they lay, limbs tangled and bodies drenched in sweat for what seemed like an eternity. The gentle, cool breeze drifting in from the open bedroom window tickling their skin.

Flack moved first. Pressing a kiss to her temple before slipping out of bed and heading for the bathroom. A short time passed before he came back into the bedroom carrying a night gown for her and a warm, damp face cloth. He climbed back into his clothes and watched her as she lay contently and wholly satisfied and naked in their bed. She was beautiful. Almost sixteen years from the day he'd met her, he'd never seen someone as beautiful and amazing as her. And the day she became his wife and the mother of his child, she became even more so.

He joined her on the bed. Used the face cloth to gently and lovingly clean the lubrication off of her. Than used a clean part of the towel to dry her. She sat up and kissed him in appreciation and he handed her the night gown.

"I'm exhausted," she declared, shrugging into the pyjamas before collapsing onto her back.

"Yeah? Well mind blowing sex will do that to you," he said with a grin. "I'm going out for a smoke."

"I'm used to it by now," she said with a yawn. "And there's all kinds of food in the fridge. 'Cause I just know you're dying to eat something."

He smiled. "You know me so well," he said, and leaned over to kiss her. "I love you," he told her.

"I love you, too," she said, and rolled over onto her side. "Turn the light and the tv off?" she asked. "And remember to lock the patio door and check the front one and set the alarm?"

"I am an old pro at the whole domestic crap," he assured her and climbed off the bed. He flicked off the television and set the converter on the nightstand and than went and turned off the bedside lamp. He pulled the towel out from underneath her. Dropping it in the laundry hamper before covering her up with the thick duvet that had fallen to the floor during all their strenuous activity.

He ran a hand over her hair and kissed the top of her head. She was already drifting off to sleep. A soft smile on her lips. He stood over her, protectively, and waited until she fell asleep. The moonlight that streamed through the window illuminating her smooth skin. She looked like an angel. Precious and pure and innocent.

He thanked God every day for the day she was born. And prayed for many more years with her.

* * *

Starting bright and early at seven each weekday morning, the Flack house was a scene of utter chaos. The noise and activity level nearly unbearable as six kids battled each other for the use of two bathrooms (mom and dad's made three, but no one under any circumstances was allowed to use it except for mom and dad) and fought and argued with each other over anything and everything under the sun. If it wasn't Alannah battering Reghan with a pillow to wake her up and than physically dragging her sister out of bed -which in turn always caused an all our hair pulling, nail scratching fight on the bedroom floor- it was Sam threatening to douse both Liam and Declan with a bucket of cold water if they didn't get up and get their butts in gear. By seven thirty, five out of six kids were dressed and at the breakfast table. Feeding a large brood of sometimes exceptionally picky eaters had always been a challenge. The older kids were just happy with a some cereal and toast or tossing a few Eggo's into the toaster. Kieran, Alannah and Declan were like their father. They'd eat just about anything. Whereas Liam, Mikayla and Reghan would turn their noses up at suggestions and refuse to eat something if the appearance didn't appeal to them.

Liam had gone through a stage a year ago where the only thing he'd eat in the morning was scrambled eggs or pancakes and the only thing he wanted for supper was spaghetti with butter and ketchup on it. It had gotten to the point that Sam found herself often preparing three or four separate dishes a night to appease everyone. Before Flack put his foot down and told the kids they had three options. Eat whatever was on your plate, go to bed hungry, or make your own damn food. That had solved the majority of the meal time issues. The only problems that still remained was the excessively high grocery bill and the mystery to why the fridge and freezer seemed to empty out so quick. Although someone by the name of Kieran seemed to be the culprit behind that.

The noise around the table as each kid chattered about the day that lay ahead of them and the dinner that they had gone to the night before was nearly deafening. Short of leaving the room to find peace and quiet from the bickering Alannah and Reghan seemed permanently embroiled in and Liam, still so tiny that he had to kneel on his chair to reach the table to eat properly, screaming to be heard over everyone, Sam found some solace by standing at the kitchen island across the room. Drinking a cup of tea while keeping an eye on everyone and going through yesterday's mail that she'd brought down from the bedroom that morning.

Today was a work from home day. She was allotted two a week and unless she was desperately needed in the office, spent those two days holed up in front of the computer in the den and buried nose deep in government files. With the interrogation of the ship's captain handed over to federal interrogators and the DEA in charge of the drugs that had been siezed, her main concern now was going through the applications for asylum that the surviving immigrants had issue late yesterday afternoon. And that was sheer hellish paperwork that could be handled from the comforts of home.

She ripped open the envelope from the hydro company and pulled out the bill. Eyes widening at the amount due at the bottom of the page. She dreaded the thought of tackling the gas and water bill. Not to mention Kieran's and Reghan and Alannah's cell phones. All three were addicted to text messaging. To the point their parents had already taken the phones away on more than one occasion.

"Hey," Flack said gruffly to his kids as he wandered into the kitchen, dropping a grey suit jacket on an empty chair. "You guys mind keeping it down a bit? Someone people in this hemisphere are still sleeping."

"Dad, tell Reghan that it is not okay to be French kissing a boy at our age," Alannah implored.

"Who French kissed who?" Flack asked, frowning.

"Reghan and Aiden were kissing last night," Liam chirped. "Gross."

"You weren't supposed to tattle, twerp!" Reghan hissed and leaned across the table to slap her little brother upside the head. Liam backed away, dug his spoon into his cheerios and proceeded to toss milk and soggy cereal across the table and into his startled sister's face.

Flack struggled not to burst out laughing and it was a feat keeping a straight face while scolding his youngest and watching his furious daughter bolt up from the table and lunge for the roll of paper towles on the counter.

"For God sakes, Reghan," Sam said, barely glancing up from the mail as her daughter scrubbed furiously at her face. "It's only cheerios and milk. They won't scald and scar for life."

"And do me a favor," Flack said. "Roll your kilt down so it actually covers your ass."

"All the girls wear their kilts like this," Reghan informed him. "Get with it dad."

"Don't talk to your father like that," Sam said sternly. "And he's right. Roll it down. There's no need to wear it that short."

"I've got shorts on," Reghan argued.

"Roll it down," Flack said.

"But dad…"

"Now," he ordered. The tone of his voice and the look in his eyes bearing testament to the fact that he wasn't screwing around.

The thirteen year old sighed heavily, finished cleaning and drying her face and reluctantly reached under her untucked white blouse and rolled down the waist on her navy, green and white plaid kilt. Girls were also allowed to wear navy pants and cardigan sweaters in the colder weather. Boys were navy dress pants, black shoes and either white dress shirts or white polo shirts. All emblazoned on the front pocket with the school's initials. The same high school Flack had once attended. Across from which was the elementary school he and all of his kids had gone, or were going, through.

"Where's Kieran?" Sam asked, as her husband stepped behind her, purposefully brushing his mid section against her ass. The simple contact causing her to blush furiously after their activities the evening before. And that very morning a mere two hours ago.

"Making himself look good for all the women," Flack replied, kissing her cheek before pouring himself a cup of coffee from the freshly brewed pot on the counter.

"Definitely your son," Sam commented.

"He got all the good traits from me," he said, and leaning against the counter she stood up, grinned and winked at her. He couldn't keep that grin off of his face. The look who just got his brains fucked out grin, Sam always had called it.

"I think not," Sam snorted and took a bite from the toast and peanut butter on the plate beside her.

"You're not going in today?" Flack asked, taking in her slipper clad feet and her terry cloth bathrobe.

"I had to switch my at home days because I need to go in Friday to get ready for that trail on Monday," Sam responded. "I told you all of this. I plan on getting as many of those applications done as possible. And some of the laundry and house work. I know I've been lax on all that stuff lately. But for the most part, I plan on staying in my jammies all day."

"All day?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

She nodded.

"In that case, I should call in sick," Flack said, in a voice just low enough for her to hear. "All the kids are out of the house until the afternoon. We could have fun in whatever place we want, you can make as much noise as you want. When's the last time you could scream and moan like a porn star?"

"Hmmm…" she thought about it. "Before Kieran was born."

"Exactly. If I stay home, we can make up for a lot of lost time. Lots of that stuff left that Carmen gave us."

Sam grinned. "Now that would be a hell of a nice way to spend the day."

"Yes," he said and leaned sideways to kiss her. "It would."

"You're late," Sam said to her oldest as he entered the kitchen. "Your breakfast is getting nasty."

"You know how it is, mom," Kieran commented. "It's hard to be this beautiful."

Liam glanced over at his oldest brother and opened his mouth to say something. Instead of words tumbling out of his mouth, his eyes went wide at the sight of Kieran with no hair and than he suddenly let out a blood curdling scream and dove under the table.

"Liam!" Reghan shrieked, directing a kick in his direction. "What is your problem?"

"No!" her little brother was wailing under the table, rocking back and forth. "Not Kieran! No!"

"It's my hair," Kieran concluded. "He's always known me with hair. Maybe it scares him because all of a sudden I look like a completely different person. Come here, Liam," he crouched down alongside the table and held out a hand. "It's still me. I just shaved my head. I'm still your big brother. I'm still Kieran."

Liam shook his head energetically.

"I swear it's me pee-wee," Kieran said.

"Prove it," Liam demanded.

Kieran reached for a glass of orange juice that sat on the table and drank it in one gulp. Than waited half a minute before letting out a massive, rib shaking belch that grossed every woman in the room out, impressed the guys and brought a broad smile to Liam's face.

"I told you it was me," Kieran said and helped his little brother out from under the table. Picking Liam up effortlessly under the arms, he sat the soon to be seven year old back in his seat. "Now eat your breakfast before you give mom a heart attack and dad even more grey hair."

"You look like that Edward Norton guy in American History X," Alannah complained as her big brother slid onto the breakfast bench beside her.

"Means I'm damn fine than," Kieran said, reaching across the table to snag a piece of toast from a plate in the middle. "'Cause I heard he was hugely popular with the females when he was the it thing."

"And how'd you see that movie in the first place?" Flack asked. "I remember seeing that and it was pretty damn brutal. How'd you ever see it?"

"I will never give up my sources, dad," his daughter replied. "Do you ever give up one of your confidential informants?"

"You watch too many cop shows," Flack told her.

"No. My parents just happen to both be cops and all my aunts and uncles. I do hear you guys talking."

"Next time, plug your eyes. And your mom isn't a cop anymore. She's a Fed. The bane of the NYPD."

"Deal with it, dad," Kieran said, digging into his bowl of soggy frosted cheerios. A favorite of his since was just a little boy and his dad used to place the dry ones on his high chair tray. And Declan had mastered the pincer grasp because of cheerios. By eight months, he was already able to pick up the small, dry rings between his thumb and forefinger and place them successfully in his mouth. Farther ahead than most Down Syndrome kids. Too bad he couldn't be that quick to learn in other things.

Declan jumped to his feet, gathered up his dirty dishes and sat them obediently in the sink. "Hi d-d-dad," he said, and turned his face up for a kiss.

"Hey, buddy," Flack pressed a kiss to his son's forehead. "What do you think of Kieran's hair? Want me to take ya in the basement and shave your hair all of just like that?"

"Yeah!" Declain exclaimed happily. "All bald!"

"I think not," Sam said.

"C-c-come on, mom. It cool," Delcan declared and ran back to the table and vigorously rubbed both hands over his older brother's head. "Feel cool, K," he said, and than gave his brother an enthusiastic two thumbs up.

"I'll do it for you when I get back from shopping with dad this afternoon," Kieran said, chuckling as his brother repeatedly massaged his newly shorn head. "I'll get the clippers and buzz ya clean off."

"Pwomise?" Declan asked, eyes glittering in anticipation.

"Promise," Kieran replied, and was rewarded with a noisy, sloppy kiss on the cheek before Declan took off into the living room and bounded up the stairs.

"What a freak," Alannah mumbled.

Kieran tossed a piece of toast at his sister and glared at her angrily. "Don't talk about my brother like that," he said. "I'm not scared to take you out back and lay the beats on you. Ask me, you're the freak and the retard in this family."

"Screw you, Kieran," Alannah snapped back and chucked the toast at him.

"Hey!" Sam yelled. "Enough! Both of you! You don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all! Now both of you shut it and eat!"

"Mommy told you guys," Mikayla said. "And that's mean Alannah. Saying that about Declan. Not his fault he's like that."

"Probably mom or dad's," Alannah murmured.

"Want me to take her outside and beat her dad?" Kieran asked. "'Cause I will. You know that's not how it happened, Alannah. Mom and dad didn't make Declan like that. It just happened right when he was conceived. What happened to make you the way you are? Mom drop you on your head?"

* * *

"Jesus," Sam said with a heavy sigh, as her children began fighting once again. "We really need that vacation, Don. Although you might change your mind when you see the hydro and the water bill," she held them both out to him.

He took a sip of coffee and swallowed and sat the mug down on the counter. Taking the bills from her, he studied the top one first. Electricity. It was in the low three hundreds. Less than he had anticipated. But the water bill, closer to five, was the one that widened his eyes and nearly gave him chest pains.

"Cell phone bills for the kids also came," Sam said, slapping another set up papers in his hands. "It's actually impressive how much they've cut back on the text messaging. MasterCard and cable also came," she dropped more papers into his grasp. "And that letter from the school board? Just what I said. His funding is being cut. Drastically. Full time EA only twice a week and part time the rest. And less hours in the special ed room."

"That's a bunch of crap," Kieran commented, overhearing.

"I am telling you, Sam," Flack said, as he skimmed through the bills. "We need to seriously consider sending him somewhere else. 'Cause that's a load of shit. Can we appeal like we did the last time this happened?"

"We can try," she told him with a sigh. "We'll probably have to have a meeting with the principal and the trustee."

"Can I come, mom?" Kieran asked. "I can tune them up?"

"You hang around your Uncle Danny way too much," Flack told his son. "We can't let this just go by, Sam," he said to his wife. "Things will come to a complete standstill learning wise if we just let the board screw us like this. If they can't accommodate him, we send him somewhere else. Plain and simple."

"I think that's something we need to sit down and discuss," she said, moving to the sink to rinse her cup before setting it in the dishwasher. "Not just come to a hasty decision."

"Kinda like your son deciding to shave his head with dog clippers?" Flack teased. "And Kieran, you don't stop taking so many showers, I won't have any money left to pay any of the other bills and you'll be hosing yourself down in the backyard."

The door bell rang. The chime sounding throughout the entire house. Had it been later in the day, especially on the weekend, the front door would have been wide open and the screen door unlocked allowing all of the kids' friends and their parents to just walk right in.

"Got it!" Declan called out and they heard him racing for the front door. "Mom! Dad!" he bellowed after a couple of minutes. "Company!"

"Hi Aunt Sam!" Chelsea, Mac and Stella's eleven year old daughter, petite and bubbly with her father's hair and eyes, greeted cheerfully as she came into the kitchen, followed close behind by her thirteen year old sister Tiana.

Tiana was all legs and curls and porcelain skin and oozed confidence. In other words, she was Stella from head to toe. With more attitude tossed in the mix. She attended the same high school as Kieran and the triplets and Addie and Aiden. While Chlelsea did her time at the same primary school as the little ones.

"Hey, Uncle Don," Chelsea stood on her tip toes and motioned for him to bend down so she could peek his cheek.

"How are you so damn cheerful first thing in the morning?" he asked, accepting the kiss.

"Dad says the same thing all the time," Chelsea responded. "It drives him nuts. He likes his peace and quiet while he's reading his paper and drinking his coffee. How he's managed to stay married to mom this long, I'll never know."

"You know," Flack said. "I think the same thing when I realize how long I've been married to your aunt. Just how in the hell have I survived."

"I think that should be the other way around," Tiana commented. "Aunt Sam should be asking that about herself. How she ever managed to put up with you for so long. With any man, actually."

"You're such a damn feminist," Flack complained.

"You two eat yet?" Sam asked, and immediately began preparing Eggo's and pouring bowls of cereal when Tiani shook her head.

"What?" Flack laughed. "Your dad didn't make enough as commish that he can't feed you guys?"

"He throws us scraps here and there," Tiani replied.

"What I want to know is when my house became the Flack Drop in Centre for way ward youth," Flack commented. "Because suddenly I'm footing the bill to feed every kid in a three block radius."

"You're getting old, dad," Kieran said. "You're bitching and moaning way more than usual. Mom didn't go easy on you last night and let you get some sleep?"

"You are so gross!" Alannah complained, slugging her brother in the shoulder.

"What happened to your hair?" Tiana asked. "Accident with the vacuum cleaner while you were going for the other head?"

"Got a girlfriend for that," he replied. "And she ain't the one giving up said favors in the boys bathroom."

"Kieran!" Sam exclaimed. "Stop it! Don't talk like that!"

"If you only knew, mom," he said with a sigh and stood up.

"Well I don't want to know," Sam snapped. "And you're getting a little too smart with your mouth. Don't talk like that with your siblings in the room and most importantly, don't talk like that with me and your dad in the room. It's rude and disrespectful."

"Sorry, mommy," he said and dropped his dishes in the washer. "Just girls like that? Piss me off."

"Fine. But keep those comments to yourself," Sam told him. "Can you make sure Declan is all cleaned up and ready to go, please?"

"I can," he said, and kissed her cheek. "Sorry, mommy," he said once again.

"Just watch your mouth from now on," she told him. "Keep that kind of talk between you and your buddies, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed and headed out of the kitchen.

Sam sighed and looked at Flack. "When did he grow up?" she asked. "One minute it was like he was a baby and the next he was a smart mouth teenager. Where'd the time go? How'd we miss him going from a little boy to almost man?"

Flack shrugged. "We blinked," he said.

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you!**


	12. Revelations

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN.**

**A/N: I HAVE A SMALL MOMENT IN THIS CHAP BETWEEN FLACK AND KIERAN THAT WAS INSPIRED BY THOMAS' CRAYON EATING INCIDENT IN DI. I JUST WANTED TO GIVE CREDIT WHERE CREDIT IS DUE AND SAY THANKS TO APHINA WAS LETTING ME BORROW THE PREMISE.**

**A/N 2: THIS CHAPTER GOES BACK TO KIERAN AS A BABY. JUST THOUGHT I'D GIVE HEADS UP SO THERE'S NO CONFUSION**

**Revelations**

"I remember a year ago  
I was standing in the crowd  
waiting for my chance to break through,  
my chance to live again.  
Now it seems I've found some friends  
who finally understand  
what it takes to make this dream come true,  
we'll be here till the end.  
Oh, wish I could thank you  
all for what you have done  
and all of the things that you have shared with me.  
Oh, wish I could take you all to where I must go  
wish I could take you all, I'll take you in my arms."  
-In Fate's Hands, The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

* * *

Flack hadn't had the dream in a long time. The one where he re-lived the final moments of that fateful day of the explosion. The last moments that his mind had allowed him to remember. He and Mac were clearing the building out. They were running from floor to floor as the fire alarms blared. The loud, ear splitting noise bouncing off of the high ceiling and cements floors and walls of the narrow stairwell. They had successfully cleared everyone out and were looking for last minute stragglers while Flack yelled into his cell phone, informing dispatch of the bomb in the building.

They'd stepped out onto an empty floor. Flack couldn't recall how much ground that he and Mac had covered, or what floor they had actually been on, but after checking locked doors and poking their heads inside of empty rooms, Mac had made the executive decision to get the hell out of there. Flack hadn't argued. He wanted nothing more to get out of that building and to a remotely safe location. There was no way in hell he wanted to be stuck in there when, and if, that damn thing decided to explode.

A door opened behind them as they hurried for the exit. A young man wearing head phones had stepped out into the hall and asked what was going on. Or some variation of the sort. He hadn't heard the fire alarms or the two cops ordering people out of the building. And Flack had turned and started back down the hall, screaming at the kid to get the hell out of there.

The world had exploded. He remembered nothing about the day after that. His only memory of the incident afterwards was waking up in the hospital hooked up to tubes and monitors and being startled by the unfamiliar surroundings. Despite the heavy duty medication being pumped into him at record pace, he'd attempted to bolt upright in bed until an intense, crippling and nauseating pain winded him and brought tears to his eyes and forced him back in bed. And than his mother, eyes red and moist from crying, was at his side smoothing his hair away from his face and gripping his hand and telling him that he made it. He hadn't crossed over to that other side. But he'd come close. Damn close.

He'd been shocked when he'd found out what had happened. How Mac had saved his life by tying a dirty shoe lace around a severed artery in his stomach. Danny had told him that part. Mac wasn't the type of guy to talk about stuff like that. He didn't expect be thanked or applauded for what he did. He'd simply say that was his job and any member of the team would have done the same thing . Flack highly doubted that. Mac was always cool and calm and composed under pressure. Others may have panicked and not being able to summon up the courage to stick their hands in Flack's gaping wound in order to save just one life.

It hurt for a long time. His chest and stomach ached on a near constant basis for almost two years. He refused to take pain medication because he thought it meant he was weak. Flack was not weak. It was not in his nature. Taking the meds meant that the bombing had succeeded in destroying his life. And he couldn't let that happen. So he suffered. He lived through months in the hospital and long, arduous hours in physic and rehab. Strengthening exercises that had him near tears and puking his cuts up at the end of a session. He got through a month of desk duty when he ached to be out in the field. Pain and nightmares became constant bedfellows.

Than one day, he'd met the person that would change the course of his life and the darkness and suffering began to lift. He accepted help when it was offered and let himself be loved and cared for. And while the pain lessened, it still nagged at him. But, by the grace of God, sleeping beside that warm, welcoming body and revelling in the peace and serenity and comfort she brought him, had put an end to those nightmares.

Until now. Since the news of Dean Lessing's release had come across his desk, Flack had been plagued with the dreams and the pain nearly every day and night. It was common for him to wake up with his chest aching and his heart pounding as if it would burst right out of his chest. Drenched in sweat and panting and bolting up right. The sheets twisted in his limbs.

This morning was no different. He found himself in a sitting position. Dizzy and perspiring. His hands shaking uncontrollably. He dropped his chin to his chest and closed his eyes and attempted to take slow, deep and steady breaths to calm himself. He was in a safe place. In the security of his own home. His own bed. With that sleeping figure mere inches away. Naked and on her stomach, face turned towards the door and her arms spread wide. Sunlight streaming through the window. The bright rays making the red highlights in her hair sparkle.

When his heart rate returned to normal and the pain subsided, Flack untangled himself from the sheets and climbed out of bed and went to the bedroom window. Throwing it open, he pressed his face to the screen and sucked in as much of the brisk late November air that his lungs could take.

Lessing's release was three weeks away. It was haunting Flack. He couldn't get his head around the fact that the man who'd nearly ended his life was going to be a free man. Lessing had murdered and planted bombs with no remorse if he took other lives in the process. All in a sick, twisted attention seeking ploy. To get the government to realize that the country wasn't ready to face another terrorist attack and that they had to be prepared.

He was a certified nut job. That was one thing that Flack was sure of. What he wasn't sure of what Lessing was capable of. Was he capable of developing a sick obsession towards Flack because he had somehow managed to survive the blast? Was he capable of wreaking havoc on the happy life that Flack had managed to grab hold of? Could he, and would he, bring pain and suffering to his wife and that precious, innocent baby that slept soundly and securely in the next room.

Behind him, Flack heard Samantha stirring in bed. The slight rustling of the sheets and her soft mumbling. He had to tell her soon. Talk was starting to run rampant at work. And the press was beginning to contact him at the precinct. It wouldn't be long until they were calling the apartment and showing up on the door step.

And the dreams. He could only use the excuse of stress and an overactive imagination -a by product of the job- for so long. His wife was not a stupid woman.

Samantha rolled over onto her side and stretched out her arm, blindly reaching for that familiar, warm body beside her. Her hand fell on wrinkled, empty sheets instead. Sheets that were drenched in sweat. That alarmed her and her eyes snapped open. Settling on him standing at the window, his back and shoulders tense as he breathed fresh air.

She'd been witness to the nightmares her husband was suffering from and could do nothing about it. Flack was a man's man. He shrugged off comfort and refused to talk about things. The only thing she could do was sit by and hoped whatever was bothering him would pass.

"Donnie?" she asked, her voice quiet as she sat up in bed, holding the sheet to her chest. "Are you okay? It's freezing in here."

"I'm fine," he assured her. "I just…I had another one of those dreams…I needed some air."

"What time is it?"

He cast a glance in the direction of the nightstand. "Quarter to eight. The baby will be getting up soon."

"Well come back to bed until that happens," she said. "You don't have to be at work until eleven. You have a little time to just lie around with me. Cuddle me and make me feel special and safe and all of that."

Flack smiled at that and closed the window. He climbed back into bed, pulling both the heavy duvet and the sheet over top of them as he lay on his side and drew her slender body into his arms. Their chests pressed together. His chin resting on the top of her head as she snuggled her face into the hallow of his throat.

His fingertips trailed down her spine. Feeling the goose bumps that appeared on her soft flesh and the way she pressed herself against him even more, her breasts flattened against his chest. Since Speed and Carmen's wedding three weeks ago, they had been trying faithfully to conceive. Three weeks was just a drop in the bucket, but considering how quickly and easily she had gotten pregnant with Kieran, anything was possible. They both hoped that it would happen as soon as possible. The longer it dragged on, the less satisfying twice a day lovemaking became when there was tremendous pressure on hitting the bulls eye. And twice a day with a baby in the house was a damn modern miracle. Not that either of them were complaining. Late night and early morning sessions were their best friends, regardless of how tired they were.

They'd also both begun eating foods that were said to boost both egg and sperm production. Lots of oats and brown rice and complex carbs. Tons of calcium and eggs and anything with flax seed oil. They both took multivitamins and indulged in both garlic and honey. Flack's favourite part was the oysters. It had taken some time to get used to the taste and texture, but on top of the benefits, nutrition wise, he loved what it did do his wife. They were a massive aphrodisiac for her and he was the lucky recipient of what came with those moods.

But the spinach. And leafy vegetables. Flack just couldn't take them.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her fingers playing with the hair at the back of his head.

"I am now," he replied, kissing the top of her head. It felt so good to lie there with her. Loose himself in her touch and her smell. Close his mind off to anything but the two of them. To have that moment of relaxation and normalcy before the start of what would in no doubt be another long, emotionally draining day.

"You can tell me about it, you know," she said, her voice quiet and understanding.

"I know," he responded, tracing his fingertips along the tattoo that stretched across the small of her back.

"Than why don't you?" she asked gently. "I'm your wife, Don. You're suppose to be able to tell me anything."

"Samantha, I know I can tell you anything. That you're always here for me when I need you. It's not that I don't want to tell you. I do. It's just that.." he sighed heavily. "I'm not prepared to tell you yet."

She pulled away from him and looked into his intense blue eyes. "Is it that bad?" she asked.

"It's not life or death if that's what you mean."

"Is it marriage shattering?" She looked terrified by the thought.

"No," he told her. "God no. Don't ever think that, baby. It's just something from my past that I'm struggling to deal with. And when I get a better handle on it, I will tell you. I promise."

"Soon?" she asked.

"Soon," he confirmed and kissed her.

She sighed into his mouth as his tongue gently pushed through her lips and gently sought out, and caressed hers. She circled his neck with her arms and lost herself in his kiss and the feel of his body against hers as he pushed her over onto her back. Burying her fingers in his hair as his lips left hers and descended on her neck. Her body tingling as his hand drifted up her thigh and slipped in between her legs. Moaning loudly and arching against him as his fingers slipped inside of her.

Suddenly he stopped both the ministrations between her legs and the kissing and suckling of her neck. He raised his head, eyes burrowing in the wall by their heads.

"Don…what…?"

"Kieran's awake," he told her. "I just heard him babbling away."

"I don't hear anything. He probably just rolled over and startled himself."

Flack listened. When he didn't hear anything from the room next door, he happily continued on with what he was doing. Had her primed and ready and his boxers off when another noise came. This time much louder. A happy, musical giggle followed by an ear splitting shriek of contentment and a very pronounced "Daddy".

Sam grinned. "He's calling you."

"You have to feed him."

She laughed. "Nice try, Detective Sargent. I pumped when I got home from work last night and there's fresh bottles in the fridge. And he's specifically asking for you and it won't kill you to get up a bit early and make him some breakfast and spend some time with him."

Flack sighed heavily. "I got in a two in the morning."

"You never had a problem feeding an infant after a triple. What makes it different now?"

He smirked. "You're a witch," he said, and kissing her, eased his body off of hers and slipped from the bed.

"I'll get up with you guys on one condition," she told him, as he stepped into his boxers.

"What's that?" Flack asked, heading for the door.

"Make me a tea? And some toast and peanut butter? Or some of those Eggo pancakes with lots of butter and syrup?"

"Anything else your majesty?" he asked, pausing in the doorway.

"Yeah…but your son is up so that's out of the question."

"Nympho," he teased.

She stuck her tongue out at him playfully.

"Don't show that to me unless you're planning on using it."

"I was planning on it," she said.

"Goddamn kids," Flack grumbled and stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him.

"It's the evil, demon sperm," she called out.

He grinned and heard her collapse back onto the bed in a fit of giggles.

* * *

Flack smelled it before he opened the door. A horribly nasty diaper. The stench drifting out from underneath the door. He'd always been sensitive to smells. He was the first to cover his mouth and nose if there was a particularly foul odour at a crime scene and quick to get Sam to handle any diapers that Kieran filled with his nastiness. Human shit he just could not deal with. He thought after the first few diaper changes when the baby came home that he'd be fine. But no. After nearly ten months, he was still physically retching with each crappy diaper he changed.

Kieran was giggling and babbling away. Flack could hear the squeaking of springs and the rattling of the wooden bars as his son bounced energetically in his crib. His nonsense ramblings interspersed with Momma and Da-dee and what sounded like cuppie. Kieran was like his mother. Pleasant and bubbly from the moment he opened his eyes in the morning to the time he closed them at night. With random whiny, bitchy moments scattered in between.

"I'm coming, Kieran," Flack said as he opened the door to the nursery. "Just hold your…"

The smell nearly knocked him on his ass. It was as if a whole herd of Asian elephants had been in there and taken a dump at once. But it was the sight that horrified him and sickened him the most. Sometime in the time Kieran had been put down for the night and now, the child had managed to wriggled out of his jammie bottoms. And he'd figured out how to peel the tabs off his diaper and remove it completely. After taking what appeared to be the biggest shit of his young life.

It was everywhere. Smeared on the wall behind the crib. All over the sheet and the bars and railings. And all over Kieran. From head to toe. It was in his hair, spread along both legs and from first glance, up his nose and in his mouth and ears. The diaper itself had been discarded on the floor at the side of the crib.

"Da-deee!" Kieran shrieked joyfully, stretching his little arms out to be picked up. His hands were caked in feces.

Flack gagged and clamped a hand over his mouth to hold in the vomit that threatened to come up. He tore out of the room and burst into the master bedroom and on through to the en-suite bathroom. Past his startled wife who brushed her teeth and over to the toilet where he proceeded to violently expel his stomach contents.

Sam, in a state of utter confusion and shock, dropped her toothbrush into the sink and hurried over to her husband. "What happened?" she asked, rubbing his back. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head. "Your son…" was all he could manage, before the thought of what he had seen and smelled made his stomach rebel once again.

Sam would have been terrified that something terrible had happened to the baby if she hadn't been able to hear him. She knew her husband was notorious for his weak stomach when it came to foul odours and sights, which seemed off considering her profession. But the child was obviously alive and well the way he was calling out for someone to come and get him.

"What about him?" she asked. "Jesus, Donnie…what's wrong with you?"

"Just…get the baby….you'll see when you get there."

Frowning, she went back to the sink and finished with her teeth and sat the brush in the holder and turned off the cold water before heading out and down the small expanse of hallway to the baby's room.

Flack could hear her large gasp of shock, followed by "Oh my God Kieran! What did you do?!"

"Momma," came the exuberant response. Capped off by a loud shriek and what sounded like the word Poo.

"You pooed all right," Sam giggled and within mere seconds was rushing into the bathroom with the baby in her arms. "Move, Don," she said. "I need to get to the tub."

Flack moved to the side of the toilet, resting his forehead on the cold porcelain. His stomach had settled down, but the smell now permeating off of his child as Sam quickly and effortlessly stripped the baby bare was threatening to make him ill once again. He saw her struggling to put the plug in and adjust the temperature of the water with one free hand while juggling an energetic Kieran on her hip. He stood on shaky legs and went to the bed, not daring to look at the mess his son was in as he prepared the bathwater for her. Dropping in a capful of the lavender scented baby bath suds that sat on the ledge.

"Now that's what I call a mess," Sam said, without even so much of a grimace on her face.

"Fucking nasty is what it is," Flack declared, daring to glance at her and his son out of the corner of his eye.

God, she even had it on her now. Her son's feces on her neck and in her hair and on her face from Kieran pawing at her. It was smeared on her t-shirt. And she didn't seem to be the least bit fazed by it. He swallowed noisily and took a deep breath in hopes of quelling the nausea.

"Wimp," Sam said, noticing the distress he was in. She slipped Kieran into the safety ring firmly attached by suction cups to the floor of the tub and grabbed a couple of face cloths from the shelf above the toilet and a handful of bath toys and tossed them all in.

"I just can't….that…I can't do that…Why? Why would he do something like that?"

"Because to him it's fun," Sam reasoned, and hunkered down by the tub to begin the cleaning process.

"Well to me it was sheer hell," Flack said, and finally gathering himself, stopped up and flushed the toilet and went to the sink to rinse out his mouth and brush his teeth.

"When he's clean you'll have to come and get him so I can quickly shower," she told him. "And you'll have to give him breakfast while I clean his room. The crib will have to be stripped down and everything scrubbed with some bleach and water. Do you mind going in there and opening the window so the smell dissipates?"

Flack blanched. "Do I really have to go in there?" he sounded horrified at the thought.

"Fine," she huffed. "Watch him than."

She stomped off and back into the baby's room. Where she stripped off the crib sheet, tossed the discarded diaper in the Genie in the corner and tossed open the window. The sheet she decided to just bid adieu to and balled it up and tossed it into the garbage in the kitchen before heading back to the bathroom.

Kieran was playing and splashing away. Spraying water every where and laughing and shrieking. His father on his knees by the tub, up to his elbows in bubbles and grimacing as he scrubbed feces from his son's hair and body.

"Breathe, Don," Sam said, trying to hide her amusement at his reaction to his first child's dilemma.

"If I breathe through my nose, I'll be sick all over again," he told her. "That…that was not normal…there's something wrong with this kid.."

"He's a baby," Sam said, grabbing a towel from behind the door and dropping to her knees alongside of her husband. "And he's a boy. And boy's do gross things."

"I doubt I ever did anything like that."

"Well that's just something I'll have to ask your mother. Here," Sam held out the towel. "I'll handle him from here. I'll call you when he's sparkling and smelling nice again."

"Thanks," he said, grateful for the rescue. He took the towel and dried his hands.

Before he could get to his feet, Kieran kicked and splashed energetically, sending brown stained water flying everywhere. Including in his father's eyes and mouth. Flack felt his stomach retch again and he sprung to his feet and bolted out of the bathroom before he could get sick again.

Kieran looked at his mother. Confusion in his bright blue eyes. Dark hair matted to his forehead. At his young age, he just didn't comprehend the havoc that he had caused. But he was obviously a little bewildered by his father's odd behaviour.

Sam used her forearm to brush sweat and water off her forehead and grinned down at her son.

"Dad-dee," Kieran chirped, looking at the door.

"Trust me, bug guy," she said, grabbing a wash cloth and going to work on his tiny body. "You're braver and stronger than he is."

"I heard that," Flack said from the bedroom.

"Say daddy, when you're old and decrepit, I'll be cleaning your shit."

"Please shoot me before that happens," Flack pleaded.

"Don't worry, honey," Sam called to him. "When you have no teeth and hair and can only eat pureed foods and need to wear diapers, I'll still love you."

"Right…you'll be planning ways to off me in my sleep."

Sam laughed. Which in turn had Kieran screech happily and kick up more waves in the bathtub.

"He doesn't even realize the hell he causes," Flack said, standing in the doorway and watching the two most important people in his life.

"He's your son, Don. You're both natural born shit disturbers. Only he got into the shit. Literally."

"I don't know how you do it," Flack admitted. "Not just handle something like that. Everything. Keep everything going. Him, me, your job."

"I'm just damn good at multitasking," she answered playfully, winking at him over her shoulder.

"I underestimate you, you know. All the time. Than you go and do something that makes me realize how lucky I am that you're the mother of my son."

She smiled brightly. "I love you, too," she said.

* * *

Sam was out the door at quarter to three. It was the day before Thanksgiving and the sunshine was deceiving. There'd been frost on the ground that morning and it was chilly enough to warrant winter jackets and hats and mitts. The trees that still bore leaves were on fire in stunning displays of gold and orange and red. New York City was hyped up for the annual Macy's parade. Flack planned on taking Kieran while Sam prepared dinner. They had decided on a quiet thing. Just their small family. Nothing too crazy or noisy or exciting. Especially with Flack going on call as of eight in the evening.

Carmen and Speed were taking Addie and heading up to his aunt and uncle's in Syracuse. Both Mac and Stella were working and Hawkes was spending the day with Angell and her family. Adam and Gus had made plans to drive down to Maine and spend a romantic weekend in a cozy bed and breakfast. Danny and Erica, although fighting for what seemed like the millionth time in their short relationship, had patched things long enough to put on somewhat happy faces in front of his folks.

It had taken Sam two hours to clean the mess Kieran had made in his room. Thankfully, Flack had called work and let them know that due to somewhat of a disaster at his place, he was going to be late. Giving her the chance to scrub everything down and clean herself up and get dressed. Once he had headed to work, Sam had popped Kieran in his playpen to keep him out of harms way while she ate her own breakfast. And during his nap, had managed to dust the house and get three loads of laundry done.

With last minute errands to run, she changed out of what she called her house cleaning clothes and put on a pair of well worn jeans, hiking boots and a body hugging black turtleneck underneath a black, pink and white Columbia winter jacket. A pink and black knit hat on her head that tied under the chin and mitts that flipped up so that your fingers were bare when you needed to tend to something.

Kieran was bundled up warmly and securely in his blue winter coat boasting the Rangers team name on the back of it, black wool hat and mitts and a polar fleece NHL team logo blanket tucked around him as he sat in his Bugaboo stroller. Flack's doing with all the hockey paraphernalia his son owned. He couldn't walk by a sports store without buying something that had to do with the Rangers or the Mets.

She stepped off the elevator and headed for the door. A young man stood in the vestibule, searching for a name on the list of tenants on the board by the intercom. He wore a thick winter jacket with the hood pulled low, making it nearly impossible to see his face. Sam thought it was a little odd that he seemed to be hiding like that. She'd found herself increasingly paranoid since she'd given birth to Kieran, and scolded herself. It was cold out. He had just come in from outside and was probably still cold.

She struggled getting out the door leading into the small vestibule, and out of the corner of her eye, saw the young man hurry over.

"Let me get that for you," he said, grabbing the door and holding it open for her.

"Thanks," Sam said, and as she passed by him, noticed it wasn't a stranger assisting her.

It was Reed Garrett. The son Mac's first wife Claire had given up for adoption when she was very young. Sam didn't know the particulars of Reed's relationship with Mac and she didn't ask her boss or even Stella about it. Flack had told her how Reed had come around a couple years ago looking for his birth mother and had mistakenly thought Stella was her. And that Mac had had to break the news that his mother had died on nine eleven. Other than that, Flack didn't know much himself. Other than Mac had taken Reed under his wing so to speak and they'd gotten close. Reed had even stayed over night a few times after having dinner with Mac and Stella.

Sam had met the young man several times at the lab. He was an eager, vivacious journalism grad who'd recently gotten a job at the New York Post. They were on a first name basis. Although Reed still insisted on calling her Mrs Flack or Detective Flack.

"Hey, Reed," she greeted, as he also helped her with the second door and they both stepped out onto the street. "How are you? And what are you doing here?"

"I'm great. Working hard at the Post and still getting in some on-line stuff. This is your son, huh?"

Reed knelt down in front of the stroller. The baby's blue eyes standing out even more against the black of his hat. His cheeks rosy.

"Hey, big guy," he said. "First time I've seen him in person. I've only seen the picture on Mac's desk and the ones in his and Stella's apartment."

Kieran smiled at the friendly face before him and giggled loudly when Reed tickled the underside of his chin.

"Looks like his dad," Reed commented and stood up. "He's adorable. What's his name again?"

"Kieran," Sam replied, fixing her son's blanket.

"Nice name. Unusual. How are you doing, Mrs Flack?"

She frowned. "Reed…"

"Samantha," he corrected himself.

"I'm good. Very good, actually. Struggling to balance motherhood and crime fighting most days, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you. I found out your address through the phone book. It didn't give the apartment number though so I was just looking it up."

"We don't have our last name on the board," Sam told him. "Just in case someone with a grudge against my husband decides to show up to cause problems. It's a safety thing. Harrassing phone calls are one thing, but personal visits are another."

"Wouldn't want trouble on your doorstep," Reed reasoned.

"Exactly," Sam agreed, and pulling a tissue from her pocket, bent to wipe Kieran's persistently runny nose. It never seemed to stop whether he was sick or not. "I was just going to run some errands and than head into mid-town to visit my husband," she told the young man. "Walk with me and tell me what you're here for?"

"Sure," Reed said, and walked alongside of her as she pushed the stroller. "Well, I wanted to talk you," he told her.

"If it's about a case, Reed, I can't help you. I can't give out any information without talking to Mac first."

"It's not about a case," he assured her. "Well, it is, but not one you're working on. It's a past case, actually. From a few years ago now."

"I wasn't working in New York than," Sam reminded him.

"It's more of a personal interest story."

"About me?" she asked.

"Your family, actually."

Sam frowned. "You're losing me, Reed. What could be so interesting about my family that you'd want to do a human interest piece on it?"

"Everyone is going to dwell heavily on the case itself," he told her. "And the poor functioning of our justice system. I find your personal story much more intriguing and something that should be focused on instead of shining all the light on the perpetrator."

"Reed, what are you talking about?" Sam asked.

"Dean Lessing being released from the psychiatric hospital," he replied.

Sam looked at the young man standing alongside of her. "What does that have to do with me?" she asked. "I don't even know a Dean Lessing. That's the second time I've heard that name now and I have no clue who that is."

Reed stopped walking. Watching her with a puzzled look on his face.

Sam glanced over her shoulder. "I have to get going…if you're going to tell me what's going on, you better keep up."

He jogged to catch up to her. "What do you mean you don't know a Dean Lessing?" he asked.

"I mean I don't know him. But this is twice now that I've heard his name. First Don had a file at home with that name on it, and now you bring it up. I don't know anyone by that name."

"You can't be serious," Reed said in disbelief.

"I am telling you, I don't know this Lessing. So tell me. Enlighten me."

"Dean Lessing is the man that nearly killed your husband. He planted the bomb in the building that your husband and Mac were caught in."

Sam stopped walking and stared long and hard at him.

"Don't tell me you don't know about the bombing either," Reed said.

"Of course I know about the bombing. I just…I never knew the bomber's name. Don's never mentioned it. He barely talks about it to be honest."

Reed shook his head. Realization sinking in. He'd opened a huge can of worms and couldn't get the lid back on now. "Oh jeez," he said, pacing back and forth, beside himself. "I'm sorry…I didn't know…I just assumed that you would know…shit…I mean, shoot…I honestly didn't mean to just drop this on you."

"What do you know, Reed?" Sam asked. "About this Lessing."

"It really isn't my place to tell you. I am so sorry. So, so, so sorry."

"Never mind apologizing. Just tell me what's going on."

"You know what? I think it's best you talk to your husband. Hear it from him."

"Reed.."

Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a business card. "I'd still be interested in talking to you. Like a victim's impact statement kind of thing. After you talk to your husband, would you call me? I'd really love to do a story on you and your family and how you're all coping."

Sam nodded and took the card.

"I really am sorry, Mrs Flack. To just drop this on you. I should go."

Sam nodded once more. She couldn't seem to find any words. She was shocked that Reed had dropped such a bomb on her, and hurt and angry that her husband hadn't told her before someone else did.

"Reed!" she called to him as he hurried off down the sidewalk.

He turned to face her.

Sam motioned for him to come back.

"How long has this news been out?" she asked, as the young man rejoined her. "About his release?"

"Mrs Flack…"

"How long?"

"Almost two months."

Sam sighed heavily and shook her head. She slipped the card into her pocket as Reed bent down to smile at Kieran and pinch the baby's cheeks.

"Sorry," Reed said sincerely, and than headed off once again.

"I don't know if he'll agree to this," Sam said. "To me talking to you."

"I think you should talk to him first," Reed suggested.

"Oh believe me, I will," Sam said, and took off in the opposite direction.

* * *

Flack wasn't at his desk when she arrived. There were open case files scattered across it and the computer was turned on and the phone was ringing off the hook. Since he became Sargent, he had been given a larger work area that was tucked away in a more private corner of the bullpen, but close enough to his guys to keep an eye on them.

"Hey, Sam," Angell greeted as she headed over to her friend. "Flack's in with Gerrard. Everything okay? You look pissed."

"Do you know how long he's going to be?" she asked, taking off her hat and shaking out her hair. She shoved the hat and the mitts into her pocket. "Busy day?" she asked.

"One of the busiest in a while. How'd you score two days off in a row?"

"Mac wanted me to spend Thanksgiving with Kieran seeing as it's his first."

Angell smiled. "He's a real softie when it comes to kids. Kieran's like a nephew to him. A grandson even."

Sam laughed. "Don't let Mac hear you say that. It'll make him feel really old. But yeah..he adores Kieran. Everyone does. But that's only because they don't have to live with him."

She removed the blanket and folded it and placed it under the stroller and pulled off his mitts and hat and unzipped his jacket. She smoothed down his nearly black hair as he sat in his buggy, taking in all the sights and noises with wide, curious eyes. Digging into the backpack dangling from the handles on the stroller, Sam found a small container of Teddy Grahms and scattered half a dozen on the stroller's snack tray.

Kieran picked one up between his thumb and forefinger and stared at it intently. Eyes narrowing and his forehead wrinkling.

"Jesus!" Angell exclaimed. "He looks just like his father when he does that! He's got the Flack stare down perfect already."

Sam laughed. "That's their 'don't bullshit me' look. They're masters are it. And Kieran will spend the next ten minutes thoroughly investigating the cookies before eating them."

"Likes food like his dad, too," Angell said. "I know you hate being told over and over again, but he looks exactly like Flack."

"Oh I know," Sam sighed. "From the tips of his hair to those big, ugly feet. He is his father's son through and through."

"Brooklyn," Danny greeted, as he came around the corner from the elevators. "Can't get enough of this place? You have to hang around on your day off?"

"I came to see your pretty face, Messer," she teased.

"Flattered," he said. "And speaking of pretty faces," he bent down in front of the stroller. "How's my boy?" he asked the baby.

Kieran smiled and squealed at the familiar face and held his arms up in an invitation to pick him up.

"Come here and see your Uncle Danny," he said, unbuckling the straps confining his nephew and scooping the tiny body up and showering Kieran's soft cheeks with kisses. "How's Jr doing today?" he asked his nephew, bouncing him in his arms.

"We had a little incident earlier," Sam said.

"We heard," Danny told her. "How he dropped the poop bomb on his father. And how Flack majorly wussed out and tossed his cookies and everything."

"Well at least he admitted it," Sam laughed. "But in his defense, it was a horrid mess and he hasn't been feeling very well lately and the smell just did him in. I mean, it took me two hours to get everything cleaned up and back in order."

"Why hasn't he been feeling well?" Angell asked.

"He's been having these weird dreams lately," Sam replied. "I guess it's been almost a couple of months. You know, since he found out that Dean Lessing was being released but didn't see a reason to tell me about it."

Danny and Angell didn't respond. Although they looked slightly startled by what she said.

"You two aren't going to deny it, are you?" Sam asked. "I know for a fact that both of you would know all about it. Especially you, Danny."

"Flack didn't want us telling you," Angell reluctantly admitted.

"He had logical reasons," Danny added.

"And what could be a reason for not telling your wife that the man who nearly killed you is getting out?" Sam wondered.

Danny sighed and passed Kieran over to Angell. Having to rescue his glasses from the tiny fist that had grabbed a hold of them. "Why don't you and I have a little chat," he said to Sam, not giving her a chance to respond before laying a hand on her elbow and leading her across the precinct to the desk he used when finishing up paper work or conducting interviews.

He motioned for his best friend's wife to have a seat before plopping down in the chair behind the desk.

"So what could possibly be his reason?" she asked.

"Maybe the same reason why you didn't tell him at first that Zack was your ex boyfriend," Danny responded.

"There's a big difference in the two, Danny. Don and I weren't even together yet. We're married now and he still kept something like that from me. There's no excuse for that."

"Trust me, Sam. His reasons are good ones," Danny assured her.

She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for him to continue.

"It's not my place to tell you all of that," Danny said.

"I already found out by accident. A bizarre accident as a matter of fact. I want some kind of answer. And my husband isn't here to give me one. And unless you want me raising holy hell in here with him when he gets back, I suggest you fill me in on what was going through his head. You're his best friend, Danny. I know he's told you more than you're letting on."

He sighed heavily and removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "For the record, we all told him that he should tell you. So I'm not the enemy here."

"You've known for almost two months?"

Danny nodded.

"And you kept it from me?"

"Flack asked me too. He needed time to figure out what he was going to say and what not. I told him to get his head out of his ass. That it was better to find out from him than a stranger. But he's my best friend, Samantha. I'm loyal to him. And I wasn't going to stab him in the back by running to you and squealing."

"What did he say when you told him he should tell me?"

"He said he needed some time," Danny replied. "And that he was worried."

"About?"

"He was worried that Lessing was capable of being the kind of whack job that gets obsessed over his crimes. That he'd find a way to get in contact with him because he survived and that he'd go all John Hinkley and do some crazy shit to you and Kieran. And you guys are the most important things in the world to him. He couldn't live with himself if that ever happened."

Sam just nodded. Considering what her friend was saying.

"He came this close to death, Samantha. This close," Danny held his fingers less than an inch apart. "And he wasn't ready to be that open about it. Not smart, I know. But he was worried about how emotional you would get when he told you. I mean, are you really ready to hear that Mac stuck his hands in his wound and used a shoelace to hold together a severed artery? Is that something that you want to hear?"

She shook her head.

"He had debris stuck in his chest. Part of the detonator even. He didn't think you were ready to hear that."

She sighed but didn't respond. She looked down at the rings on her finger and twirled the engagement ring around, lost in thought.

"He loves you, Samantha," Danny continued. "Adores you. And his son. He just was looking out for the two of you. And maybe it wasn't the smartest way to go about things. But his intentions were honourable. Do I think he should have told you? Absolutely. But do I understand why he didn't? A hundred percent."

"It's why he's been having the dreams," she said, voice quiet. "Because Dean Lessing getting out has brought it all back to the surface."

"You know," Danny said, as he leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. "I wish you had have come into his life a lot sooner. Even before the bombing. Because that would have given him more a purpose to go on. He wouldn't have thought about giving up as much if he had you. And you would have been able to get him to open up about it. Instead of keeping it all inside like he has."

"He's a stubborn, proud man, Danny," Sam reminded him. "I don't even think I could have gotten anything out of him. I'm still trying and I've been with him almost two years now."

"Give him some time, Sam. He's learning. He just needs some time."

She smiled and cast a glance across the precinct at where her husband was now tossing their son in the air and catching the giggling baby in his big, strong, capable hands.

"I have all the time in the world," she said.

* * *

Flack was sitting in the chair in front of his desk, while Kieran sat on top of it. The open container of treats nearby as father and son engaged in an epic stare down. Blue eyes locked on blue eyes. Kieran testing the waters by dangling a cookie over the edge of the desk, his tiny fist loosening with each passing second. Seeing just how far he could push his father before he got a reaction out of him. Several of the tiny graham cookies already lay shattered on the floor below.

"Don't even think about it," Flack warned.

Kieran stuck his hand out even further. His eyes never leaving his father's as one finger, than a second, popped out of the fist.

"Eat them," Flack said. "Not play with them."

Kieran shook his head. "Da-dee," he said, and opened all of his fingers.

"Kieran, I'm dead serious. Don't you dare…"

The baby turned his hand towards the floor. And just as the cookie began to slip, he closed his hand once again, brought it to his mouth and popped the snack into his mouth. Chewing noisily, a huge grin on his face.

"Smart ass," Flack mumbled.

"How goes it with negotiations?" Sam asked. She had been standing a few feet away, watching the moment between father and son. "You two look like you were in the midst of a pretty intense battle there for a while."

"I think I've lost my touch at talking to the terrorists," Flack said. "I've had," he cast a glance down at the floor. "Several fatalities."

"You've been slacking off," Sam teased, slipping into the chair beside his desk.

"Apparently," he said, and keeping a hand on Kieran, leaned over to kiss her softly. Short and sweet. "I'm surprised you guys came by. After all the excitement this morning."

"I had some errands to run for tomorrow and I thought maybe you'd like to see us."

He smiled. "It was a nice surprise after a pretty crappy shift so far."

"Not going so good?"

He shrugged. "Same crap, different day," he said. "Nothing solved, detectives constantly calling in sick, even more that can't seem to fill out a report properly. Shit like that."

Sam nodded slowly and pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. "Donnie…I know about Dean Lessing."

He didn't respond. He simply kept a close eye on his son popping cookies into his mouth.

"I know exactly what happened that day and I know he's getting out soon."

"Who told you?" Flack asked quietly.

"That doesn't matter. What matters is that you should have told me."

He sighed.

"I'm not mad at you," she told him. "I was. I was damn furious when I first found out. But when I found out your reasons for not telling me, I realized that coming over here and causing a big thing with you would only make things worse. And I don't want to make things worse. Especially for you."

He looked at her. Emotion in his blue eyes. "I did it to protect you," he said.

"I know. And I appreciate that. I know it wasn't easy for you keeping it from me. I just wish you had have opened up when those nightmares started. So I could have understood better."

"I've never been good at the opening up thing," he admitted. Almost sadly.

"But you know that if the time comes where you want to, that I'll listen, right? You know you can tell me anything and I won't think any less of you or judge you. You know all of that right?"

Flack nodded. "I never thought it would be this hard."

"What's that?"

"Marriage. Dealing with the shit that crops up in a marriage. I'm just so used to dealing with stuff on my own. I sometimes forget it's not just me anymore. And that's not fair to you. Or Kieran."

"You try your best, Donnie. No one faults you for that. Hell, I'm not exactly the perfect wife, either. I think we're both maturing and learning as we go along. And that we can help each other every step of the way."

He smiled slightly and reached out and took her hand. "I need your help, Samantha. With lots of things. I want to be a better man. For you and our son. And sometimes I'm worried that that will never happen."

"I only want you to be you," she said, entwining her fingers with his and holding on tightly.

The smile on his face broadened and he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently.

"What if that's all I can give you?" he asked.

"Than that's fine with me," she replied.

They sat quietly for what seemed like an eternity. The hustle and bustle of life continuing around them. All that mattered at that moment was them. And that innocent, beautiful little boy that they had managed to create together. Out of respect and love.

All seemed perfect in their lives. At least for a moment.

And they would take all the moments they could get.

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! **


	13. A Not So Ordinary Day

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND ALL THE FLACK KIDS. AND MAXIMUS AND CUJO.**

**A not so ordinary day**

"Hey, dad, look at me,  
Think back and talk to me  
Did I grow up according to plan?  
Do you think I'm wasting my time doing what I wanna do?  
'Cause it hurts when you disapprove all along  
And now I try hard to make it  
I just want to make you proud  
I'm never gonna be good enough for you  
I can't pretend that I'm all right  
And you can't change me."  
-Perfect, Simple Plan

* * *

**A/N 1: I just want to say a special welcome to marialisa!**

**A/N 2: This is a present chap. By present, I mean Flack and Sam and the kids older. The other chaps with them all younger will be referred to as past chaps. Just so there's no confusion. Enjoy, BEG75**

* * *

Halfway through her stack of asylum applications, Samantha took a break. She couldn't bear the thought of sitting in that cluttered home office for another three hours straight. As comfortable as the revolving and reclining leather chair was, her back and legs were stiff and her ass was sore. Too lazy to run upstairs to grab her glasses, her eyes were blurry and burned as if they were on fire.

She needed a chance to stretch her legs and work out the kinks in a body that wasn't getting any younger. Grab some fresh air and a make a fresh pot of tea. Maybe toss together something for lunch and throw some laundry in the wash and tidy up a little. It was impossible to keep the place spotless and sparkling with six kids who seemed incapable of picking up after themselves and a husband who couldn't seem to remember that his socks and underwear went in the laundry basket, not on the floor beside it.

Kieran's room looked like a cyclone had hit it. No matter how many times he had privileges taken away or was threatened with groundings, the kid just couldn't seem to keep the place clean. Dirty and clean clothes co-mingled on the floor and threatened to explode from the dresser drawers.

The bed was, as usual, unmade. The sheets looked as if they hadn't been changed in over a month. Books and video games and DVDs and school work littered the desk and floor. The laundry basket was filled to the brim. She understood his desire to do his own wash. He was a young man now and hated the idea of his mother doing stuff for him. But at the same time, actually getting off his ass to throw stuff in the washing machines would be a good idea instead of letting it pile up.

She simply closed the door and made a mental to note to tell the kid to clean the place up and do some wash or he wouldn't be playing any hockey or going anywhere that weekend. Reghan and Alannah's room was at least somewhat better. They were like The Odd Couple. Reghan was obsessed with cleanliness and her sister was nothing short of a slob. Her side of the room was cluttered and chaotic.

Declan's room was always clean. It made him feel like a big boy and responsible by keeping his room tidy. And he was just starting to learn how to do his own laundry. Although there'd been a number of instances where he had put nearly a whole bottle of detergent in one load of clothes and flooded the basement with suds. Liam and Mikayla were pretty good about keeping things clean, although there always seemed to be toys scattered from one end of the room to the other.

She gathered up the two smaller kids laundry and dumped it into the basket from the master bedroom and carried everything done to the basement. Where even more laundry awaited her. Thank God for two washers and two dryers or it would take days to get everything done. With the four loads gathered from upstairs and the piles on the utility room floor, she estimated she had at least ten, if not more loads of wash to do.

And this is my life? She thought, as she dumped some soap into each washer and tossed in the loads and waited for the water to fill before setting the timer and heading back upstairs. Nearly tripped over Maximus as he stretched out at the top of the landing. If it wasn't six kids to watch out for, it was the dogs. And if it wasn't massive amounts of laundry, it was a staggering amount of money that was spent to feed them all. She often wondered what in the hell had ever happened to being able to come and go as she pleased. No one to answer to or rush home to.

Don Flack Jr is what happened. And she knew her life would be damn lonely without him and their kids.

She stumbled over Cujo as he scampered between her legs as she went to step into the kitchen. She stumbled forward into one of the chairs, which slid across the floor and into the water cooler. Which in turn toppled over and sent water from one end of the room to the other.

She stared at the mess with a hand to her forehead and tears in her eyes. Laugh or cry? She wasn't sure which.

I need a vacation, she thought, before grabbing a mop and setting to work.

* * *

An hour later, she sat out on the back deck with a mug of tea and the leftovers she'd brought home the night before from the restaurant. A large plateful of veal parmesan she'd warmed up in the microwave and dug into as she sat at the patio table in her house coat and bare feet, flipping through a wrinkled copy of a tabloid magazine that Reghan had left lying around the house. It was a little cooler outside than it had been in the past couple of days but it felt good to have the gentle breeze tickling her bare skin.

She thought about lighter, non work related issues. About the summer and getting the pool ready for the season. About weeding and planting the gardens at the back. About how quiet it was going to be with both Kieran and Alannah gone for three weeks to hockey camp and Declan, Liam and Mikayla attending day camp through the local Y. Reghan was the only one sticking around, although she had enough friends to make sure she never got bored.

Sam sighed contently and closed her eyes. To be in the house with no squabbling kids battering each other and slamming doors and demanding all of her attention and to play referee and judge, jury and executioner at times was pure heaven. Nothing but complete and utter silence save for the birds that chirped in the surrounding trees and the next door neighbour humming as she worked in her garden. Mrs Fergus had been in the neighbourhood for nearly three decades.

Her husband had been a member of the FDNY. A platoon chief. He'd died several years before and she'd been alone ever since. All of her kids and grand kids lived out of state and only visited on major holidays. She had no other family members to help her out, so Flack and Kieran took turns doing manual labour for her. Fixing things and mowing the grass and shovelling the snow. For which she always repaid them by sending over delicious home baked goods and presents for the kids at birthdays and Christmas.

She finished her lunch and downed her tea and stood up and stretched. A little too much, apparently. A sharp pain caught her in the left chest and took her breath away and brought tears to her eyes. Her knees nearly buckled and she had to place her hands on the table top to prevent herself from going down.

Aftermath from the shooting. She may have been wearing a vest that day, but she'd been shot at close enough range to collapse her lung and crack her sternum. And nearly seven and a half years later, if she moved too quickly or strained too much or the weather was exceptionally damp or cold, the pain came back to haunt her.

The discomfort passed and her breathing returned to normal and her body relaxed. She opened her eyes and brushed tears away on the sleeve of her robe.

Life went on, but in many ways it would never be the same. She'd been unable to function in the job that she had loved and she'd been damn good at. She'd had to give up something she adored to pursue something she could barely stand at times. She couldn't take the risk of staying with the crime lab. She was too much of a hindrance. She was too frightened to be left alone and it wasn't fair to anyone she worked with to have to cover for her if she bailed at a scene. And the thought of tarnishing the integrity of the lab because her fears made her careless and hasty had been enough to make her realize that leaving was the best for everyone involved.

She missed it everyday. But was thankful for the lifelong friendships she'd formed. Those people had been by her side through thick and thin. Supported her and Flack and their family through some sad, difficult times. And she couldn't imagine her life without them.

She had the made the smartest decision of her life when she decided to leave Arizona and the disaster that was Zack behind. She had come to New York just hoping for a clean break. A new start. Instead she'd gained a second family. And a husband and six kids. If anyone had have told her seventeen years ago that she'd be married to the love of her life and bear him half a dozen children, she would have laughed and asked if they were insane. But it had happened.

And she realized, as she stood there in the comfort of her back yard, staring up at the bright blue sky, that she loved her life. Problems and all.

And she wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

* * *

It was quarter after four by the time Kieran stepped off the subway three blocks from One Police Plaza. Lugging his heavy backpack over one shoulder as he lumbered up the stairs of the station and out onto the bustling, noisy existence that was midtown Manhattan.

It was often that he made the journey to his dad's work alone. Mom had a paranoia about him taking the subway out of Queens. Too many weirdos, she said. Although at six feet and nearly two hundred pounds of muscle, Kieran was pretty sure that he could take care of anyone that messed with him. His dad had taught him a long time ago how to stick up for himself. Using his fists. Not that dad promoted or condoned using violence to solve a problem, but he always said that if someone started shit with you and came at you, you had every right to defend yourself.

Kieran admired his father. Had since he was just a little boy. His dad was tall and big and tough. He didn't put up with any crap. From anyone. Didn't matter size or shape or status, his dad wouldn't tolerate bullshit from anyone. He said what he felt and dealt with the consequences. He wasn't afraid of anything. And if he was, he didn't show it. He said a cop's worst enemy was weakness. That the perps could practically smell it and pounced on you when they did.

His dad was an amazing cop. He hadn't always realized just what his dad had given to the job. The sacrifices he had made and the pain and suffering he had gone through to get where he was now. As a kid, he just thought it was cool that his dad was the law and the order and got to wear a badge and carry a gun. As he matured and asked more questions and listened closely to the answers, he'd been in sheer awe of what his dad had accomplished for just a guy from Queens with a grade twelve diploma. From a simple uniform to an Inspector. Each time Kieran looked at his father despite all of their differences, it was with love and respect.

He was twelve when he found out about the bombing. Growing up, he'd always noticed the painful looking scars that marred his father's chest and abdomen. He'd always just assumed that they were by products of a dangerous job but never gave a second thought to how they actually got there. Until one day, as pre-teen, he'd asked his mother out of the blue what had happened to dad. She'd been reluctant to tell him. Going no further than to say he'd been in an incident at work and almost didn't make it. That it had happened before they had met and it had taken him a long time to talk about it even to her.

It was left at that. Kieran could tell his mom wasn't too comfortable with talking about it and he didn't push it. Three days later, his dad had come knocking at his bedroom door shortly before lights out and sat down beside him and said that his mom had mentioned he'd asked about what had happened all those many years ago. And that he thought Kieran was old enough to hear the truth.

He'd cried when his father had told him the story. Talking candidly and openly about being trapped in a bomb explosion and how Papa Mac had saved his life. And how when the pain from rehab and physiotherapy had seemed too much to bear, he had wished that he had died that day. But that he hadn't given up and was grateful that he'd summoned up enough strength and courage to do take one day at a time. Because if he hadn't, Kieran and his siblings wouldn't be there. And his kids and his wife were the most important things in his life.

And Kieran had put his arms around his father and sobbed into that big strong chest as his father stroked his hair and rocked him like a baby. It was the last memory he had of feeling that loved by his dad.

Until the night before. Hearing his father tell him he was proud of him and loved him had blown him away. But it had lightened his step and put a permanent smile on his face.

Now if only dad would lighten up on the whole cop thing, Kieran thought, as he popped his iPod into his ears and pressed play.

Even at just fifteen, he knew it was his destiny to follow in his dad's footsteps. To be the next Flack to proudly serve the city of New York. It was the path that was laid before him and that Kieran was determined to follow. He hoped his dad would one day accept it and respect his decision. And look at him with pride. He knew his mom would support him no matter what. Mom was just like that. She was open minded and didn't believe in pushing people to do something that would make them miserable in the end.

He often wondered how his parents ever managed to get together. They were opposites in so many ways. Mom was tiny and slight and dad was over six feet and went a good two twenty. She was insanely smart and highly educated . Book smart, his father often called it. Whereas dad was all about the streets. Common sense was his best friend. That and the fact he was big enough, and mean enough to put someone through a wall if need be.

And while his parents were different in some respects, they were also very similar in others. They were both stubborn and hot tempered. Sarcastic to a fault. Mom always got the upper hand during witty exchanges. She was way too quick for dad in the smart ass comeback department. Half the time, Kieran was pretty sure that his father didn't know if he was coming or going in that relationship.

But they loved each other. Kieran never doubted that. He saw the way his dad looked at his mom. His feelings were written all over his face. And the way mom would sense him staring at her and turn and smile at him…

It made Kieran smile to himself as he thought about it. And he hoped, as he stepped through the automatic doors at One Police Plaza and headed for the elevator, that his parents would always be that way. That they'd never fall out of love or forget everything they had achieved together.

* * *

He stepped out onto the twentieth floor and hung a right. The soles of his running shoes squeaking slightly on the highly polished marble floor as he headed for the reception desk. He waited patiently behind a UPS driver, pressing stop on his iPod and yanking out the ear phones before stuffing the player into his pants pocket. He pulled off his backwards ball cap and shoved it into his backpack. Dad would kill him if he walked into his office wearing a hat. It was one thing he didn't tolerate well. Ball caps indoors.

Debbie, the normal secretary that served for both the Inspector and Chief of Detectives, smiled warmly at him as he sidled up to the desk and reached for the clipboard that held the visitors sign in sheet. She was close to sixty and had been serving as his dad's receptionist since he got his promotion. She knew all the kids' names and birthdays and never forgot to send them cards. She was the one that kept his dad's schedule organized and the one that if need be, sent his mom flowers if he was dangerously close to forgetting a special occasion.

"Haven't seen you here in a while," she said, as Kieran printed and signed his name. "Your dad mentioned this morning that you were coming by. It's good to see you again. How's school going?"

"Okay," he replied with a shrug. "Could be better, could be worse."

"You've grown at least four or five inches since I've seen you last," Debbie told him, sitting back in her chair to appraise him. "Heavier, too. And you are looking more and more like your dad as you get older."

Kieran smiled. He was constantly being told how much he resembled his father. The dark hair and the vibrant blue eyes that seemed to capture attention every where he went. Same nose and ears and jaw structure. He was his father from head to toe and didn't mean being reminded of that. Hell, a couple more inches and some extra pounds and they'd share the same build, too. And mom was always complaining that he shared his smart ass attitude with his father as well.

"Mom says that all the time," he said.

"How's she doing?" Debbie asked.

"Good. Working hard, as usual. Going crazy with dad and all us kids around. I think she needs a vacation."

"Well with the gang she has, she deserves it. Your dad's down in his office. You can go right down."

"Thanks, Debbie," he said, and headed off down the hall.

Kieran hadn't gotten ten feet when the door to another office opened up and a frazzled looking young woman rushed out and nearly collided with him. As she stopped short, her foot caught in the carpet and she tripped slightly. The papers she carried in her arms tumbling to the floor as she lost her balance. Falling smack into his chest.

She was about twenty-five. Small and willowy with her sandy hair in a chin length bomb. A little too much makeup and a blouse that was just a little too low cut and a skirt that was more than a little too short. Kieran supposed she was okay looking. If he was into older women. Which he wasn't.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, extricating herself from his chest. "I was in a rush and wasn't watching where I was going."

"It's okay," Kieran assured her, crouching down to assist her in cleaning up the papers.

"This is my first day here," she said, stuffing papers into their respective files and standing up. "I'm a little scattered brained at the moment."

"No problem," he assured her. "My mom's like that all that time."

"I'm Paige," she said. "I'd offer you a hand, but…"

"I'm Kieran," he told her.

"That's a nice name," she smiled. "Are you lost or something? You don't look old enough to work here."

"I'm not. I'm just in high school. I'm here to see my dad."

Paige arched an eyebrow. A little disappointed to hear that this big, strong guy was actually just a high school kid. Looks could be truly deceiving. "Your dad?" she asked.

"Don Flack," he said. "Well, Inspector Flack, I should say."

"Inspector Flack is your father?" her eyebrows lifted.

Kieran nodded. "Come on, you can't tell me that you didn't notice I look just like him. Everyone says it. I'm used to it. And it's not like it's a bad thing. My dad's an alright looking guy."

"You're father is a very handsome man," Paige agreed, than bit her lip when she realized she had said too much.

Kieran frowned. He didn't know if he liked the idea of this young thing talking that way about his father. And walking around dressed the way she was with everything on display. She was a little too flirty as far as he was concerned, and the thought of her around his father on a constant basis was unnerving. Not that he thought his dad would ever do anything stupid and cheat on his mom. But the temptation was there and Kieran didn't appreciate it. And he knew his mother wouldn't either.

"I have to get going," he said, stepping past the flustered young woman.

"It was nice to meet you Kevin." she called after him.

He smirked. Not bothering to correct her. He wasn't planning on making her a part of his life so what did it matter if she called him the wrong name?

All he hoped was that she didn't have plans on making herself part of his dad's life.

* * *

Flack was at his desk,suit jacket tossed in a nearby arm chair and his tie loosened and the top two buttons on his shirt undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Leaning back in his chair with the phone pressed to his ear, taking notes on a yellow legal pad that sat on his desk. A frown of both displeasure and concentration on his face as he listened to Danny talk about the lack of cooperation the crime lab was getting with DHS over the case the day before.

The Feds were insisting, that seeing as the captain had copped to both running a drug smuggling operation and transporting illegal aliens to the states for an alarming 100,000 a person, that they should get the credit for the bust even though it was Rick Santucci who, working with a DHS agent who hadn't known his ass from his elbow, had managed to squeeze the confession out of the captain.

On top of that, three of the refugees were now in the hospital in critical condition with what doctors suspected was malaria. The rest of the survivors were being closely watched for any signs of the disease. In a state of madness brought on by high temperatures, the same three had gone crazy being locked up in the cargo area of the ship for so long and had murdered, and attempted to cannibalize, their ten victims. The suspected malaria meant that anyone working in close proximity of any of the refugees or the dead was at risk of getting ill. That included all the CSIs, who thankfully all felt fine, and Samantha who'd crouched over the one body and pulled his passport out of his pocket.

"I don't really know what you want me to do," Flack said into the phone, looking up as his son appeared in the open doorway of his office. He waved Kieran in and went back to his phone call.

"There's gotta be something you can do to set things right," Danny was saying. "They can't just poach our arrest like that. And them holding out on files and that passport…you must be able to do something."

"Messer, they're the United States government. Nothing I can possibly say or do will change their minds. And even if I go to the commisoner and he suggests getting a subpoena, it's highly unlikely any judge in this state will go against the government."

"Can't you at least talk to Sam?" Danny asked. "Get her to ease up a little?"

"You're asking me to commit marriage suicide," Flack replied, watching as his son wandered around the office, looking at things mounted on the walls that he'd seen a million times already but never seemed to tire of.

He wondered, as he observed his first born in those baggy, navy blue cargo style pants, Adidas shoes he'd been grown out of in a month, and a white polo shirt that was starting to get a little too tight , when in the hell he'd gone from being an eight pound newborn to a strong, tall, confidant young man.

"I'm just asking you to talk to her and see if you can't get her to cooperate just a bit," Danny said,

"This is out of my hands, Messer. Sam's not even on that case now. She handed over custody of that passport to the head of Immigration last night. She's just working on asylum applications now."

"Fucking bitch," Danny said with a heavy sigh.

"I'll ignore the fact you just called my wife a fucking bitch," Flack told him.

"I wasn't referring to your wife," Danny argued. "I was referring to this whole bullshit mess."

"Outta my hands, Messer. All I can do is put a word in to Scagnetti or the commish and see if they can do anything about it."

"Well that's a start," the CSI said. Than his tone become more light hearted. "You know, you're almost as useless as Gerrard."

"I've got a long way to go to catch up to him," Flack said. "Are we done here? 'Cause I'm off the clock and I have more important things to do than work."

Kieran smiled to himself. It made him feel good to hear that he was more important than the job to his father. He dropped his back pack in one of the chairs in front of the desk and sat down in the other. Leaning forward, he reached out and turned the two wooden picture frames around to look at the photos inside. He'd seen them many a time before but was always amazed to realize his father was a family pictures on his desk kind of guy.

One of them was of the six kids taken last Christmas. Mom had been making them go for family holiday pictures since Kieran was just a toddler. The other photo of his parents was taken at Aunt Carmen's wedding a long, long time ago.

"How was school?" Flack asked, as he hung up the phone.

"It was okay," Kieran replied, turning the frames back around. "I found out today that I have to write a paper for sociology. About my family. Something life altering that's happened to us and how it was dealt with."

"So what are you going to write about?" his father asked. "Your mom's shooting?"

"Mom was okay though," Kieran said. "I mean, she was never going to die or anything. When that guy came after Papa Mac when I was just little and you got in the way, you nearly died, dad. It was a while before you even got to come home and even when you did, it was nearly a year before you got to go back to work. And you even said you weren't a hundred percent for a long time. You lost half your liver and still have part of the bullet lodged near your spinal cord. That's a pretty huge deal."

"You already wrote about that in your grade nine year," Flack reminded him.

"I know…and I got an A plus, remember?"

Flack smiled. "I remember. Your mom still has that paper stored away somewhere. So what are you going to do this year?"

"I was thinking about doing it about Declan," Kieran said. "About how you and mommy felt when the doctor told you he wasn't a normal kid. And all the stuff you guys have had to do to get him where he is. All the therapy and specialists and what not. Just how you guys cope with it day in and day out. That kind of thing. I need to come up with a page of questions to ask. Like an interview. Do you think that sounds okay? You and mom would answer some stuff?"

"Sounds great to me. You'll just have to watch what you ask your mom. She still gets really emotional about it. It's harder on her than it is me."

Kieran nodded. "She still has a hard time accepting it some days, doesn't she, dad."

"She has her moments where she thinks about it a little too much. Future stuff. And it gets her down. But she's doing a great job with him. With all of you guys, actually. Six kids and a job? It's not easy on her."

"I know. Mom's a pretty strong lady. I mean, she has to be to put up with you."

Flack smirked at that and reached over to turn off his computer and tidied up the files on his desk. He pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up. Stretching to the point his back cracked, he scooped his suit jacket up from the back of his chair.

"Dad?" Kieran asked, as he stood as well and picked up his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder.

"What?"

"What's going to happen to Declan when you and mom are too old to take care of him? Or if something happens to you guys? Will I have to take care of him? I know that sounds really mean and selfish, but I don't think I could do that."

"Well, hopefully nothing will happen to me and your mom. And if it did and all you guys are still young, you and Liam and Mikayla would go to Uncle Danny's and Declan and the girls would go to Aunt Carmen's."

"No one can take us all together?" Kieran looked troubled by that thought.

"That's a huge responsibility to expect someone to take on," Flack told him. "You guys would be okay if you had to be separated. And, when me and your mom are old, we're hoping that Declan will have learned enough self help skills to be living somewhat independently. Maybe in a place that has some sort of supervision and other guys and girls like him."

"Do you think he might have a girlfriend one day?" Kieran asked, following his dad to the door. "Or a wife even?"

"It's possible," Flack replied. "Who knows? Anything could happen. He could go to community college for all we know. There's lots of time ahead of him to do lots of things. And I think, if we all support him, he can do whatever he wants. Who knows what life has ahead for him. For any of us. One day at a time, K. All we can do is take it one day at a time."

Kieran grinned. "That's deep, dad. Especially for you."

Flack smirked and laid a hand on the back of his son's neck and steered him out the door. "Let's go wise ass," he said.

* * *

After they picked up the equipment he'd need for his game on Saturday and had his skates sharpened, Flack and Kieran headed for Madison Square Garden. The place held a lot of good memories for both of them. When Kieran was just a kid, Flack had won seasons tickets to the Rangers for being the most valuable player on the NYPD hockey team. Kieran could still remember being jealous, and heart broken at the thought of his dad and probably uncle Danny going to all those games. Until opening night, when a couple hours before, his dad had walked into his room and tossed a Jaromir Jagr jersey on the bed and told him to hurry up and get dressed. That they were taking the subway into Manhattan and needed to leave soon if they wanted to make it on time.

It had been the greatest night of Kieran's young life. Spending opening night of the Rangers with his dad. Eating hotdogs and popcorn and all kinds of junk food that he was warned not to tell his mother about. It wasn't the game that had mattered. It was getting to spend the time with his father, who readily admitted himself, wasn't around a lot because of his job.

Uncle Danny never went to a Rangers game all year. It had been a thing just for father and son. And Kieran would cherish those memories forever.

As they walked down 33rd Street and back to the car blocked a few blocks away, they sipped drinks and enjoyed the warm sunshine.

"I want to get a tongue ring," Kieran announced, as he chewed on a piece of lemon meringue flavoured fudge.

"You want what now?" Flack asked, pausing before taking a sip of his coffee.

"Get my tongue pierced," his son replied.

"Why?" Flack inquired.

Kieran shrugged.

"You really want to walk around with a piece of metal in your mouth? Makes you talk all funny. Not to mention what it can do to the back of your teeth. Talks all the enamel off. Why would you want something like that?"

"How do you know so much about tongue piercings?" Kieran asked in response.

"I know someone that used to have one," Flack replied.

"Really?" Kieran sounded surprised. "Someone I know?"

His father nodded.

"Who? Uncle Adam? I can so see him having one. Aunt Carmen even? Uncle Tim told me she was a little wild when she was younger."

Flack shook his head at each name. "Your mother," he said.

"What? Are you serious? Mom?"

Flack nodded. "Shortly after we got together, she got a little drunk one night and we ended up at this tattoo and piercing place and I paid for her to get her tongue pierced."

"Get outta town," Kieran laughed.

"I'm serious. Her tongue was all swollen and sore for a week. She could only take liquids. No solid food. And she had to rinse her mouth with peroxide and water so it wouldn't get infected. And than she talked funny after it did heal. Which for your mother, is nothing new considering how bad her accent can be sometimes."

"But what was it like afterwards?" Kieran asked. "When it healed. Was it worth it? I mean, when you guys…you know…was it worth it?"

Flack grinned as he thought about what things had been like with that piercing. "Every cent I spend on it was worth it ten fold," he said.

"You're a lucky man, dad," Kieran declared. "Guys would kill to be in your shoes. What made her get rid of it?"

"She went in to have an operation when she was pregnant with you and had to remove it. By the time she even thought about putting it back in, it had closed over."

"Bummer," Kieran said. "Bet ya missed it, huh?"

"I grieved for a bit," Flack laughed. "So? What's the deal?" he asked, sipping coffee. "Why do you want to get a tongue piercing? And don't give me because it looks cool. Because it doesn't."

"Promise you won't be mad?" Kieran asked.

"That is a promise I can not make as a father."

Kieran sighed and sipped some strawberry smoothie. "I wanna get one because I heard it helps you give better oral."

Flack nearly spat coffee all over the place. "This conversation is over," he told his son.

"I'm being honest, dad. You asked me and…"

"You're fifteen years old, all right? I don't want you to be having oral sex let alone be talking about it with me. What else are you doing? You just doing that or you doing other stuff too?"

"Just that," Kieran admitted.

"Giving or receiving?"

"Both."

Flack sighed and shook his head. "From here on out, you and Addie don't get into your room alone, out in the backyard alone or even in the basement alone. Got it?"

"It's no big deal, dad."

Flack stopped walking and turned to face his on. "You're wrong, Kieran. It is a big deal. Oral sex is a huge deal. You just don't walk around doing it to every random girl you come across. Especially at fifteen."

"I've only ever done it with Addie," Kieran said. "And I'm sure mom isn't the only woman you've done it too."

"You're right. She isn't. But what I do with your mother means more to me than anything I ever did with other women that had come before her. Oral sex, intercourse, whatever. And when you're with someone that you're madly in love with, everything is so much better. When you're older, you'll get that."

"I am madly in love with Addie, dad," Kieran told him.

"Give me a break," Flack said, and started off down the sidewalk again.

"It's true," Kieran said, chasing after his father. "I do love her. I know you think that's stupid because we're so young and all that. But I know my heart and how it feels. I love her."

"You're fifteen years old!" Flack argued, pulling his keys from his pocket and using the remote on the key chain to turn off the alarm on the SUV five feet away and unlock the doors.

"Your heart doesn't know ages, dad. Age is just a number."

"And you're number is fifteen, Kieran. And because you're only fifteen, I am still responsible for you. And when I tell you that there's no more alone time for you and Addie, I mean it. Kapish?" Flack yanked open the front passenger door and motioned for his son to get in.

"Dad, would you just…"

"Kapish?" Flack repeated, a stern tone in his voice. His eyes dark and serious.

Kieran nodded and climbed into the car, slipping on his belt as his dad slammed the door and went around the other side of the vehicle.

"I don't want to be a grandfather any time soon, all right?" Flack asked as he climbed behind the wheel.

"We're not having sex," Kieran told him.

"Bullshit," Flack snorted and started the ignition.

"We're not dad! I swear to you we're not! We've come close a few times but Addie always chickens out 'cause she's a virgin."

"Hope you're using condoms, kid," Flack said, ignoring his son's protests as he pulled out into traffic.

"Dad, we are not having sex. I just told you that we almost did but Addie gets freaked 'cause she's still a virgin and…"

"Are you?" Flack asked, stealing a glance at his son.

"Am I what?"

"A virgin. And be honest with me, Kieran. You want to be able to talk more to me about things? Well here we are. Talk. And don't bullshit me, son."

Kieran sighed. "I haven't been one for a while now, dad," he admitted.

Flack shook his head in disbelief. "How long is a while?" he asked.

"Couple of years."

"Thirteen!" Flack roared. "You lost your virginity at thirteen!?"

"You wanted me to be honest," Kieran said quietly.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Flack fumed. "Who? Tell me who."

"It doesn't matter, dad."

"It fucking matters to me! Who was it? Do I know this girl? Someone from the neighbourhood? From school? Who?"

"An older girl," Kieran told him. "Someone you know. But not from the neighbourhood. Or school."

Flack thought of all the names in his head. And came up with only one that wasn't in the neighbourhood or Kieran's school. He was so lost in thought and anger, that he didn't see the red light ahead until he was nearly on top of it and had to stomp on the brakes.

He turned furious blue eyes on his son. "Daria," he said, the name a bitter taste in his mouth. "Are you fucking kidding me, Kieran?"

"It only happened a couple of times, dad," Kieran backed himself up against the door. For once in his life physically afraid of his father.

"When did this happen? At my house? If you dare even tell me that this happened while she was suppose to be keeping an eye on you guys, especially Declan and Liam and Mikayla, I swear to God Kieran, I will park somewhere dark and desolate and beat you black and blue."

"It wasn't at our house, dad. I swear to you it wasn't."

"Where Kieran?"

"Uncle Danny's. When I went for stayed over night with them because I was going to Darien Lake with them for the weekend. Uncle Danny got called in to work and Daria was coming along to help Aunt Linds supervise all the kids and…everyone was sleeping and we were in the living room and…things just happened, dad."

"You said yes? You were into it?"

Kieran nodded. "It's not an awful thing, dad. Guys lose it to older girls all the time."

"Maybe. But the guy we're talking about here is my son. My then thirteen year old son. She took advantage of you and.."

"No, dad," Kieran argued. "She didn't. I was a willing participant! I was into it."

Behind them a car honked impatiently when the light turned green and they failed to move instantly.

Flack turned back to the road, hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles ached. "For fuck sakes, Kieran," he fumed.

"I'm sorry, dad. It only happened a couple of time. That's it."

"Once is enough," Flack informed him.

"I'm sorry if I disappointed you!" Kieran cried. " I'm sorry if everything I do disappoints you!"

"You know what? You're right. You do disappoint me. Big time."

"Dad, I…"

"Enough, Kieran. I've heard enough from you."

Kieran sighed heavily and looked out his window. Tears welled in his eyes and his chest ached. If his dad didn't hate him before, he sure did now.

* * *

It was shortly before six in the evening when Flack pulled the SUV into the double drive and killed the ignition. The half hour drive had been completed in utter silence. He was livid with his son. It had taken all the will power he had not to park somewhere and wallop the shit out of the kid's ass. And that frightened him. He'd never used physical punishment to discipline his kids. Not that he hadn't thought about it from time to time. He'd just been able to control the urge and deal with things in a calmer manner.

"Go inside," Flack said at long last, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"I'm sorry, dad," Kieran's voice had a desperate, pleading quality to it. "Please…I didn't do anything wrong! You wanted me to be honest and I was!"

"I want you to go inside and go to your room," Flack ordered in a quiet voice. "I want you to stay there and I don't want to hear from you or see you for the rest of the night. Am I clear?"

"Please, dad," his son shook his head, near tears. "Don't be like this."

"Am I clear?" Flack repeated gruffly.

"Yes, sir," Kieran managed meekly, and unbuckling his seat belt, opened the door and climbed out of the SUV and hurried up the driveway. Not looking back as he rushed up the stairs and into the house.

Flack closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. He wondered where the hell him and Sam had ever gone wrong with their first born. When had things screwed up so bad that Kieran thought losing his virginity at thirteen was a good idea. Had they been to lax on him? Had they not been strict enough or enforced rules properly? Or was it solely his father's fault for not being around more? For putting the upbringing of his children almost solely on his wife's already overburdened shoulders?

He heard the screen door open and opened his eyes to see his wife, in a pair of denim Capri shorts and a simple t-shirt and bare feet come down the steps and towards the car. Watching as she crossed in front of the SUV and than climbed into the seat recently vacated by their son.

"What the hell is going on?" she asked. "Kieran just came into the house crying and carrying on about you hating him. Than he ran up to his room and slammed the door and locked himself inside."

Flack sighed. "We had a disagreement."

"About?"

He contemplated telling her. Than decided against it. "It's a personal thing, Sam," he responded. "Just between me and him. All you need to know is that I'm really fucking pissed at him right now and I don't think I handled things the best way."

She frowned. "He's not dropping out of school is he?" she asked.

"No."

"He's not doing drugs, is he?"

"No. Nothing like that. When I calm down, I'm going to go up there and have a talk with him. A calm talk to smooth things over."

Sam just nodded. Realizing she wasn't going to get any more information from her husband.

"Well," she said. "When you're ready to come in and spend time with me and your other five kids, supper is ready."

She leaned across the seat and laid her hand on the side of his face and kissed him softly.

He managed a smile and watched as she slipped out of the car and headed back across the grass and up the stairs. Than disappeared inside the house.

He sighed heavily and closed his eyes once more.

I need a fucking vacation, he thought.

* * *

Two hours later, with a plate of microwave heated food in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, Flack found himself using his foot to rap on the closed door to his fifteen year old son's bedroom. He was dreading what lay ahead of him. The honesty that he knew was going to come out of the two of them, and the apology he knew his son deserved.

"Go away!" Kieran shouted from behind the closed door. "I already told you to leave me alone Declan!"

"It's me, Kieran," Flack said. "Open up. I brought you something to eat."

He heard the rustling of sheets as his son climbed off his bed and the soft footsteps across the carpeted floor. Followed by the clicking of the lock.

"I figured you might be hungry," he said, as his son stuck his head out the door.

Kieran looked down at the plate. His eyes were rimmed red and puffy from crying.

"Come on," Flack tried to sound as light hearted as possible. "When do you ever turn down your mother's Shepard's Pie? Or any of her cooking for that matter?"

Kieran sniffled noisily. "I'm not too big of a fan when she makes liver," he said.

"Who is?" Flack asked. "I know you're hungry, Kieran. Just take it and let me come in. Just for five minutes?"

He sighed.

"Please?" his father asked.

Kieran couldn't remember the last time his father had ever asked a question and used the word please. He nodded and took the plate of food and the can of Coke and held the door open with his foot so his father could step inside.

"At least you cleaned your room," Flack said, eyeing the place in appreciation and approval. "Looked like a land fill in here this morning your mom said."

"Wasn't much else for me to do but that and home work," Kieran grumbled, taking a seat in the middle of his rumpled bed. "Mom already took out the Xbox and the tv as punishment for being too much of a slob. And I didn't feel like going on line."

"That's a first," Flack said, sitting down in the chair at the desk across the room. "That's usually the thing you do as soon as you get home."

Kieran shrugged and dug into the plateful of food.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. Kieran sat with his eyes on his plate the entire time, and his father sat watching him intently.

"Look," Flack finally said, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. Playing with the wedding band he sported on his left hand. Twirling it around and pulling it up to the middle knuckled and than sliding it down again. Over and over. A nervous habit Kieran had picked up on a long time ago. "I just want you to know that I'm not pissed at you, Kieran. And I'm not going to punish you for anything."

"Coulda fooled me," he said. "You seemed a little more than pissed."

"It's not every day you hear your kid lost his virginity at thirteen," Flack reasoned. "Especially to an older girl, whose not only the daughter of people who work under me, but also my other son's special needs worker. And believe me, that's going to stop. I'm going to deal with Daria. Me and her mother and Uncle Rick are going to have a nice long talk."

"I didn't tell you to get anyone in trouble," Kieran said.

"I know. But this isn't something to be taken lightly. At least not to me. You were thirteen years old. Putting her at sixteen. You may not have a problem with that, but I do. And I know, if I was to tell your mother, she'd have an issue with it to."

"Are you going to?" Kieran asked, sipping Coke. "Tell mom?"

"I don't think it's anything she needs to know," Flack replied. "One day she might find out inadvertently, and I can imagine you'd rather tell her than let her find out from other sources."

Kieran nodded.

"I was shocked and I was pissed, K. And I reacted out of concern and love for you. You're my first born son. Your mom and I went through hell to get you into his world healthy. So to hear something like that…just try and put yourself in my shoes, son."

"I know I pissed you off, dad. And that you're disappointed in me. You said that already."

"I said some things out of anger," Flack admitted. "But it's not you I'm disappointed in. It's the situation you got yourself into. And not just you. Daria put you in it too and she had no right to do that. And I'm sorry that I said what I did. I really am. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"Well, you did," Kieran said.

"I know. And I'm sorry. Just as least tell me you were careful. That she was careful."

"We used protection, dad. She was very careful."

Flack nodded. Relieved.

"Can I ask you something?" Kieran asked. "In all honesty?"

"Of course."

"How old were you? The first time you had sex?"

"I was fifteen," Flack answered. "She was sixteen. The daughter of one of your grandpa Flack's work buddies. Our families were tight, me and your uncle Chris always hung around this girl and her older brother. I always thought she was kinda cute and one night, when we were at her place and her folks were out, she told me she had a crush on me and kissed me. And, well, the rest was history."

"Do you regret it?" Kieran asked.

"Only thing I regret is not being more careful. Two months later she was telling me she was pregnant."

Kieran's eyes grew wide. "She what?"

Flack nodded in confirmation.

"And it was yours?" Kieran was shocked.

His father nodded again.

"So somewhere out there we all have another brother or sister?"

Flack shook his head. "Her dad made her have an abortion and shipped her out of state to live with relatives. She never told him I was the one who knocked her up."

"Did grandma or grandpa know?"

"Your grandfather would have skinned me alive if he ever knew."

Kieran shook his head in disbelief. "Jesus, dad…does mom know?"

"That's one thing I have never told your mother about my past. And she knows a lot."

"Think you'll ever tell her?"

Flack shrugged. "One day, maybe…but do you see why I worry about you Kieran? You have so much ahead of you. More than what I had at your age. You've got all of this talent in hockey and your mother's brains. I want you to go far in life. And getting yourself in a situation like I was almost in…you don't want that, son. And I don't want that for you."

"I understand, dad. But I love Addie. I really do. I haven't been with any other girl since that thing with Daria. And I'll wait forever for Addie if I have to."

Flack smiled. "You're only fifteen, Kieran. And forever is a long way away. And as hypocritical as this sounds, I'd rather you wait until you're really ready and really in love with someone before doing it again. 'Cause trust me, when you're in love with someone, it's far better than anything else in the world."

"You ever wish you were a virgin for when you met mom? Or that she was one?"

"Sometimes," Flack admitted. "But we were a lot older when we met than you are now. And we both had lives before each other. And we accept that."

"Don't you ever get bored, dad? Want someone else? Being with someone for sixteen years? That's a hell of a long time."

"It's not that long when you love someone, Kieran," Flack said. "And I've only ever wanted your mother from the day I met her. And I'll say it again. Sex or making love or whatever you want to call it, is a thousand times more amazing when you really love someone. When I'm with your mother, every time is special. And one day, you'll see what I mean."

A knock came to the door.

"Dad?" Reghan's voice. "Mom says Uncle Tony is on the phone. Something about that case from yesterday."

"I have to take that," Flack told his son reluctantly.

"It's okay, dad. I understand. And I think you've said all you needed to say."

"Finish your dinner," Flack said, and got up and headed for the door.

"Dad?" Kieran called.

He paused before opening the door.

Kieran sat the plate of food on the floor and climbed off the bed and went to his father. He wrapped his arms around his father and embraced him tightly. "I'm sorry," he said, laying his head on Flack's shoulder.

"It's okay, K," Flack said, hugging his son in return. Pulling away, he took his son's face in his hands and pressed a kiss to Kieran's forehead. "I love you, son," he said.

"I love you, too, dad," he responded, letting the tears slip down his cheeks.

Flack smiled, brushed the tears away with his thumbs. "I'll always love you and be proud of you, Kieran. No matter what. Always remember that. Okay?"

"Okay," Kieran sniffled.

Flack let his son go and turned to the door. "And by the way," he said, hand on the door knob. "It's a no to the piercing. Even if your mother did have one a long time ago."

Kieran grinned. "I figured you say that. Tattoo?"

"How about we wait until your sixteenth birthday and than we discuss that? Deal?"

"Deal," Kieran agreed, and watched as his father slipped out of the room.

I'm my father's son, he thought, and a smile spread across his face.

Those words had never made him feel as proud as they did at that moment. And he only hoped, when the time came, that he was half the man and father that his dad was.

**Thanks to all of those who are reading and reviewing! And to the lurkers! I appreciate each and every one of you guys!**

**Hope4sall  
****Brrtmclv  
****Laurzz  
****Bluehaven4220  
****Forest Angel  
****ImasupernaturalCSI  
****Wolfey lady  
****Marialisa  
****Soccer-bitch**


	14. Working out the kinks

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK, ALL THE FLACK KIDS AND CUJO AND MAXIMUS AND ANYTHING OR ANYONE ELSE NOT AFFILIATED WITH THE SHOW**

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M FOR SLIGHT ADULT SITUATIONS (SUGGESTED SMUT) AND ADULT CONVERSATIONS**

**Working out the kinks**

"Something 'bout the way your hair falls in your face  
I love the shape you take when crawling towards the pillowcase  
You tell me where to go  
and Though I might leave to find it  
I'll never let your head hit the bed  
Without my hand behind it  
you want love?  
We'll make it  
Swimming in a deep sea of blankets  
Take all your big plans  
And break 'em  
This is bound to be a while  
Your body is a wonderland  
Your body is a wonder (I'll use my hands)  
Your body is a wonderland  
Damn baby You frustrate me  
I know you're mine all mine all mine  
But you look so good it hurts sometimes."  
-Your Body is a Wonderland, John Mayer

* * *

At quarter after ten in the evening, Flack found himself sitting on the top step of the back deck. Smoking a cigarette and keeping an eye on Maximus as he romped around the yard and did his nightly business.

Strings of soft white lights lined the top railing of the deck and were wrapped around the trunk of the large oak tree that sat just to the left of the gated and securely locked pool area. More lights glittered in the bushes that lined the fence separating their home from the neighbour to the right.

He'd balked at the idea of having Christmas lights strung up three hundred and sixty five days a year. Too red-neck he'd told Sam when she told him how much she loved the idea. She'd given him that look that meant whether he liked it or not, he was buying those lights and putting them up.

He'd grumbled and cursed under his breath the entire two hours it had taken to do the task, but all his misgivings and complaints had disappeared when, as soon as the sun went down, those lights had gone on and Sam's face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. She'd looked so sweet and innocent and adorable standing there in awe, the twinkling lights making her golden eyes sparkle and a wide, smile of joy on her face.

Just seeing her like that, after the hardships and disappointments and heartbreak they had done through in their lives made him feel like a million bucks. That something so simple had made him, in her eyes, the greatest man on the earth.

He still wasn't entirely sold on the idea of permanent Christmas lights two years later. But his wife loved them and that's all that mattered. She always went on about how romantic it was. That it added coziness and ambiance when they had people over there in the evening during the summer. Which seemed to be almost a nightly occurrence since they moved into a bigger place. The guy who'd once called a quiet night in eating pizza and drinking beer while watching a game, had since become the soccer and hockey dad who barbecued and mingled while his wife entertained guests.

It was surreal how much could change in the span on nearly two decades.

The temperature had dipped considerably in the last couple of hours. Sitting there in a pair of cargo style shorts and an old academy sweatshirt that had seen better days and bare feet, Flack found himself shivering but too damn lazy to go in and put longer pants on. He relished the nights like this. Where there was nothing but silence coming from inside of the house and he could just sit out there, either on his own or with his wife, and just turn his brain off for a while. Forget about the trials and tribulations of the day and just think about petty, insignificant shit for a while.

Which seemed to be difficult to do that night. He was still simmering inside after Kieran's confession earlier. No longer pissed off at his son, he turned all his anger and bitterness towards Daria for ever putting a thirteen year old boy in that kind of situation. A sixteen year old knew better than that. And what normal sixteen year old girl wanted anything to do with a kid that young in the first place? Most at that age wanted the older guy with the cool car and the bad attitude. Not a kid who wasn't old enough to shave yet and whose voice hadn't fully matured.

It disgusted him. There was no other word to describe what he felt to think of what had gone down. It had left a foul, bitter taste in his mouth that no matter how hard he tried, he just could not get rid of.

He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the screen door scraping open. Smiling at his wife as she stepped out onto the deck in her bare feet. Wearing a pair of baggy plaid pyjama bottoms and a tank top covered by an old windbreaker of his with NYPD across the back in big white letters and managing a plastic tumbler full of an unknown, most likely alcoholic, beverage and a massive china mug he hoped was holding steaming coffee. There were sheets of computer paper tucked under her arm that threatened to flutter to the ground as she used her fingertips to slid the screen door closed. Nearly chopping poor Cujo in half as he unexpectedly came bursting out of the house, across the deck and down the stairs.

"Stupid fucking mutt," she cursed.

"Told you he was more trouble than what he was worth," Flack said, holding out his hands to take the tumbler and the mug from her so she could sit down beside him without spilling anything. The smell of fresh, strong coffee permeating his senses.

"You said the same thing about Slippers and you bawled like a baby when she died," Sam reminded him, dropping the papers on the deck, her knees cracking as she sunk down onto the step alongside of him.

"Jesus, Samantha," he grimaced at the sound. "You're in worse shape than I am."

"I'm also almost three years older than you and gave birth to six kids. What the hell do you expect? My body to look and sound like it did sixteen years ago?"

"Always said when you hit fifty I was trading you in for two twenty five year olds," Flack teased.

"Please," Sam snorted. "You'd die of a heart attack the second you saw them naked."

He sniffed the plastic tumbler. "Christ, woman. It's suppose to be like a shot or two of rye and mostly ginger ale. Not three quarters rye and splash of pop."

"I had to deal with Liam the Demon for two hours," she said, taking her drink from him and gulping down some of the potent beverage. "I deserve this."

"What was up with him in the bathtub?" Flack asked. "I thought for a while I was going to have to call Father O'Shea to come over and perform an exorcism."

"I think that kid needs one. He was just right raging tonight about everything. I don't know if he was just over stimulated or overtired, but he fought me every step of the way. Even Kieran had to pin him down so I could put his ear drops in and had to hold him still so I could get his jammies on. I thought we were past bed time rebellion when he wasn't a toddler anymore. I'm telling you, Don, you are giving him a bath from now on. Because if he bites me one more time..."

"He bites me or head butts me or pulls my hair and he's getting slapped on the ass so hard his kids will be born dizzy," Flack declared. Although he'd yet to lay a hand on any of his kids and hoped he'd never have to.

"Well he's sleeping now," Sam said with a sigh. "Although I was half tempted to drug him with one of those Ambien things I've been taking."

Flack frowned.

"Joking, honey," she said, rubbing the back of his neck before sliding her hand along his shoulder and than down his back before wrapping her arm around his waist. "You really didn't expect our kids to be normal, did you? I mean, how could they be? They have your DNA."

He grinned and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You're funny," he said. "It's the Ross in them that made them all psycho."

She pinched him just below his ribs. Hard enough to make him jump. "So everything is okay now?" she asked, sipping her drink. "With you and your son?"

Flack nodded. "We're good," he said. "Did he say anything to you before he went to bed?"

"Other than his usual goodnights? No. Nothing. He just took the trash and the recycling to the curb and let me check his homework. He's having problems in science."

"What kind of problems?"

"He just can't grasp it. He says it makes no sense to him. I'm wondering if he needs to get dropped down to just a general science program instead of advanced. I mean, we had to do it for his math at the beginning of the year."

"Ask me, he's not concentrating enough," Flack said. "He's too worried about other things. Like having a girlfriend."

"Has it ever occurred to you, Donald, that maybe your son is just better at some subjects than the other? He does amazing in English and he's a powerhouse in French. I couldn't talk French like that at fifteen. He picked it up very quickly. Maybe math and science just aren't his cup of tea."

"He's going to need his math and his science when he goes to university," Flack told her.

She sighed. "Let's not get into this conversation tonight. Okay? You know I'm not going to push him into anything."

"I'm not saying to push him. I'm saying to give him a gentle nudge in that direction."

"He's only in grade ten," Sam reminded her husband. "He has a long way to go before he even decides what he wants to do. Just give him some time before you start pushing him in one direction or the other."

Flack held his hands up in surrender. "Fine," he said.

* * *

Sam took a sip of her drink. "And the girls want to have a slumber party this weekend. Saturday night."

"How many of them?" Flack asked.

"Reghan and Alannah, Tiana and Chelsea, Chloe and Addie and Sophia. And a newbie our girls managed to pick up along the way at school."

"Whose the new girl?"

"Alessa Bainbridge," Sam told him. "Apparently she just transferred over from a school on the upper east side because the drama and music program at Archbishop Molloy is second to none in all of the boroughs. And for some reason, she just latched onto our girls."

"Bainbridge, huh? Why does that name make her sound like some stuck up, spoiled rich kid?"

"I don't know about stuck up and spoiled, but you hit the nail on the head with the rich. Her father apparently brings in seven figures a year. After taxes. He's the CEO of Bainbridge and Evans. The brokerage firm on Wall Street. And get this, Alannah was telling me that he has a man servant that brings her lunch personally made by the family's chef and that he has her picked up from school by a chauffeur driving a brand new Bentley."

Flack snorted and shook his head. "And she just happens to latch onto the daughters of two cops? That should go over huge with daddy."

"And her mother was a debutante and never worked a day in her life," Sam added.

"Just the type to become your new BFF or whatever the hell it's called."

Sam laughed. "Right…now there's just someone I have so much in common with. I'm sure we can get together and clip coupons and plan our next shopping trips to Wal-Mart and Target. And while we're at it, we can go and get ten dollar haircuts and eat at McDonalds."

"Hey," Flack said with a chuckle and reached out to run a hand over her hair. "You look hot with ten dollar hair cuts."

She smiled and leaned in to kiss him softly. "So I am preparing you now. There will be a gaggle of girls here Saturday night. I'm putting them in the basement so all their giggling and yacking won't keep the rest of us up. But you are expected to be Chef Flack on Sunday morning. Reghan has already polled her friends and everyone is requesting banana pancakes."

Flack sighed. "It's hard being so damn popular with all the ladies," he joked.

"Alannah just about died when Addie told her how cute her dad was."

"Addie said I'm cute?"

Sam nodded.

"Girl's got good taste. The dad's too old so she hooks up the son. Smart. And she's coming to this sleep over?"

Sam nodded.

"I'm putting another lock on Kieran's door. On the outside of it. And only I am going to have the key. Because I just do no trust those two not to sneak around and at least attempt to do the nasty in my house."

"Is that what your thing with Kieran was about today? Him and Addie?"

"No. But some of the things he did tell me, has made me realize that it is more serious between them than I realized and I need to stop things before they get out of control. Trust me, Sam, it's for their own good."

"I didn't say anything. You do what you have to do, Don. If you feel there's a threat of them getting themselves into trouble, I leave it in your hands," she sipped her drink and stretched out her legs and inhaled the crisp air. "There was a message from Speed on the phone. He said that he'd heard from Mercy and none of those refugees have malaria. It was just a lot of sea sickness and poor conditions. Nothing communicable."

"Good news. He say anything else?"

"Other than I need to cough up the passport already? No. He didn't."

Flack sighed. "I already told Messer earlier that you weren't on that part of the case anymore. He's hard of understanding sometimes."

"And," Sam reached behind her to pick up the papers she'd brought out with her. "I called Neil today and he said whenever I needed some time off, to just tell him and make sure I gave a weeks notice as heads up."

Neil Monteith was her boss. He'd been transferred in from the Washington, DC office three months ago after her old supervisor had suffered a mental breakdown. The stress of working for the government on top of a nasty split with his wife had sent him over the edge and a replacement had been brought in while he bidded his time in the hospital. Neil was a nice enough guy to work for, but Sam had been having issues taking orders from someone ten years younger.

"So," she said. "I was thinking about a place that we can go for a few days that isn't too far from home and that I know you'll love."

"Yeah? Where's that? Atlantic City?"

"No..Toronto."

He frowned. "Toronto?"

"Yeah…Toronto, Canada."

"I know where it is. But why would we want to go there?"

"Because there's lots of cool stuff to see," she reasoned, referring to the papers now resting in her lap. "There's the Royal Ontario Museum, the Art Gallery, a place called Old Fort York which apparently has the largest collection of original War of 1812 buildings…"

"So? We have great stuff like that here right in New York City. Our own museums and what not. Why would I want to go into Canada and visit theirs?"

"…there's the Rogers Centre where the Toronto Blue Jays play and the Air Canada Centre where the Maple Leafs play…."

"And they are both shitty teams and aren't worthy of being in major league baseball or the national hockey league," Flack interjected.

"…and the CN Tower," she continued. "Which at 1,815 plus feet is still the tallest free standing structure in the Americas. And attracts more than two million international tourists yearly."

"And why do we have to add to that total?" Flack asked.

"Hang on, Donald, I am getting to the best part that I picked out just for you."

"Better be good," he said. "'Cause Atlantic City is looking damn good right about now."

"It is also home to, drum roll please….the Hockey Hall of Fame."

Flack stared at her. "Get outta town."

"Like you didn't know that the Hockey Hall of Fame was in Toronto."

"I knew it. I just didn't…I don't know…think you'd want to go there."

"I do like hockey you know," Sam reminded him. "I'm just not a massive die hard like you. I just thought it would be a cool place to go. We can go up the tower and take a tour of the Air Canada Centre. Maybe see a hockey game if the Leafs are still playing. We could even arrange a trip around the time the Rangers are in town there. And we could go to the Hall of Fame."

A broad smile crossed his face. "God I love you," he declared, and leaned sideways to kiss her softly.

"You knew there was some reason you married me, huh?" she teased, gathering up the papers and shuffling them together. "And now, unfortunately, we have some serious stuff to talk about."

Flack sighed.

Sam took a long sip of her drink.

* * *

"Fuck, it must be bad," Flack said. "For you to be guzzling it down like that."

"I had to go and pick Declan up at school today," Sam told him. "At one thirty in the afternoon."

"Why?" Flack asked.

"Apparently, someone called him a retard and he pitched a fit and when the EA tried to calm him down, he punched her and bit her."

"Whose the asshole that called him a retard?"

"Remember Jeremy Kramer? Who was friends with Declan all through daycare and elementary school? Declan used to go to all of his birthday parties until he stopped being invited two years ago? Well, I guess Declan is just the retarded kid now. Because he said it and Declan stood up for himself. "

"Good. I hope he fucking knocked the kid on his ass."

"He would have but the EA got into it and she got it instead. And you want to know what he called her?"

"What?"

"A stupid, lazy fat cow."

Flack laughed. He just couldn't help it. Because he knew Declan could have only picked that up from one person. His father. Who, after asking Declan where his homework was and finding out there was none because the EA didn't show up for the third day in a row, had called the woman a stupid, lazy, fat cow. Over two weeks ago. It was a damn miracle the kid could even remember what was said fourteen days ago when he couldn't remember to flush the toilet and wash his hands afterwards.

But when a similar reaction didn't come from his wife, who usually found such off handed, cutting remarks funny when they unexpectedly came from Declan, Flack knew that she was taking the situation far more serious than he was. And one look at her made his realize that to her, it was a massive issue. Tears threatened in her eyes. Her lower lip wobbling as she fought to maintain her composure.

These moments didn't come very often anymore. As Declan grew up, Sam found it easier to accept that her son was never going to be like other kids. That everything would be a struggle and raising him would require a tremendous amount of patience but there'd be a lot of fun, good times too. He was an energetic, friendly, bubbly kid that didn't give a rats ass about appearances or the fact that he was different.

After thirteen years of dealing with their son's disability, including an entire year it had taken Flack to actually come to terms with the cards that they had been dealt, Flack knew that his wife only got into these moods if she'd either been drinking a little too much, or something had happened during the day to open up all those still festering wounds. Whether it be Declan getting picked on at school or out in the community or a bad score at a developmental assessment or a lack of progress in his speech. Or when she had too much time to sit down and think about Declan's future.

Flack tried not to look that far ahead. They had made it through the last thirteen years and he knew they'd make it through the next thirteen too. If he sat and contemplated what life had in store for his son, Flack found himself overwhelmed with worry about what was going to happen to Declan once he was out of high school and had to find a job or something else to do in the community. He wondered if his kid would ever be able to move out of the house and somewhat take care of himself. It was one of the things he wanted the most for his son. And he didn't care if the kid was forty when he moved out. As long as he could.

But going through scenarios and concerns drove him nuts. And he knew it was a miracle he didn't have an ulcer yet. Between the job and six kids and all the special needs crap, his stomach should have been rotted along time ago.

Flack reached out and ran a hand over his wife's hair and down to the back of her neck. "It's okay," he told her. "I'll talk to him tomorrow and tell him not to be doing stuff like that and to apologize to the stupid, lazy, fat cow."

"We were told that there was always a possibility he'd have behavioural problems," Sam said. "Shit, Liam has the worst out of all the kids and there's nothing wrong with him. But Declan's been fine all these years other than getting frustrated over not being able to communicate properly. And than he starts at this fucking school and it all goes down hill. And Kieran spends more time in the principal's office because of fighting trying to stick up for him than he does in class some days. And we can't put that on Kieran and have him getting kicked out of school."

"So we take Declan out of there and send him somewhere else," Flack said. "Plain and simple. We'll call around and see what school offers the best environment and mixed special ed and integrated program. It's no huge deal."

"It's everything, Donnie," she cried. "All the little stuff adding up to make huge stuff."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Everything. The girls are always fighting and no one helps out around here. I had sixteen loads of laundry today. Sixteen! Where does it all come from! I try to keep on top of things but with all the kids and their activities and my own job I just can't do it."

"So quit and stay home."

"I can't quit. We need the money I bring in. You know that."

"So I'll hire someone to come in and help you out."

"I don't want a stranger in my house and around my kids," Sam argued.

"Okay…than I'll tell the kids to get off their asses and start picking up some slack around here. Kieran and Reghan and Alannah are old enough to be cleaning their own rooms and doing their own laundry. There is no reason a fifteen year old and thirteen year old can't clean their own shit and make their beds. I had to do it. You had to do it."

"Yeah," she agreed. "But both our fathers would also beat us if we didn't."

"That's always an option," Flack said.

She frowned.

He laid his hand on her shoulder and pulled her into him. He pressed a kiss to her temple and nuzzled her cheek with his nose. "Just kidding…so what's really bugging you? A whole lot of everything or just what's going on with Declan?"

"He's my son and I love him unconditionally. You know that."

"I do."

"But sometimes I can't….his speech. I can barely understand him sometimes and we've spent all that co-pay money on a crazy amount of speech therapy and I don't see a damn bit of difference."

"If you ask me, Declan doesn't talk funny or strange. He just has your Brooklyn accent," Flack teased.

She managed a smile.

"I know you're really frustrated right now, Sammie. All the bullshit that goes on around here and at work and now Declan having issues at school. It's a lot on your plate. But once we get him settled somewhere and he's doing better, you'll feel a hell of a lot better."

"I just want someone to tell me why," she said.

"Why what, baby?"

"Why us? Why did this happen to us? Why did we have a disabled child? What did we ever do wrong that God felt he needed to punish us?"

Flack understood that she didn't mean the words she spoke to sound malicious or cruel. That sometimes she just needed to rant and rave and speak the truth. And that he needed to be supportive one.

"We didn't do anything wrong," he said, wrapping his arm around her securely and pulled her tight into his side. "You know that, Samantha. And having Declan isn't punishment. He's a challenge. But he's a great kid and he loves us and we love him. He's our son. Regardless. Remember when we thought there was a problem with Kieran? We agreed that we'd have him no matter what. And Declan having Down Syndrome was a fucking shock and it kicked us in the ass, but even if we had have known it while you were pregnant, it wouldn't have made me want him or love him any less."

"But you're a strong person, Donnie. You handle things better. You've always been the strong one."

"Sam, you're tougher than you realize. You don't give yourself enough credit."

"I just want someone to tell me why," she said, tears spilling down her cheeks as she lay her head on his chest. "I want someone to sit me down and say, Mrs Flack, this is why this happened to you and your husband."

"No one can tell us that, Sam. All we know is that right at conception, boom. Someone kicked in an extra chromosome. There's no way of telling who it was. And does who really matter? Why do we need to know? So we can assign blame? It wasn't either of our fault. You're just tired and frustrated and pissed off. And you know what? That's okay, baby."

She sniffled noisily.

"You want to rant and rave at everyone and everything? That's your right. You want to cry? Go ahead and spill all the tears you want. That's your right too. No one is going to fault you for that."

She nodded.

"Well if they do, tell them to fuck off," Flack said.

"I love Stella and Carmen, I really do. But when I try to talk to them they tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself. That's it not that bad and it's not that hard. But how would they know? They have their perfect children that excel in everything."

"And you know what? One day their perfect little girls are going to come home at sixteen knocked up or high on drugs and they won't be so great anymore. And if Stella and Carmen think that way, than fuck them. They have no clue. Seeing him every once in a while doesn't mean they know everything about him and his problems. Next time they get on you, tell them I said to come and talk to me. Okay?"

"Okay," she managed through her tears. "But they don't know what it felt like. To sit there and have some doctor tell you that your baby isn't going to be like everyone else. That the baby you were planning for and expecting is gone. To realize all the hopes and dreams and everything you had planned is gone just like that. They don't know what that felt like."

"No, they don't. But you know what? I do. I was there too, Sam. And I know what it felt like to hear them say Down Syndrome and not hear anything else after that. To feel like the whole ground just opened you up and swallowed you whole. I was there with you. And I'm always going to be here. So if anyone understands what its like to feel like shit about yourself, it's me."

"I feel so bad," she said, brushing away hot tears with the sleeve of the jacket.

"For what?"

"Feeling this way. Like I'm some crappy, horrible mother for thinking and feeling like this."

"You're human, Samantha. It's okay to feel like this."

"And the association wants me to do home visits to new mothers," she told him. "To give them hope and comfort and all of that crap. And I can't do it, Donnie. I can't. I'm not ready for that even after thirteen years. Because it hurts like hell when I talk about it and I can't put myself through that."

"Then that's what you tell them. Don't do it. 'Cause honestly, Sam, I don't think you're ready for that either."

"But I should be. It's thirteen years ago."

"There's a time limit on these things? You deal with the way you want and for as long as you want. And if you want to sit here all night and bawl your eyes out, than that's fine with me."

"Is it?" she asked in a tiny voice.

He nodded, and she picked up his arm that was around her shoulders and scooted into his lap and wrapped both of her arms around his neck tightly. And resting her head in the space between his neck and his shoulder, broke down sobbing.

* * *

He said nothing. He knew that no words could make the pain she felt go away. And that she wasn't looking for him to say a word. She needed to just get it all out and he gave her that. He put his arms around her slender body and held her as tight as he could and let her cry it out. Until she'd soaked his neck and shirt and there were no tears left to spend. And eventually her body stopped trembling and her crying ceased and she sat up.

"Better?" he asked, softly stroking her hair.

She nodded and wiped her eyes, and runny nose on the shoulder of his sweatshirt.

"Aww, Sam," he groaned in disgust. "Did you really have to? You know I have issues with snot."

"Sorry," she sniffled. "But I didn't have a Kleenex."

"You could have wiped your own snot on your own clothes," he told her.

"This is your jacket. Either way I was drying my nose on something of yours."

He stroked her hair softly and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You okay now?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'm much better," she assured him.

He smiled and laid his hand on the back of her neck and kissed her softly. "Maybe we should call it a night," he suggested. "You look exhausted and after the day I had, I…"

She buried her fingers in the hair at the back of his head and kissed him. Her tongue pushing between his lips and teeth urgently, seeking out and finding his.

Sixteen years later and all it took was for her to take the initiative to start things off for him to feel that tell tale tingling and and warmth that quickly spread through him. Her fingers buried in his hair and her fresh, feminine scent lingering in the air. Her warm form pressed tightly against his. Her kiss hungry and demanding. His entire body stiffening as her lips and teeth and tongue found their way to his neck and ear. His hands sliding up the back of her tank top. Fingertips trailing up her spine before drifting down again and around to her smooth stomach. Feeling her shudder against him as his hands slipped up the front of her top and his thumbs brushed over her already erect nipples.

That was a bit of a shock. To find her already fired up and raring to go. With her personal issues as of late, it usually took a hell of a lot of time and effort on his part to get her worked up. She moaned against his neck as his hands cupped her full breasts and fondled them eagerly.

"I think we should go inside now," he said, voice hoarse, dangerously close to just throwing her down right there on the deck or on the grass and having his way with her in the middle of their backyard.

"Mm-hm," came her response, as she sucked lightly on his neck, her hand slipping down his chest and stomach and finding its way between them. Her palm drifting over his erection.

"Like, right now," he insisted, biting back a moan as she squeezed his cock through his shorts.

She gave a small yelp as he pinched one of her nipples quite hard. "Two nights in a row, huh?" she asked, adjusting her position so that she sat squarely on his lap with her legs wrapped around his waist. Seductively grinding her groin against his. "Think you're capable?"

"Let me take you inside and I'll show you just what I am capable of."

She kissed him again, holding his face in her hands as she pressed herself into him. Her lips were rough and passionate on his as she squirmed in sheer delight of he rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. He shoved her tank top up and bent his head to lick and suckle at her breasts.

She sighed, holding his head to her. "I swear I could come just by you doing that," she said.

Flack looked up at her. "You serious?"

She nodded and grabbed his hand and moved it between them, pressing it against the crotch of her pyjama bottoms, the fabric already moist.

"Been a while since that's happened," Flack commented, completely shocked and turned on by the fact she was so worked up.

"Maybe things are going back to normal," Sam said, moving against his hand, seeking stimulation. "Or maybe it's the alcohol."

"I was hoping you were going to say I just have that effect on you."

"That too," she assured him and groaned as his lips found her breasts again and his fingers rubbed her through her pants.

Slowly at first, than more firmly and quickly, her hips moving to match the motion of his fingers, until she was gasping and clutching at his shoulders. Than rapidly becoming completely undone and burying her head in his shoulder as she cried out, assaulted by a long, powerful and utterly satisfying orgasm. When it was over, her body was limp and trembling against his. He removed his hand and gently pulled down and straightened her top and held her tightly until her breathing returned to normal.

Sam pulled back and smiled and kissed him lovingly. "I think maybe we should go in now," she suggested. "So I can get to work returning the favour."

He grinned. "I think you read my mind," he said.

* * *

She kissed her way up the length of his body. Her tongue and lips blazing a trail along his collarbone as her fingers combed through the thick hair on his broad chest. Her kisses making their way to his chin. She raised her head and smiled, her golden eyes twinkling at the sight of her husband completely and utterly spent and satisfied.

His eyes were closed and his chest was heaving. His body drenched in sweat. She straddled him and leaned over him, hands on the pillow above his head as she kissed the tip of his nose.

"Are you alive?" she asked,

"Barely," Flack replied, opening his eyes. "You've got a little bit of stuff right here," he pointed to the left corner of his own lips.

"Hmm…I guess I'm not as good at cleaning my own mess as I used to be," Sam said, wiping her lips with a finger tip. She grinned at him and licked her finger. "Still tastes good though," she announced.

"You're killing me, woman. And you haven't done that in a long, long time."

"I figured you were due. Did you miss it?"

"Honestly? Yeah, I did," he said, running his hands along her slender thighs and onto her hips before sliding them back and down to cup her ass. "A lot, actually."

"Maybe I need to practice. I think my technique is a little rusty."

"What?" he asked incredulously and chuckled. "There's nothing at all wrong with your technique, babe. You just need to do it on a more regular basis to get back up to the pro level again."

She giggled. "Pro level? There's a pro level in the fine art of giving blow jobs?"

"When you were younger, you were right at the top of your game. Now…just a couple points below."

She smirked. "Asshole," she said, and kissed him long and soft.

He brought a hand up to the back of her head and groaned in disappointment. "I miss the long hair," he complained. "It was sexy and it felt amazing when I ran my hands through it. Never mind the way it felt when it would brush against me while you were on top and doing your business. Which is also something you haven't done in a while."

"One step at a time, Don," she said and nuzzled his neck before climbing off of him.

Shivering, she grabbed the duvet from the foot of the bed and lay down alongside of him before draping the heavy blanket over their naked bodies. She cuddled up to him on her side, her hand resting on his stomach and her leg over his thighs. Her head nestled into his neck.

His fingertips drifted along her arm, over her shoulder and down her back. Than up her back once more and repeating the same lazy path over and over again. Her own fingers travelling across the scar that travelled from the from the right side of his navel, horizontally across his stomach to his side, and all the way around to his back. A nasty reminder of the operation to have two bullets removed from him and to have his pancreas and small intestine stitched up where the bullets had tore through them.

Another thicker scar on the left side where he had had to have part of his liver removed. The third bullet was still inside of him. Lodged near his spine. Dangerously close to the third vertebrae. The surgeon had told Sam, after showing her the X-Rays while her husband lay intubated and in a medically induced coma in ICU, that to remove the projectile would cause paralysis from the waist down. Leaving it in was less a risk, although in the distant future, there was a chance the bullet could shift. And if it went in the wrong direction, could caused paralysis as well. She'd made the choice, after a long, emotional talk with her mother in law, to leave the bullet where it was. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that her husband could not live like that. He'd told her as much one night, as they discussed living wills shortly after Kieran was born, that if anything ever happened to him and he couldn't walk or was a vegetable, to shoot him and put him out of his misery.

She'd scolded him. Saying that many people lived wonderfully and fully functioning lives in a wheelchair, and he'd looked at her with serious blue eyes and said, "Not me." And when she'd mentioned that if he was ever in a permanently comatose state that she didn't think she could pull the plug and give up on him, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

"It would be time to let me go, Samantha," he'd said. "Because that wouldn't be fair to me, or you. I wouldn't want to live like that and I wouldn't want you to see me like that. You'd have to let me go."

She shivered even now thinking about it. Because there'd be no way she'd ever be able to let him go.

Flack tightened his hold on her. Mistaking her shivering for being cold. "I need to tell you something," he said suddenly.

She lifted her head to look at him. "Okay…sounds serious…"

"It's probably something I should have told you a long time ago. Something I've been keeping inside of me for a really long time."

She grinned and kissed his chest. "You're really gay?" she teased.

"What?" he chuckled and kissed her forehead. "No. Trust me, I am far from gay."

"Is this a marriage threatening thing?" she asked in all seriousness.

"No. It was something that happened way before I ever met you. When I was fifteen, actually."

"Alright…what is it?"

He sighed heavily. "When I was fifteen, I got someone pregnant."

Her eyes widened a little and she nodded slowly.

"It was the first girl I ever had sex with. She was sixteen. Daughter of one of my dad's cop buddies."

"Did she have the baby?" Sam asked.

"No. She had an abortion. And she never told her old man it was me that got her pregnant and I never told mine. My old man would have killed me with his bare hands."

She picked up the white gold chain around her husband's neck and fiddled with it. "And why did you feel the need to tell me about something that happened thirty years ago?"

"Because you're my wife and I felt it was something you should know about. Why? You don't think it was something that I should have told you?"

She shrugged. "You were fifteen, Don. A lot of fifteen year olds make mistakes."

"You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?" she asked. "Like I said, it was thirty years ago. We both had lives before we met. We've both slept with other people. It's no secret. You didn't hold my fuck ups as a teenager against me when I told you about them. So I'm not going to crucify you for being a dumb ass when you were young."

He smiled lovingly at her and kissed her tenderly. "You never cease to amaze me," he said.

"You were expecting me to go all raging lunatic?"

"Just a bit."

"I've grown up, Donnie. I don't let things like that bother me anymore. I mean, we've been married for fifteen years. Together for sixteen. I've kinda figured out by now that you're not going anywhere and I can relax a little."

"I'm not going anywhere," he vowed. "Ever."

"Good," she said and snuggled back into him. "Because I won't let you. You're mine. I've grown quite fond of you actually."

"Yeah? Well I've got this massive crush on you, Mrs Flack."

"A crush, huh?"

"Yeah…you had me from hello."

She giggled and drew back to look at him. "That's so tacky," she said, her nose wrinkled in disgust.

"I could have just told you that you complete me."

"That's even worse!" she declared, laughing in earnest as he rolled her over onto her back and caught her by the wrists and pinned her arms to the bed above her head. "I like this," she said. "You're going all cop on me."

"Want me to get the cuffs out? Go all out?"

She grinned broadly and her eyes twinkled.

"You are such a dirty girl," he told her, kissing her deeply before climbing off the bed and grabbing his hand cuffs from the top drawer of his dresser. "Now this we haven't done in ages," he said, opening both sides of the handcuffs before climbing back onto the bed and leaning down to assault her lips and tongue with his own.

She suddenly moved swiftly underneath him. Flipping him over onto his back. And in one quick motion, had the handcuffs in her own possession, slapping one on his wrist and looping them around one of the rungs on the headboard before firmly securing his other hand.

He looked at his wrists attached tightly and securely to the bed. Then grinned up at her.

"Pretty good for a Fed, huh?" she asked, straddling him once more. "Never underestimate me, Inspector."

"I'm impressed," he said. "So? What now? You've got me here? In a complete submissive position? What do you plan on doing with me?"

"Oh I don't know," she leaned over to press a kiss to his chest, using the tip of her tongue to toy with his nipple. "A little bit of this," she licked a slow, agonizing path down to his navel. "A little bit of that," she said, and moved even lower.

"A little bit of that would be nice," he croaked, as she trailed the tip of her tongue along his already rock hard cock.

"Or," she moved quickly back up the bed, climbing on him once again. "Maybe even some of this," she teased him by spreading her legs wide on either side of him and rubbing his tip, already leaking pre-cum, against her moist opening.

"Some of that would be even better," he panted.

"But you know what I really, really want to do right now?" she asked, kissing him slowly, grinding against him yet never allowing him inside.

"No. I don't," he nearly exploded at the sensation of her moving against him. "Why don't you show me?"

"You'd like that?" she asked, pecking his chin, his cheek, his lips, pulling away with a devilish grin as he attempted to kiss her. "You'd like me to show you want I want most of all?"

He nodded, biting his lip, barely able to contain himself.

"Okay," she said, brushing her erect nipples against his chest. "Are you sure you can handle it, Don?"

"Absolutely."

"Alright," she said. "But I'm warning you. You'll go out of your mind."

"Good. That's good. Real good. Show me already."

She sat upright, running her hands over his chest as she licked her bottom lip seductively. "You sure?" she asked. "I don't want it to be too much for you."

"Just fucking hurry up and do it already."

"Fine," she said, than leaned down, kissed him chastely and jumped off him.

"What the fuck?" he nearly screamed at her, watching as she scampered across the bed and climbed off. "Where are you going"

"To get something to eat," she said, climbing back into her pyjamas.

"What?" he asked in utter disbelief. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"You said to show you what I wanted most of all," she said. "And I will do just that. I'll be back in time minutes with a slice of Key Lime Pie and a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream. All for me."

She gave him a huge grin and a finger wave as she headed for the door.

"I can't fucking believe you!" he bellowed, fighting against his restraints. "You little bitch."

She slipped out of the room.

"How can you do this to me?" he called out to her.

He heard her laughing all the way down the stairs.

**A/N 1: I wanted a funny ending to this chapter. I hope that you guys enjoyed it!! Alessa is a creation of hope4sall. She is Stella and Flack's daughter in her fab Fiesta series. She was gracious enough to lend her to me and let me tweak her background and family life for the purpose of this story.**

**A/N 2: Archbishop Malloy is an actual Catholic High School in Queens. It is located in ****Briarwood, a residential neighborhood in the center of Queens County, New York. **

**Thanks to all of those who are reading and reviewing!! I appreciate each and every one of you for making this story a huge success!! A thank you even to the lurkers!!**

**Thanks to my reviewers (in no particular order)**

**Hope4sall  
****Brrtmclv  
****Axellia  
****Laplandgurl  
****marialisa  
****Madison Bellows  
****Bluehaven4220  
****Laurzz  
****EddiesGirl  
****Forest Angel  
****ImaSupernaturalCSI  
****muchmadness  
****Wolfey lady  
****Soccer-bitch**


	15. Coping Skills

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANHA FLACK AND ALL OF THE FLACK KIDS.**

**Coping skills**

"Been climbing trees I've skinned my knees  
My hands are black the sun is going down  
She scruffs my hair in the kitchen steam  
She's listening to the dream I weaved today  
Crosswords through the bathroom door  
While someone sings the theme-tune to the news  
And my sister buzzes through the room leaving perfume in the air  
And that's what triggered this.  
I come back here from time to time  
I shelter here some days.

A high-back chair.  
He sits and stares  
A thousand yards and whistles  
Marching-band (Boom-ching)  
Kneeling by and speaking up  
He reaches out and I take a massive hand.  
Disjointed tales  
That flit between short trousers  
And a full dress uniform  
And he talks of people ten years gone  
like I've known them all my life  
Like scattered black 'n' whites."  
-Scattered Blacks and Whites, Elbow

* * *

Flack was anxious to get on the road. It was a late Friday afternoon and the start of a rare joint weekend off with his wife. Judging by short range weather forecasts and the brilliant blue sky and warm glorious sunshine beaming down, it would give him the opportunity to be out and about with her and the kids. He couldn't stand being cooped up in the house when most of his work days were not spent sitting behind a desk or dashing to and from meetings.

As much as he liked and enjoyed the extra responsibility and respect, and of course the money, that came with his title, Flack missed being out in the field. Investigating cases and working collectively with a team to piece together a puzzle, the interaction with witnesses and victims. He even missed raids and chasing wackjobs around the city.

Now he was the guy that was called in to handle disputes between the detectives and other departments within the NYPD and to take over when things got too much for the average run of the mill detectives to deal with. He was the Chief of Detectives right hand man, made much easier by the fact that his boss was his former partner years back and one of the closest, truest friends Flack had ever known.

If Sinclair had have still been around sitting at the top, Flack would have said no way when the chance for advancement as Inspector came up and spent the rest of his career as a captain. But a run of bad luck with the bottle and gambling and a string of illicit affairs with call girls and women within the department had sent Sinclair's career down the toilet nearly ten years ago. He never made it to that coveted Commissioners position.

Gerrard had been promoted to Chief, and in the shock of all shocks, Mac had been given the Inspector spot. Even more shocking was how well him and Gerrard actually ran their department. Under the watchful eyes of both men, the detective bureau and the Crime Lab boasted record numbers of solved cases for nearly three years.

Than Gerrard's wife became gravely ill with cancer and he packed in his career to become a family man. Mac spent two years as Chief of Detectives with Scagnetti as his understudy before the mayor offered up the role as Commissioner. Scagnetti was than bumped up, leaving the door wide open for Flack to walk into the Inspector's chair, if that's what he wanted. At first he hadn't been entirely sure that he was cut out for the job. Despite making his way up the ranks, he'd never had the best managerial skills, and the department wanted him to take night courses in business management, public relations, and interpersonal skills to better prepare him for a more illustrious position in the NYPD.

It was the extra schooling that had almost held him back. He'd never been a straight A scholar. He was lucky if he pulled down Bs in high school and joined the academy just to avoid post secondary education because the thought of spending more time hitting the books bored the hell out of him. And night courses when he had six kids at home? He barely had time with his kids and his wife to begin with and hated the idea of missing out on things with them by having to study. It had been Sam, and his parents, that had pushed him to take the leap. A higher spot on the NYPD totem pole meant more money to take care of his family and more Benjamins in his pension plan once it came time to retire.

Providing for his wife and his kids had always been the first and foremost thing Flack had concerned himself with. He'd long ago given up his quest of making a name for himself. That had been an immature, often selfish quest. An attempt to show his father, and all the naysayers within the department, that he was just as good, if not better than his old man. Flack Jr's big fuck you to Flack Sr. But once he and his dad made up and let bygones be bygones, the animosity and the desire to prove himself had slowly evaporated. And than, and only than, had Flack been able to, without even trying, surpass his father career wise.

Flack's first stop, once he managed to get the last of the paperwork out of the way, would be to visit his old man at Flushing Care Manor Centre, a nursing home ten minutes from where his parents had lived for nearly sixty years. He'd been a resident there for four years now, ever since the Lou Gehrig's had left him bid ridden and unable to function on his own.

At first, the muscle weakness he'd initially began to show seven years ago while Sam was still pregnant with Liam had been passed off by the doctor as just something that happened with age. Months went by and soon his father was having coordination problems. He was tripping constantly over his own two feet and dropping things. Then he started complaining about how tired his arms and his legs felt all the time. And after that, his speech quickly became slurred and hard to understand and he had difficulty performing mundane, every day tasks like buttoning his own shirt and brushing his teeth and combing his hair.

It wasn't until his behaviour became bizarre and frightening to his long time wife that Flack started to wonder if there was something seriously wrong with his old man that the doctors were missing out on. Three times she'd called her oldest son in the middle of the night in hysterics because she couldn't get his father to calm down. His dad had started going through periods of uncontrollable periods of laughing and crying and it was scaring the shit out of his mother, and Flack didn't want his mother to be living in fear in her own house. She'd done enough of that in her younger years when he kept her too frightened to leave him.

Flack had gone over each time she'd called, in the wee hours of the morning, leaving four kids and his very pregnant wife home alone while he slept in one of the spare rooms and made sure his old man didn't do anything stupid. And when Sam went into labour, alone because he was off tending to his parents, that was the last straw for Flack. He called up his brother and told him to get off his lazy ass and start taking care of his parents. Flack wasn't the only son and he had a large family and now a newborn that needed him to be around. Chris either started helping out, or his parents were both put in a care facility. No questions asked. Chris and Allison and their kids moved in shortly after that.

His dad's health went downhill from there and he was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's when Liam was two years old. Eight months later, he was admitted into the nursing home. The disease had affected his speech and his swallowing and chewing and he had to be put on a feeding tube to be get nutrients into him and prevent him from wasting away. Now, in what Flack hoped was the last stages of the disease, his father did little more than stare with glassy eyes, his mouth agape. He barely moved save for blinking and could no longer communicate or show that that he even realized you were in the room let alone acknowledge that he knew who you were.

Flack had long ago stopped taking the kids, except for Kieran, to visit their grandfather. It was too traumatic for them. Kieran was a tough kid and was able to accept the condition that his grandfather was in. All three girls left the place bawling each time they were there and had nightmares afterwards that sometimes went on for weeks. Liam was too little to realize what was going on and didn't need to see something like that. Declan understood, in whatever way his brain could process that information, that his grandfather wasn't going to be around much longer.

Or Flack at least hoped that was the case. It was hard seeing his father suffer like that. The big, strong, proud man that he had feared for so long as a kid reduced to lying in his own piss and shit with a feeding tube sticking out of him. And despite the fact that they'd 'kissed and made up' long ago, there was still a part of Flack that was still very much pissed and bitter for what his father had done to him and his brother and his mother when they were growing up. All the beatings they had all endured and the constant put downs that reduced your confidence to shit and the bookies that can banging on the door in the middle of the night looking for his old man, threatening the rest of the family was Sr was either out working or getting shit faced drunk somewhere.

Some of that pain would never go away. And a part of him would always hate his father regardless of how much he loved him now and how strong their relationship was or what an outstanding grandfather he'd been. It was a piece of Flack that never healed and he didn't think ever would.

But he went twice a week, Tuesday and Friday to visit, and at his last time there, he'd noticed that his father was having a hard time breathing. The nurse had said that the doctor had been in earlier, and said that Flack Sr's breathing muscles were close to shutting down completely. And when that happened, he'd be placed on a ventilator to sustain life. His mother had made the decision to go with a breathing tube. Flack could not comprehend why anyone would want to make someone suffer even longer. Hadn't the old man been through enough? Why keep him alive when he had no quality of life left?

He'd gone home furious at his mother and grieving for his father. And that night he'd broken down to his own wife about it and begged her and pleaded with her to never let him live like that. That if he ever got that sick and was suffering that much, to just cut her losses and spare him any more agony and just let him go. It wasn't fair to her, or him, to let things continue like that. She said little more than 'If that's what you want, Donnie', and held him as he sobbed like a baby in her arms.

Now it was Friday and it was time to make that trip into Queens and to his father's bedside. And Flack was dreading it. The only thing that kept him going was the thought that maybe things would be over soon and these were the last days with his old man. It sounded cruel and vicious, but it was the honest to God's truth.

Afterwards, before heading home and taking the kids over to the park for Liam and Mikayla's soccer games, he planned on making a little pit stop at Santucci's place and giving Daria a piece of his mind. And than filling her parents in on what their precious daughter had been up to.

Flack wasn't the kind of parent who usually got involved with his kids' trials and tribulations with peers. Unless there was violence and threats and intimidation involved, he and Sam stayed out of it and let their kids fend for themselves. But he just could not let Kieran's confession go by the way side. What that girl had done was wrong and inexcusable and she had to realize there were consequences for making such a horribly stupid decision.

* * *

He finished the last of the reports he'd needed to get through by the end of the day and scrawled his signature at the bottom left corner of each page. He slipped the papers into the respective folders and tossed the pen in a holder on his desk and powered down his computer before pushing his chair away from his desk and standing up. He stretched until his back cracked before loosening off his tie and undoing the top two buttons on his shirt. His weapon and holster were locked in the safe behind his desk and he opened it up and clipped the holster to the waist of his pants before making sure the safety was set on the gun before sliding it into its holder.

Once home, the firearm and the clip of ammunition would be safely stored in two different places. He'd heard way too many horror stories of curious children getting a hold of handguns and either killing themselves or a little friend accidentally. And he wasn't taking that chance with his family. At the same time, if anyone every broke into the house and threatened his family, he was still fully able to get his weapon and defend them. He hoped nothing ever happened where he had to something that extreme.

Flack grabbed his suit jacket, briefcase and the small stack of folders on his desk and headed out, pulling his office door shut until there was a soft click indicating it had locked. Scagnetti's door was closed tight, but Flack could hear his old friend and now boss having it out with someone over the phone. It came with the territory. There wasn't a day that passed by that Flack himself didn't have at least half a dozen screaming matches with some idiot over the phone.

He'd just rounded the corner and was on his way to drop the reports off at the reception desk when the new intern Paige came hurrying towards him from her temporary cubicle, a file folder in her hands and a distressed look on her face.

The girl was first class pain in the ass. For someone that graduated from New York State with a police foundations degree, she knew absolutely nothing about departmental procedures or police work whatsoever. She asked the same, mundane questions time and time again and never seemed to 'get it'. He inwardly groaned when he saw her. She'd seemed to latch onto him as a mentor and he had no tolerance or patience for stupid people. On top of it, in her revealing clothes and way too much makeup, she was a little too friendly and flirtatious for his liking.

As Kieran had put it ever so eloquently that morning over breakfast, "The new girl is so ghetto, dad."

"Inspector," Paige said breathlessly. "I am so glad that I caught you before you left. I needed someone to sign off on my time sheet."

"You could have just asked Debbie to do that," Flack told her, nodding in the direction of his secretary, who was slowly packing up to go home and pretending she wasn't listening to the conversation taking place several feet away.

"I was told specifically to have a supervisor do that."

Out of his corner of his eye, he saw Debbie roll her eyes and mouth bullshit. Flack knew it was bullshit too. And that there was more to this young woman in front of him that he cared to think about. Last thing he needed was someone like that causing him problems professionally and personally.

"Can I take those for you, Inspector?" Debbie asked, coming out from behind her desk and holding her hand out as she nodded to the files in his hands.

"They're ready to be shipped off to the Commissioner's office," Flack told her. "Thanks."

She smiled and gave him a look that clearly meant 'Good luck with that one' before heading back to her desk.

"Now what is it you want me to do?" Flack asked the intern.

"I just need you to sign this," Paige replied, holding a clipboard to her chest.

Debbie coughed noisily, Flack smirked. He knew exactly what this young woman was up to.

He motioned for her to hand the clipboard over. There was no way in hell that he was going anywhere near her chest. He wasn't giving her an opportunity to saw he'd done anything inappropriate. "Paige," he said, as he moved to Debbie's desk and grabbed a pen. "I'm sure that when you started here, you were told by the head of employee relations what the standard of dress was here."

"Of course. Blouses and sweaters, skirts, dress pants, comfortable shoes…"

Flack nodded and scribbled his name on the time sheet. "Then can I give you a small piece of advice?"

"Sure."

He handed the clipboard back to her and tossed the pen onto Debbie's desk. "When you come to work on Monday, dress a little more modestly."

Paige's eyebrows arched. "Sir?" she asked.

"Hon," Debbie said, as she slipped into her jacket and grabbed her purse. "What the Inspector is trying to say is that when you get to work Monday morning, make sure your booty isn't showin' and your girls aren't peeking out. Okay?"

Paige blinked.

Flack grinned at his secretary as she stepped around her desk and slipped past him. "Thank you, Debbie," he said. "Have a good weekend."

"You too, Inspector. Have a nice couple of days with your lovely family. And tell that Kieran he looks better with that hair cut and I am expecting him to score me a goal tomorrow," she held up his files, now securely enclosed in manila envelopes. I'll drop these off in the interoffice mail on my way out."

"Thanks," Flack said. "Have a good weekend, Paige," he said to the intern and prepared to follow his secretary.

"I met your son yesterday," Paige said, quickly scooping her purse and jacket from her cubicle and hurrying to catch up to Flack. "He's very sweet."

"Kieran," Flack told her. "He's my oldest. He's fifteen." He stressed his son's age. Hoping the girl was taking it to mean, 'He's fifteen, don't even think about it'.

"He looks just like you. I bet you hear that all the time."

Flack nodded. "My wife hates hearing it so much seeing as she went through hell while she was pregnant. She'd like some kind of recognition for doing all the work."

"Have you been married long?" Paige asked curiously.

"We had our fifteenth anniversary this past Christmas Eve."

"That's a long time."

Flack nodded. "Sometimes it seems like just yesterday, some days it feels like a lifetime ago."

"And you have other kids?"

"I have five other kids," he told her, reaching out to press the down button for the elevator.

Her eyes widened. "Five? Six in all?"

"I have thirteen year old triplets. Two girls and a boy. And a ten year old daughter and an almost seven year old son."

"Wow…that's…wow…"

Flack chuckled. "Funny, sometimes I sit at the dinner table and look at all these kids and I think that exactly. Wow. But, despite all the craziness and madness that comes with them all, I wouldn't give any of them up. My wife and my kids are my life."

Paige smiled and sighed dreamily. "I hope one day I find a man that says that about me," she said.

"Trust me," Flack said, as they stepped onto the elevator. "It happens when you least expect it."

"Is that what happened with you?" Paige asked. "With you and your wife?"

"One minute, I was pissing and moaning to myself about my shitty existence and the next I was checking out this amazing woman sitting on a bench in front of the crime lab. I can even remember to this day what she was wearing and the way the sun made her hair sparkle. And thinking what a bitch she probably was."

Paige laughed. "And was she?"

"For a little while. Didn't matter though. I was gone the second I looked at her."

"Love at first sight?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it love. Something else at first sight. And the love happened later. But believe me, kid, if it can happen to me, it can happen to anyone. I am living and breathing proof that there is someone out there for everyone. It's just a matter of waiting and hoping. Keeping faith. I never thought I'd ever get married and have kids. And now look. A wife, two dogs, a house with a pool and six kids. Surreal."

"But you like your life? You wouldn't change anything?"

"Wouldn't change it for all the money in the world," he declared. "I like to think my wife feels the same way."

"Is your wife in police work too?"

"She works customs and immigration for the Department of Homeland Security. She was a crime scene investigator. We worked together for a long time before she moved on to another career. Which was a Godsend."

"You're wife sounds like a pretty amazing woman," Paige told him.

Flack smiled broadly. "She has her moments," he said.

* * *

A half and hour later he was pulling into the nearly vacant visitors parking belonging to the nursing home. Anxiety ate away at his chest and his stomach and he had to sit for several minutes just to get up the courage and the nerve to walk in there and spend some time with what used to be his father.

He killed the ignition and set the alarm and locked the doors via the remote on the key chain before dropping his keys into his pants pocket. He was so lost in his own thoughts and worries as he headed for front entrance, that he didn't see the familiar face sitting on a bench at the end of the walkway, a carry tray of coffees resting beside her, black mule shoes kicked off as she sunned her bare legs.

"Hey, handsome," she greeted cheerfully, standing up and smoothing down her just below the knee black skirt.

He smiled, and laying a hand on the small of her back, kissed her softly. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I thought maybe you could use a little company," Sam replied.

She knew how difficult and heartbreaking it was for him to see his father in the condition he was, and that while nothing would make it easier, at least having someone there with him would ease the pain just a little.

"Whose with the kids?"

"Kieran's fifteen, Don. He's more than capable of watching them for a while. I left him a message on his cell phone that we wouldn't be too long."

"Addie better not be there."

"He knows the rules. Give him a little more credit. And besides, Daria is there. It's her couple hours with Declan. Remember?"

He cringed at the thought of that girl being anywhere near Kieran. Near any of his kids for that matter. He'd forgotten about Friday's being here normal time to spend helping Declan with homework of after school activities. But it made it easier for him to confront her without having to drive all the way to Brooklyn to do it.

"Here," Sam turned around and scooped up on of the take out cups of coffee. "I figured you could use a little pick me up after your long day. What with getting called out a six in the morning. That hasn't happened in a long time."

"Thought I was past early morning call outs," he said, flipping back the tab on the lid of the coffee. "You ever notice that even now, I always get called out at the most inopportune times?"

"I've noticed," she sighed. "But after fifteen years I've grown accustomed to it. Besides, I was able to finish the job myself quite nicely."

He smirked and sipped the coffee. He frowned a little at the taste, pulled the lid off and took a whiff of the aroma drifting out of the cup. He grinned as he put the lid back on and arched an eyebrow at her.

"What?" she asked innocently, sitting down on the bench and grabbing her own cup of tea and sipping it. "I just figured I'd add a little extra something to calm your nerves a little. Take the edge off."

"Where'd you manage to get Bailey's if you came here straight from work?" he asked.

"I stopped at the liquor store and bought a bottle and than I went to Starbucks and asked for an extra large cup, only filled three quarters with coffee and than I went back to the car, opened the bottle and dumped some in."

"And where's the bottle now?"

"I drank it."

He frowned.

"Yes, that's it, Donald. You've uncovered my secret drinking problem. I am pissed drunk when I come home from work every day. I drink it all while I'm sitting on the Queensboro Bridge. Just so I can function around your evil, spawns of Satan."

"Well obviously you're not drinking enough based on your breakdowns in the last week alone."

"Don't tempt me. I may sit in my car in the driveway and polish the bottle off. And don't worry, it's locked in the trunk."

"Good," he said. "'Cause if it wasn't, I could arrest you for having an open container of liquor in your car."

"Arrest me, huh?" she smiled over the rim of her take out cup. "Go ahead. Cuff me, lock me up. I'll even let you strip search me."

He bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "That comes later," he told her.

"You and your promises," she sighed. "I called the school board on my lunch break. We have a meeting with the principal, the EA and a trustee next week. Tuesday night. So you'll have to tell your mistress she can have you on Monday, Wednesday and Friday next week."

"That has been your running joke for fifteen years," Flack said, sitting down beside her. "Where the hell would I find the time or the energy for a mistress?"

"You tell me," she teased, leaning into him and giving him that playful smile that crinkled her eyes and nose.

"You're the only one, Samantha. You've always been the only one," he assured her, and wrapping his arm around her slender shoulders, drew her close to him. "So why do we need to go to a meeting? I thought we agreed to find another school and pull him out of this one."

"That's what I told them. I said that my husband and I had discussed what has been going on lately and that we decided in Declan's best interest, we are finding him another school. And that I would appreciate it if they sent me a list of Catholic high schools in New York City that fit the criteria we need for Declan to do well."

"You realize he's probably going to end up in another borough, don't you? Or farther away but still in Queens County. Because the only other high school remotely close to us Holy Cross and that's guys only."

"What's wrong with that?" Sam asked.

"Nothing. But remember the huge stink Kieran put up when we said we were sending him there when he graduated from Holy Rosary? You would have though it was the end of the world because he wasn't going to be around girls."

"Well I doubt Declan would mind," Sam said.

"Well I'd rather him be around girls."

She arched an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I don't want something screwing up in his head if he's around guys all the time. You know, if he's around them he may think it's okay to be with one of them."

She laughed. "That's the silliest thing I've ever heard!"

"It's how I feel, okay? I'd just feel better if he was around girls and guys."

"Fair enough," she said. "So that rules out sending him to Mosignor McClancy, too."

"I did however briefly consider Robert Land Academy. For Kieran mostly."

"What? Your oldest son suddenly needs to go to a military school?"

Flack nodded slowly and sipped his coffee. "Sometimes I think it's the best place for him."

"I'm sure your parents considered it at one point in time for you and your brother too."

"You kidding? My dad used to threaten to send me there every day from the time I turned twelve and started getting a little too mouthy and getting into fights at school. I even think he pondered shipping me off to a seminary once or twice."

"You a priest?" Sam laughed. "That's even more hilarious and outrageous than me wanting to be a nun when I was younger."

"But Kieran," Flack shook his head. "I mean, he's generally a good kid. He does well in school for the most part, he hangs out with the right crowds, he's not out doing drugs or drinking. At least as far as we know. It's not like he's out committing felonies or anything. And we've always had rules for all the kids and we've always been strict about them."

"You so more than me," Sam said. "You've always been the strict one. The disciplinarian. So why all of a sudden are you second guessing yourself and how you've raised your kids to this point?"

"I never raised them. You did. You did most of the work. You busted your ass to work and take care of them and keep things at home running smoothly. I was absent for the most part."

"That's not true," Sam corrected him. "You're there when we need you the most. You work hard, Donnie. And the job requires you to be more devoted to it than your family sometimes. And I don't fault you for that or hold it against you. You know that."

"It shouldn't have to be that way," Flack said quietly.

"No. But it is and I've long ago accepted that. So what is this all about? Because of whatever went down with Kieran yesterday?"

He sighed. "He just told me some things that made me think somewhere along the line I fucked up pretty bad with him."

"Look, I don't know what the two of you talked about. I don't want to know. Because that's between you guys and if he wanted me to know, he would tell me himself. But if this has anything to do with him and Addie, we're damn lucky is sex is all that he is doing. Like you said, he is a good kid, Don. He's a little smart with his mouth. They all are. And that's something we need to crack down on."

He nodded in agreement.

"But him having sex is the least of my worries. As long as he doesn't catch an STD or get her pregnant. As long as he's always careful. There's so much worse, like drugs, that he could be doing. You've seen kids younger than him completely fucked up and hopeless. And he's nowhere like that and we're lucky."

"I just…Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that kid's head."

"He's a teenager. Teenagers do things that make no sense to outsiders."

"I know that, but.." Flack paused before continuing, not knowing if he was prepared for the reaction he might get from his wife. "Your son told me he lost his virginity when he was thirteen."

Her eyes widened a little. Yet she calmly nodded and continued to sip her tea. "To who?" she asked.

"That's not important. What's important is that he was thirteen and had sex. Thirteen, Sam. That's just not right. You know what my father would have done to me if I'd ever told him that about me? He would have kicked my ass all over the city. I mean, you're not surprised?"

"A little," she said. "But I always suspected he wasn't a virgin anymore. He's mature for his age. More so in looks than in behaviour. I've been out with him and he's had college age girls hit on him. Right in front of me. He's a big kid and even I have to remind myself that he's not older than he is sometimes. I'm more surprised that it happened when he was so young. And that it wasn't with Addie."

"Well I'm glad you're able to take it so good," Flack said dryly, and got off the bench to throw his empty cup in the trash.

"What do you want me to say? That I'm shocked? I'm not. He's fifteen. I know what I was like at fifteen and after what you told me last night, you shouldn't be shocked either. You were doing the same things at that age. And look at the trouble you got yourself into."

"That's just the point," Flack told her. "I don't want him getting himself into something he can't handle."

"And sending him to military school is going to solve that problem?" Sam asked, getting up from the bench as well and tossing her cup in the garbage.

"Okay," Flack said. "So that would be a drastic measure."

"Just a little," Sam agreed, laying her hands on his sides.

"So what do we do, Sam? How do we make sure he doesn't end up in trouble? Any of our kids for that matter?"

"We just trust them enough to make the best decisions for them and hope for the best," she replied. "That's all we can really do."

"But that's hard," he lamented. "Because I always worry about them getting hurt."

She smiled and rubbed his sides. "That's what growing up is all about, Don," she said. "Making mistakes and learning from them. Getting hurt and having your heart broken and coming out on top in the end. No one ever said life was easy or perfect. And like you told me a long time ago, if life was perfect, it would be too damn boring."

He grinned. "You actually remember me saying that? That's a long time ago."

"I remember a lot of things," she told him. "There's a lot of really good memories I have stored away."

"And a lot of really, really, really bad ones," he added.

Sam shrugged. "The bad comes with the good. We made it through, didn't we? Even when things seemed the darkest. When we could have lost each other. We survived and we're better for it. Or at least I like to think we are."

He ran his hands over her hair and down her face, holding it gently in his hands as he kissed her gently. He rested his forehead against her nose. "Thank you," he said. "For being here."

"I just wanted to be here for you," she told him. "It doesn't happen very often where you actually let me be the one comforting one."

"Because it's my job," he said.

She smiled and pecked his chin. "Well today," she said and stepped back and took his hand. "It's my job."

He took her hand and entwined his fingers with hers and led the way up the path towards the front door.

"One question though," she said.

"What's that?"

"Do I get hazard pay for this?" her eyes twinkled playfully as she smiled up at him.

"Smart ass," he said, and pulled her into him for a long, deep kiss. "I'll give you your pay later," he said and winked at her.

"Does this job come with benefits?" she asked.

"The best benefits of all," he replied. "And you get unlimited use of the handcuffs."

She laughed. "Sounds like a job made especially for me," she said, as he pulled open the front door and let her step into the building first.

"It's a job I know you're highly qualified for," Flack told her. "And one I know you're really, really good at."

"You know," she said, as they headed for the elevator. "You are a very lucky man."

"Yes," he agreed with a nod. "I am."

* * *

The new girl seemed alright. Kieran usually didn't bother too much when his sisters brought friends home. When there were too many girls together, things got way too loud and way too giggly and he hated being the brunt of their jokes and of the endless requests from his sisters' buddies to take his shirt off so they could see his muscles. It was immature and annoying and he hated having to clean up after them so that his parents wouldn't get home and rant and rave about the disaster they'd left the family room in.

Girls were slobs. Kieran was sure of it. They made more of a mess than him and his brothers and his father combined. Even when Addie got with all of them, she transformed into an air head. And that he could just not deal with.

But the new one seemed okay. Alessa was petite and willowy like his mother and had waist length curly dark hair that reminded Kieran of his Aunt Stella and cousin Tiana and really pretty aquamarine eyes. She was pretty period. She had pale flawless skin and perfectly white, straight teeth she showed off whenever she smiled. And she smelled good. He didn't know much about women's perfume, but he knew that he liked this particular stuff and he made a mental point of asking her about it before she went home.

Yesterday at school he'd been put off a bit over the fact she had a chaffuer that dropped her off and meals delivered that were made by a personal chef. Or the fact she wore designer shoes and carried around a designer handbag to go along with the uniform every kid at the school was subjected to wearing.

But after she'd tagged along home with the Flack kids that afternoon, Kieran realized this girl was pretty cool. She was smart and funny and had a nice laugh. She wasn't at all stuck up and bitchy like he'd been expecting. And she didn't seem to 'into' him, which was the best part of all. She seemed to be into being friends and not expecting anything more than that like most of the girls from school that Reghan and Alannah befriended.

Now she was sitting on the back deck with Reghan and Alannah, the three of them in swimsuits despite the fact that the pool wouldn't be ready to go for weeks yet. The three girls were laughing and gossiping as they painted their toe nails and listened to music on the radio Alannah had brought out and drinking pop and munching on junk food. Down on the grass, Kieran had dragged out the sprinkler and turned it on, sitting on the grass as he supervised Liam and Mikayla jumping through the water. New York was in the midst of a record heat wave for that time of the year. Even weirder was the fact that long range forecasts predicted frost for new weekend.

World's coming to an end, Kieran thought, and took a sip of Gatorade from the plastic bottle sitting on the grass beside him. His dad always said the same thing when the weather was screwed up. His eyes drifted over to the wooden play set on the other side of the yard, where Daria was keeping an eye on Declan as he climbed to the very top. As far as Kieran was concerned, the girl was nothing but a high priced babysitter. What was so hard about watching a kid play on the swings and climb a jungle gym? She was supposed to be doing things that helped him learn and develop better. All Kieran saw was her standing around, tossing her blond hair about and thinking she was Queen Shit in a halter top and shorts.

And why the hell would she dress like that around kids anyway? It looked like she was heading out to the beach or out to pick up guys. And she should have had something up top to even hold a shirt like that up in the first place. She was a royal bitch who looked down on everyone. Not that she had a reason to. Both her parents were cops and Kieran had heard the stories that Uncle Rick wasn't even her real father. That her real dad was some asshole cop that had stolen drugs from a raid his dad was in charge of and was selling them on the streets and had killed some kid who unknowingly stumbled upon him getting ready to peddle his wares.

Same asshole cop that had tried to rape his mother while she was pregnant with Mikayla. He would have gotten away with it too, even she hadn't left her purse in Uncle Tim's car and he'd gone back to where he let her off and traced her most likely path. He'd been able to stop the attack before it happened, and had, from what Kieran had heard, laid the beating of a lifetime on the prick. Kieran never told his parents he knew that story. He'd been at Uncle Danny's one night and had heard him telling Aunt Linds all about it.

"Mind if I sit?" a voice asked from above him.

Kieran looked up. Alessa was smiling down at him. "Sure," he said.

She plopped down onto the grass alongside of him and leaned back on her hands, her legs stretched out.

He couldn't help but give her a once over. He was a guy after all. He was pretty sure that despite being married fifteen years, his dad checked out other women once in a while. He noticed she had a navel ring. He found that quite sexy. He didn't know any girls that young who would have one. She was fourteen and Kieran didn't know any other fourteen year olds that had parents who would go for something like that.

He tried not to look anymore. Reminding himself that he had a girlfriend.

"You like?" Alessa asked.

"Hmm?"

"My toes," she told him. Holding up a foot. "Do you like?"

He looked down at her feet. "They're pink," he said, stating the obvious.

"But do you like them?"

He shrugged. "They're alright," he said.

"You don't say much, do you," Alessa stated.

"I don't have anything to say," Kieran countered.

She sat up and checked him out from head to toe. Trying not to be too obvious about it. He was a really good looking guy with his nearly shaved head and his blue eyes and strong features. She could tell, in a baggy Michael Jordan polo shirt and cargo shorts that he had a great body on him. The shirt was a little tight in the biceps and his shorts showed off nicely toned legs.

"You plan on becoming a cop?" she asked, nodding at the backwards NYPD ball cap on his head.

"This is my dad's hat," he replied. "He works for them. My dad's a cop. An Inspector, actually."

"I know that. And that's not what I asked you. I asked you if you wanted to become a cop."

"It's one option I'm considering," he told her. "I've got a few. And a long way to go before I have to decide on anything."

"So your dad is an Inspector with the NYPD. What does your mom do?"

"She's a federal agent. She works for the Department of Homeland Security. She was a cop too but she quit a while ago."

"So she goes after terrorists and stuff?"

Kieran shook his head. "She's in customs and immigration. Nothing too exciting. She gets enough of that at home with all us kids."

Alessa nodded and looked over to where Daria and Declan were kicking around a soccer ball. "What's wrong with your brother?" she asked, genuine interest and a little sympathy in her voice. "All Reghan told me was that he was different."

"He has Down Syndrome," Kieran explained. "You've never heard of it?"

"I've heard a bit. But I've never seen it."

"He's got an extra copy of the twenty first chromosome. Instead of two, he's got three. As soon as my mom got pregnant with the triplets, he had it. It's just something that happens. So he's slower than regular kids. It's a developmental disability. Why? You think he's weird or something?"

Alessa shook her head. "I think he's sweet. I really liked it when he hugged me and stuff and didn't even know me. He's a really nice kid. I'm glad that me and him are going to be friends."

Kieran smiled. It was the first time that someone didn't say something mean about his brother when he told them about Declan's problems. He was tired of trying to educate people. And tired of how ignorant and shallow people could be. He decided there and than that this girl was worth getting to know better.

"What happened to your knee?" Alessa asked, leaning forward to size up the long, jagged scar that stretched vertically over his knee cap.

"I blew my knee out playing hockey last year," Kieran replied. "Had to have reconstructive surgery and physiotherapy and all that. Almost couldn't play again. But I just wear a brace all the time."

"You're not wearing it now," she pointed out.

He grinned. "I didn't bother. I didn't want it to get wet fooling around with my sister and little brother."

"Do you like having so many sisters and brothers?"

Kieran shrugged and sipped his Gatorade, offering the bottle to Alessa.

"Thanks," she said, and took it and take a long sip before handing it back.

"It's all right," he responded to her question. "I mean, I've always had someone to play with growing up. I was never lonely. But it gets a little noisy and crazy around here sometimes. My mom and dad are doing a good job taking care of all of us though."

The soccer ball came flying in their direction, and Kieran intercepted it before it could hit either one of them. By the force of the kick and the smirk that was on Daria's face as she jogged over to retrieve it, Kieran knew she'd meant to do it.

"What what your fucking doing," he cursed as he stood up and chucked the ball back with enough force that it made the palms of Daria's hands sting as she caught it.

"Watch your mouth, Kieran," Daria said. "Or I'll tell your mommy and daddy and they can wash your mouth out with soap."

"Thanks for my mommy and daddy you have a job," he shot back, using the front of his shirt to wipe sweat from his face. And giving the ladies a nice view of his chiselled abdomen and the top part of his boxers peeking out over his shorts.

"Like you have anything to show that's worth looking at," Daria snorted.

He smirked. "I was gonna say the same thing about the big girl top you're trying to wear and failing miserably at. And you just wish you could get a piece of this, Daria. I mean, now that I'm not a little boy anymore. Or maybe that's how you like them."

The young blond woman blushed furiously. "You're an obnoxious bastard, Kieran Flack," she declared, and stomped away.

"What was that all about?" Alessa asked, as he rejoined her on the grass.

"Nothing or no one important," Kieran replied.

* * *

Daria was just walking to her car parked on the street when she saw the two familiar SUVs coming down the street and than pulling into the driveway.

"Hey, Aunt Sam," she greeted, as the older woman climbed out from behind the wheel and gathered two boxes of important work papers from the backseat.

"Hey," Sam returned, shutting the back door with her hip and setting the boxes down on the paved driveway. "Sorry we're late. The visit with your uncle's father went longer than we expected. How'd things go?"

"Good. Declan was great. We just worked on some gross motor stuff today. He kept me busy with climbing and the soccer. How was work?"

"It was work. And I'm glad it's the weekend. I better get in and start supper before the natives start rioting. Uncle Don has the check book. He'll write up what we owe you for the week."

Daria was employed by special services at home, a government based agency that found special needs care givers for children up to the age of eighteen. She'd taken courses in First Aid and CPR and than took on Declan and three other clients with special needs. It looked great on a resume and the money helped with paying for her books when she went to college in the fall for the Development Services Worker program.

Because the amount of funding was based on what a family's gross annual income was, Declan was only allotted two hours per week. But she had worked out a schedule with her aunt and uncle and they paid her for extra shifts she put in. And they were more than fair. Far surpassing the ten dollars an hour the agency gave her.

She journeyed over to where her uncle was gathering things out of the back of his SUV. She'd always been close to him and had loved him at one point as if he were her own father. Even though he had made it perfectly clear he saw her as a niece and nothing more. Father's never loved anyone the same way they loved their own children.

"Hi, Uncle Don," she chirped, long ago having retired the nickname Uncle Blue.

"Daria," he said simply, pushing closed the rear door of the SUV and setting his jacket and briefcase on the roof. He reached into the inside pocket of his suit coat for the check book and a pen. "How much would it be if I paid you for two and a half weeks?" he asked.

She frowned. "You only owe me for a week, Uncle Don. This week. You're not behind on anything."

"I wanted to give you a decent amount seeing as after this week, you won't be working for us anymore."

She blinked. "What?"

"You have another week scheduled out with your aunt. Am I right?"

Daria nodded. Wondering what in the hell was going on.

"I'll pay you for this week, next week and half a week. So you don't fall short when it comes to paying your folks room and board and what not. Fair enough? How much would it be?" Flack uncapped the pen and opened up the check book. When the girl hesitated, he sighed heavily. "You put in fifteen hours this week and were slotted in for twelve next week. So I'll toss in another seven on top of that. So that's thirty four. And we agreed to what? Eighteen an hour?"

She nodded, too stunned to speak. Not knowing what she'd done wrong to be loosing her job. She'd always been nice to Declan. Done everything that her aunt and uncle had asked.

"That's six hundred and twelve but I'll bring it up to six two five," Flack told her, writing out the check before ripping it out of the book and holding it out to her. "And that's damn generous, Daria. Considering I shouldn't be giving you a goddamn thing over than the whipping your mother obviously should have laid out a long time ago."

"Uncle Don, what….?"

"Listen to me very carefully, Daria," he spoke in a calm, quiet, serious voice. "If you had have been one year older when you took advantage of my son, I'd lock you up for statutory rape. Understand me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she declared.

"You know what I'm talking about. I'm talking about you deciding it was a good idea to have sex with a thirteen year old boy. My son. You really think that wouldn't get back to me?"

She didn't respond. Tears of fury and embarrassment welled in her eyes.

"And don't give me that poor, poor pitiful me crap. The whole I grew up most my life without a daddy so I ended up a bit messed up bullshit. A lot of kids grow up with only one parent and they don't make screwed up decisions like that. And if you dare even stand here and deny it or try and make it out that my son is lying, I'll be personally escorting you back to Brooklyn and sitting down and having a nice chat tonight with your parents."

She swallowed noisily.

"I've called your dad. Me and him are getting together Monday to discuss this. I haven't told him what I want to talk to him about, but I suggest you go home and tell him and your mother the truth. You're going to have to explain to them why you no longer work for me and your aunt. And lying to them will only make things worse. Understand me?"

She nodded and wiped away hot tears that spilled down her face.

"And if you ever come around any of my kids again, Daria, the next time we talk face to face won't be so pleasant. Got it? Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, Uncle Don," she managed, and folding the check, pocketed it and headed for her car. "Just so you know," she called to Flack. "I didn't think there was anything wrong with it. And he wanted it to happen and didn't say no once."

Flack smirked and chuckled . "You don't get it, do you. He was thirteen. He had just turned thirteen to be exact. You were sixteen, Daria. And in my books, that makes you a pretty sick, twisted little girl. You knew it wasn't the right thing to do and you did it any way."

She shook her head. "He wanted it just as much as I did."

He shook his head in disappointment and disapproval and gathered up his things.

"Goodbye, Daria," he said simply, and walked away without ever glancing back.

**First off, a great big thanks for hope4sall who found that amazing song at the beginning for me!**

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing!! I have decided to concentrate on this story more. I am really enjoying it and MOB and I aren't quite getting along at the moment. The muse is telling me to stick with this one. Although there will be regular updates for the other, this one is the baby right now!!**

**Thanks to the following:**

**Hope4Sall  
****Bluehaven4220  
****Brrtmclv  
****Laurzz  
****Marialisa  
****Wolfeylady  
****muchmadness  
****Evaflack001**

**I know there's more of you reading this! I check the stats! So please be kind and leave a review so I know who you are!**


	16. Twenty Sleeps

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN**

**A/N: This is a past chap. My crazy muse is bugging me to write some past stuff, so here's the start of it. Hope you all enjoy!**

**Twenty sleeps**

"I won't ask for much this Christmas  
I won't even wish for snow  
I'm just gonna keep on waiting  
Underneath the mistletoe  
I won't make a list and send it  
To the North Pole for Saint Nick  
I won't even stay awake to  
Hear those magic reindeer click  
'Cause I just want you here tonight  
Holding on to me so tight  
What more can I do  
Baby all I want for Christmas is you  
All the lights are shining  
So brightly everywhere  
And the sound of children's  
Laughter fills the air  
And everyone is singing  
Santa won't you bring me  
the one I really need -  
won't you please bring my baby to me…"  
-All I Want for Christmas Is You, Mariah Carey

* * *

A steady snow fell on New York City. Since the calendar had turned over to December 1st, the temperatures had failed to make it above freezing and the skies had opened up and showered the city with over four inches of the white stuff. Three days of on and off snow and even more on the long range forecast. City plows and salt trucks worked over time to keep the streets and sidewalks driver and pedestrian friendly. Kids were kept home from school for three days in a row and spent their mornings and afternoons tobogganing and causing havoc by pelting unsuspecting drivers with snow balls.

The bad weather did not hamper the Christams spirit, that besieged the city the minute the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade rolled out their last float. Brightly colored lights adorned trees and lamp posts and the department stores in Manhattan were just beginning to make preparations to set up their famed window displays. The Rockefeller tree would be lit up in a matter of a week in one of the most anticipated events. Every year it was made into a huge deal and thousands of people showed up to enjoy it and take in the light displays and do a little skating.

Flack had plans. It was his son's first Christmas and he was going to make sure that Kieran didn't miss out, whether he knew what was going on or not. Last week, he'd found hockey skates that fit the ten month old. As long as he stuffed a balled up face cloth in each of the toes and did them up really tight, those skates would stay on Kieran's feet. Flack had decided that as a family, they'd all attend the tree lighting ceremony and then he'd personally teach his son how to skate. That kid was going to be a hockey player if his determined father had anything to do about it. Sam had just shrugged her shoulders when he'd told her about their plans and showed her the skates and said 'Whatever floats your boat, Don.'

Apparently, what floated his boat and what floated hers were two entirely separate things. Because now, after managing a lousy two hours of sleep following a gruelling triple shift that saw him wandering into the house dead tired at five thirty in the afternoon, Flack now found himself searching for a parking spot in the crowded lot of the new Target store in Harlem. It sat right next to FDR Drive at East 119th and was a closer drive than the one they frequented in Marble Hill.

He'd made the mistake of promising his wife that he'd accompany her Christmas shopping. On one of the many pilgrimages to hell she had planned. She was ademant she couldn't get it all done in one night and at one store. Only highlight of this Target was that it sat on top of a Home Depot. Now if he could just convince her that the needed home renovation supplies for an apartment they didn't own….

Instead she had a list a half a page long of places she needed to go and people she needed to buy for. And at least a half dozen gift ideas for each person. And if that wasn't enough, she had over three dozen cards she planned on personally signing and mailing out. Flack had asked her why she didn't just send e-cards to everyone and she'd given him a look that clearly meant she thought he was insane for even suggesting such a thing. It wasn't Christmas she had said without sending cards in the mail. As if that was the most logical answer. He'd just held up his hands and surrender and told her whatever she wanted to do was fine with him.

She was taking him far more literally than he had hoped she would. Because no sooner did he settle down into a deep, peaceful sleep after tossing and turning for the first hour and half thanks to a kid in the next room that would just not calm down with the ear piercing, nerve grating shrieking, his wife was shaking him awake and dropping the baby on the bed beside him and announcing it was time to go.

Only love would see Don Flack out on a Friday night in the midst of snow and blustering winds and bone chilling temperatures. Love and a little bit of temporary insanity brought on by lack of sleep. A thirty minute drive into Marble Hill and another twenty minutes of circling the parking lot looking for a space that wasn't a mile away from the front doors. Eventually he gave up looking for something remotely close and dropped Sam and the baby off at the entrance before finding a spot in the farthest, darkest corner of the lot.

By the time Flack got into the store and managed to hunt his wife down in the sea of people, Sam had Kieran sitting and securely buckled in the front of the shopping cart. His hat and mitts and coat peeled off, leaving him in just his snow pants, boots and pyjamas. It took Flack a couple seconds to even realize that his son was in navy blue flannelet jammies boasting Lightning McQueen from the movie Cars. He shook his head at the sight and turned a curious, confused glance to his wife who was peeling off her own coat.

"Don't tell me you're in your pyjamas too," he said.

"Very funny," Sam scoffed, tossing her jacket into the cart. "I just figured if we're late getting out of here and he's asleep when we get home, all we'll have to do is peel off his snowsuit and boots and what not and drop him in bed. We won't have to worry about waking him up trying to get him in pyjamas."

"Makes sense," he said with a nod, unzipping his own coat. "So where do we go first?" he asked, looking around at the sheer madness that awaited them.

It was wall to wall people and unbelievable craziness. Loud Christmas carols were being piped into the store from large overhead speakers and every where you looked there were lights and decorations and employees walking around dressed as elves. Screaming kids with runny noses and parents scolding them for throwing temper tantrums for wanting toys and candy that they couldn't have come hell or high water. Flack gave it all of ten minutes before the start of a migraine afflicted him.

And maybe another ten before Kieran caught site of the in store McDonalds and pitched a fit over Chicken McNuggets. He may have been only ten months old, but the kid was damn smart and Flack was pretty sure, based on the wailing Kieran would do if they drove past a McDonalds and didn't stop, that he knew what the golden arches were. It's what happened when you introduced your child at way too early of an age to French fries dipped in sweet and sour sauce. And Flack only had himself to blame.

"You push and I'll lead," Sam said, pulling a list from the pocket of her jeans, and weaving her way through the sea of people.

"Women," Flack mumbled. Knowing full well that he'd be lucky to be leaving that store with only one cart full of whatever crap his wife deemed necessary for the holidays.

Kieran was in sensory overload. His blue eyes wide in both shock and interest at all the sights and sounds around him. Head turning left and right trying to get everything in. Shrieking and pointing to things that really caught his attention. Clapping his hands and babbling in sheer delight of it all. His new word as of late was 'dat'. He'd point or gesture to something and yell 'Dat!' at the top of his lungs. And wouldn't stop until you told him exactly what THAT was. No sooner did you get one thing out of your mouth, he was finding something else that sparked his interest.

Two feet into the Christmas decorations aisle and an employee dressed as Mrs Clause was carrying a huge red basket and handing out miniature candy canes. She passed Sam one and handed Flack two. He unwrapped his own and popped it into his mouth.

"Dat!" Kieran exclaimed, reaching out for the treat poking out of his father's mouth. "Dah-dee…dat!"

"Please don't give him a candy cane," Sam implored, turning in time to see her husband peeling the plastic off of the third treat.

"Why?" he asked. "It won't hurt him. I'm right here. Even if he does manage to bite a piece off, I won't let him choke."

"I'd just rather he didn't have it," she reasoned, and turned back to the display of Christmas stockings she was checking out.

Flack frowned. By this time, his ten month old son was bouncing up and down in the shopping cart and near tears as he begged for the candy. "Here," he said, just loud enough for Kieran to hear him. "Try some of this." He held his own candy cane to his son's lips. The baby licked it apprehensively a few times, then deciding he liked it, firmly latched his lips around it.

"It's all yours kid," Flack said, and helped himself to the third minty treat.

Kieran garbled a response and wrapped a small fist around the candy cane. Giggling as his father, leaning against the handle of the buggy, made funny faces at him.

"You listen well," Sam commented, as she tossed a stocking into the cart. It was large and made of light blue satin with dark blue velvet trim and what looked to Flack like a picture of a baby reindeer with the words Baby's First Christmas embroidered on it.

"It's a candy cane," he told her. "What will happen to him? Come on, you can't have Christmas without candy canes. Don't be such a damn scrooge."

"I was thinking more about how much sugar is in that thing and what it's going to do to his teeth if I can't get them brushed tonight."

"You're obsessed, Sam. He's ten months old. He doesn't need his teeth brushed five times a day. It's not going to kill him to not get them done tonight."

"I'll remember that when you're shelling out your co-pay to get his teeth cleaned and cavities drilled and filled up when he's six."

"You've got issues woman," he teased. "Watch it or I'll run you over with the cart and find somewhere to ditch your body."

"You would just love that," she said. "Now which one do you want?" she asked.

"Which one what?" he responded.

"Stocking. You need a stocking."

"Why?"

"Because it's Christmas," she said exasperatedly.

"We didn't get stockings last year," he reminded her.

"We didn't have time to really celebrate Christmas last year," she pointed out. "We were too busy spending Christmas Eve and Day at a hotel celebrating getting married."

"Best two days of my life," Flack declared. "Even if we didn't get to actually, you know, consummate the marriage."

"We had done enough consummating long before that. I was too pregnant for that, remember? And why are we even talking about this in the middle of Target?"

He shrugged. "You brought it up. And no stocking. I don't need one."

"Yes, you do," she insisted. "All three of us are having stockings. It's our first Christmas as a family. I want it to be perfect."

"And it will be," he assured her. "But a stocking? I don't need one. I haven't had one since I was a kid."

She sighed and snatched up a plain red satin stocking with white and green trim at the top and at the toe and heel. "Well now you have one," she said.

"Wait," he said, stopping her before she toss it into the basket. "I'd rather the plain blue one. Goes better with my eyes."

She smirked and replaced the red for the blue. And helped herself to a light pink number with purple and silver beading in the shape of a poinsettia on the front of it. She tossed both of them into the cart. "You know," she said. "You're lucky I love you."

"Yeah?" he bumped her playfully with the cart. "Ask me, you're the lucky one. Finding a guy to drag to Target and put up with all of this crazy ass bullshit when the Rangers are on."

She stuck her tongue out at him over her shoulder.

"Don't tease me," he said. "Don't show it if you're not planning on using it. I have told you that so many times."

"If you're a good boy, I just may use it," she told him. "Now help me pick stuff out."

He groaned inwardly. That was the worst thing she could have said. Because he just had no clue what looked nice when it came to stuff like that. He looked down at Kieran. Who was doing an admirable job creating a hell of a mess with his candy cane. His face and his hands coated in red and green sticky crap.

"Donnie?" Sam asked.

"Hmm?" his head snapped up to look at her.

"Did you hear me?"

"I heard something about helping you pick stuff out," he said, reaching into the cart for Kieran's knapsack.

Unzipping it, he found the Pampers Clean and Go wipes and tore two from the package and set to work attempting to pry the candy cane from his son's hands in order to clean him up. Kieran rebelled, shrieking in protest and tossing his head back and swinging it from side to side in a vain attempt to avoid the wipe headed straight for his face. Kid was small, but he put up a hell of a fight.

"What do you like?" Sam asked, watching the power struggle between father and son.

"Whatever you like," Flack replied.

She frowned.

"I'm a guy, Sam. Guys don't get into this stuff. All I ask is that there's not too much pink. Other than that, go to town. Get whatever you want. I'm not picky. You like it, that's good enough for me. Okay?"

"Okay," she agreed with a heavy sigh.

"I'm just here to pay for it and carry all the bags when we get home," Flack added, winning the battle of wits against his ten month old son and finally managing to get Kieran's face and hands clean. Much tears and one very snotty nose later, Kieran was not a happy camper. And showed his displeasure for his father by blowing a loud raspberry at him.

Sam giggled.

"He's learning all this from you, isn't he," Flack laughed. "All this bad stuff."

"Mom-ee," Kieran said, pointing at the familiar face next to the cart.

"See," Flack said to his wife. "He even ratted you out."

"You both love me," she declared, and went on with her shopping.

Flack watched her. The way her hair glistened in the lights and the way she furrowed her brow in concentration when she checked something out and the way she pursed her lips when attempting to make a decision between two separate products.

And standing there, in the midst of all the craziness and noise, their son in front him, he thought of how he'd never known what love really was until he met her. What it was like to find joy in the simple things. To laugh at their baby's antics and share their dreams and hopes for the future. Comfort each other during the darker, more trying times. Love each other in the middle of the night or the wee morning hours, revelling in the soft sighs and moans that escaped their lips. Losing themselves in each other.

Life hadn't existed until he met her. He'd been an empty shell of a man just making a living. Taking things day by day. She'd given him a future. A family.

And she would never know how grateful he was for that. Or how much he really did love her. Because there was simply no words that could come close to what he actually felt for her.

"I love you," he said, right there in the middle of the busy aisle. Not caring who heard it.

She turned and smiled. She didn't need to say it. It was all there in her eyes.

And that was good enough for him.

* * *

It wasn't exactly Home Depot, but Flack figured the electronics section was better than nothing. So while his wife grabbed her own shopping cart to fill to the brim with toys and clothes and whatever else she crossed paths with that she was certain Kieran could not go without, he and his son headed for the other side of the store with their own cart full of various Christmas items.

Kieran was immediately drawn to the massive display of DVDS featuring his two favourite programs in the world. Baby Einstein and some British show called In the Night Garden that featured bizarre characters whose names that Flack couldn't pronounce and a premise that he swore you needed to be tripping out on acid to even understand. Ten months old and the kid had a bigger DVD selection than most adults. Every Disney title imaginable, every Baby Einstein out on the market and now this new show that he couldn't get enough of.

And Kieran was determined that they were not going past that display without something for himself thrown in the cart. Flack tried explaining, patiently and calmly, as Kieran helped himself to several different titles, that he already had each one of them at home and he didn't need two of everything. But it was hard arguing with a ten month old that didn't understand what you were saying and only saw you as the meanest person on the face of the earth because you were saying no constantly. So to avoid his son having a massive temper tantrum in the middle of Target and to prevent himself from either being humiliated by strangers watching their arguing or losing his temper completely on the baby, Flack gave in and thankfully managed to find one Kieran hadn't seen yet.

The little boy clutched the yet to be purchased DVD to his chest as if it was the most treasured possession in the entire world. Until he started chewing on the corner of the plastic case in a vain attempt to relieve some of the aching in his gums brought on by the erupting of two molars just days before. Flack reached into the knapsack and got out the sippy cup of milk that Sam had thankfully remembered to pack before they left the house and replaced the DVD with the drink without too much complaint from his son.

Accepting his role as father was still sometimes a daily struggle. It was hard working the hours he did and finding both the time and the energy for his little family. Despite working a triple shift on little to almost no sleep, once midnight hit he was back on call again. Mixed in with the pressures of trying to get his wife pregnant and clock quality time with her and the baby, his nerves and patience were on short supply. And he hated the idea of taking out his frustrations by getting nasty with either of them.

Because Sam worked damn hard too. Taking care of Kieran was a full time job in itself and she was starting to bring in more and more hours all the time at the lab. His main desire was for her to stay home and be a full time mom. But the one and only time he'd expressed that idea to her, it nearly caused a nasty blow out. She accused him of trying to control her by keeping her all but locked up in the house with the baby, when really his only main concern was that he'd rather her with Kieran more than working and having him in day care or with his parents. Her argument was that they needed her money to survive as well, and if she managed to get pregnant, she needed to clock as many hours as possible to secure a decent amount of money for her maternity leave.

Money. It always came down to money and he hated that. Because she could have stayed off longer using the money she'd gotten from Zack's will and from the sale of the house in Arizona. And there was a large chunk of that cash collecting interest in a savings account that they planned on using when they were ready to buy a house. They'd also started another account for Kieran that they each put a hundred bucks per pay in on top of some money from the will that hopefully would help pay for some of their son's education when it came time to consider college. It was a long way off, but there'd be some serious Benjamins in there once he turned eighteen.

Flack guessed that it wasn't really a matter of money that prevented his wife from staying home. It was the fact that she just loved her job a little too much and wasn't ready to let go of that last bit of independence that working provided her with. And, as she always said, having a job was her only shred of a social life. The people there were her 'family' and she'd die if she didn't get to see them and talk to them on a regular basis. He'd gently reminded her that they were her friends regardless of whether she saw them or talked to them every day, but she'd said it wasn't the same thing and he just didn't understand.

Men never understood anything. It was another lesson he'd learned in the past year of being a married man. They never understood and they weren't sensitive or romantic enough. Her three main complaints. Married life certainly was an experience and a half. And he'd never once regretted his decision to give up his old single life for the one he had now.

Now if only there was some kind of magic potion that could create more hours in the day so he could get as much family time crammed in as possible.

He was checking out the iPods and MP3 players when out of the corner of his eye, he saw an elderly sidle up to the cart and start gushing over Kieran and how cute he was and what a sweetie he was to be sitting there so quietly like a good little girl…

Flack's head snapped to the side to fix her with a cold glare. A good little girl? What in the hell…

Sam had been saying for months now that Kieran needed a haircut. It was over his ears and nearly to the nape of his neck at the back and she'd been using scissors to trim his bangs to keep them out of his eyes. Flack had been adamant about not touching the kid's hair. It was silky and near black and damn amazing. It sounded arrogant to say, but the kid was just plain gorgeous with that hair and his blue eyes and porcelain skin.

"Your daughter is just beautiful," the woman told him.

"He's a boy," Flack snapped.

The elderly woman blinked. Looked at father, than at the son. "Well he's a very pretty little boy," she said, and walked away.

Crazy bitch, Flack thought and glanced at his son. None the wiser that he'd just been mortally insulted. His only concern was that cup of milk in one hand and playing with the straps on his snow pants with the other hand. How in the hell does he look like a girl? I mean, he's wearing Cars pyjamas. What girl wears Cars pyjamas?

He shook his head at the woman's stupidity. And decided that first thing in the morning, he was taking his kid for a hair cut.

He stopped at the very back of the department. Where the video games and systems were kept under lock in key. He figured, if his wife was off buying whatever her little heart desired, treating himself to something wasn't the end of the world. So he flagged down an employee and in ten minutes was heading to the cash register with a Nintendo Wii and a dozen games. He knew that such a risky move would probably have him sleeping on the couch for the next half century, but he figured he'd always have video games to keep him pacified on the cold, lonely nights. Either that, or is only saving grace would be the fact that his wife was desperate for a baby and she'd keep giving in until she got pregnant and than his services would no longer be required.

Those were risks he was willing to take as he signed that credit card slip handed to him by the cashier, who bagged up the Wii and the games and Kieran's movie and wished them a very Merry Christmas.

* * *

"Donnie? Donnie Flack?"

He hadn't gotten a foot out of the electronics department when a female voice was calling to him through the insanity of the store. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see a familiar face, albeit she was a little older and a tad bit heavier than the last time he'd seen her nearly eight years ago. But the sparkling green eyes were the same, as was the warm smile that greeted him as she hurried towards him. Pushing her way through the crowd, an overloaded shopping cart in front of her.

"Andrea?" he asked, finding himself embraced warmly and both his cheeks kissed by Gavin Moran's wife.

"I wasn't entirely sure it was you," she said, holding him at arms length with one hand while the other found his hair. "I didn't recognize you with short hair."

"Or all the grey," he added with a laugh. "What are you doing here? Doesn't the Bronx have their own Target?"

"They do. But we haven't lived there in a couple years. Gavin and I bought a brownstone on the lower west side of Manhattan about three years ago now. With the girls permanently out of the house and with families of their own, we didn't need something so big anymore. How are you? Are you keeping well?"

"Not bad. I had a bit of rough times a few years ago, but it's behind me."

She nodded knowingly. "The bombing...Gav and I wanted to come and see you in the hospital so many times but he was worried how you'd react to seeing him. You know, considering…"

Her voice trailed off and Flack didn't know what to say. Thankfully, Andrea changed the subject by stepping around him and going to the cheerful, babbling baby sitting in the cart drinking his sippy cup of milk.

"He's adorable," she gushed, smiling at the child and running a hand over the baby's fine nearly black hair. She took in the dimples in the cheeks and big blue eyes framed by impossibly long dark lashes. "One of your brother's little ones?" she asked. "I always thought they just had the two and stopped there. It's nice of you taking your nephew out. Especially to a crazy place like this."

"Actually," Flack said. "He's not my nephew. He's my son."

"Oh," Andrea's eyes widened in surprise and she looked from the baby to Flack and than back again.

"His name's Kieran," Flack said. "He'll be a year old at the end of January."

"Your son?" Andrea asked. "So is this someone you're with in a serious thing or was it something that just happened or.."

"I got married a year ago," Flack told her. "Well, almost a year ago."

"You what?" she asked in shock, than grabbed his left hand to look for proof in the way of a wedding band. Sure enough, there was one there. "I'm sorry, Donnie..it's just that…last time I saw you at my place you weren't exactly looking for Mrs Right. More like Mrs Right Now. And you were always telling me and Gav that there was no way in hell you were getting married or having kids. So I just assumed.."

"It's okay," he assured her, sensing her embarrassment. "Honestly, Andrea, getting married and having a family was a pretty huge shock for me, too. But I met someone and things happened really quick between us and well…here I am."

"Here you are," she said with a bright smile. "You happy? You look happy."

"Insanely, disgustingly happy," he told her. "It's not all sunshine and roses, but we work hard at it and we stick by one another a hundred percent. She's my entire world," he smiled at his son and pressed a kiss to Kieran's forehead. "They both are, actually."

Andrea smiled broadly and reached up to touch his face softly. "Always knew you had it in you to be a great father and husband, Donnie."

"I don't know about great," he said. "But I try damn hard."

"I'm sure your bride has no complaints or she wouldn't be with you. How did you meet?"

"She's a CSI. She came here to work from Arizona and we met at the lab. Month and a half into things we found out we were having the little guy and we were married by the end of last year."

Flack could only imagine how insane that sounded to people when he told them how Sam and him had met and how rapidly things had progressed. He saw the looks people got on their faces. Those doubting, disbelieving looks. Where you just knew that they were thinking there was no way in hell a marriage like that would last very long. He was tired of defending himself and his choices to everyone. And didn't care if they believed him when he said how much in love he had been right from the start. That was his business. But in Andrea, he saw understanding. And acceptance. Something he'd never gotten from even his own folks.

"Well judging by how absolutely gorgeous this little button is," Andrea gushed as she tickled Kieran's soft, rosy cheeks and his freckle splattered nose. "She must be something else. Can I meet her? Is she here?"

"She's here somewhere," Flack said. "Last I saw of her she was heading to the t-o-y section."

Andrea laughed. "Someone must go crazy in the t-o-y section."

"He wants everything and anything he can get his hands on. And he's little, but trust me, he doesn't take no for an answer. Gets that from his mother."

"I heard that," Sam said, as she came up from behind her husband and curled an arm around his waist. Smiling as he dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

"So you're the one that somehow managed to tame Donnie Flack," Andrea said with a bright smile.

"It's an ongoing process," Sam quipped.

"Andrea, this is my wife, Samantha," Flack introduced, the pride and love evident in his voice and in his eyes. "Sam, this is Andrea Moran. I've mentioned her before. She's married to Gavin Moran, by training officer."

"Donnie's mentioned the two of you many times," Sam said, as the two women shook hands warmly.

"All good I hope," Andrea said with a slight laugh.

"It was," Sam assured her.

Although he'd mostly shared stories about what a great cop Moran had been and a father figure to him when his own old man was such a bastard, Flack had also told her about the incident that had forced Moran into an early retirement. Sam had understood in a way why Gavin Moran had made the choices he had. That was his son, illegitimate or not, and blood was thicker than water. What irked her a little was that he had kept a secret life. A wife and two girls at home and someone else on the side. And that there were so many cops who did the same thing. And wives that just sat back and took it.

"I was just telling Donnie how beautiful your son is," Andrea said.

"Thank you," Sam beamed. "He was a bit of a surprise but he's the light of our lives."

"He's adorable," Andrea told her. "Looks just like his daddy. I remember you wearing your hair long like that, Donnie."

"That's a long time ago," Flack said. "Is Gavin here?"

"He stayed home with the grand kids."

Flack arched an eyebrow. "Grand kids, huh?"

"Six of them. Can you believe that? My girls have three each. No twins. Both of them got married right out of college to boys they met while they were there. Back living in New York. Diana works as a buyer for Bergdorf's and Vickie works for the Port Authority. Both their husbands are brokers. So they're doing alright for themselves."

"That's good," Flack said. "It's been a long time. I wondered where all of you had gotten to."

"Well we have been in the phone book, Donnie. Even after we moved."

He nodded. "I know. I just wasn't sure if I should call. You know, in light of how things went down…"

Andrea laid her hand on his arm. "It wasn't your fault than and it wasn't your fault now. Okay? No one ever hated you or blamed you for anything. I told Gavin to just get on the phone and give you a shout so many times."

"Sam said the same thing," Flack told her. "When we were getting married she said that I should call and see if you guys wanted to come. I mean, it was just a small thing with six other guests and a J.P. but…"

"We would have been there," Andrea said. "But that's water under the bridge now, isn't it."

He nodded.

"I should go. I have lots of things to get done and Gav will go nuts if he's left alone with the kiddies for too long. It was nice to meet you, Samantha."

"You too," the younger woman said and offered her hand again.

"Friends don't shake hands," Andrea told her, and gathered the petite brunette into a tight hug. "You take good care of this guy, okay? Keep him in line."

"I will," Sam said with a laugh. "So far he's behaving himself."

"Keep him scared of you and it will all run nice and smooth," Andrea teased and turned to Flack and hugged him as well. "It was nice seeing, you, Donnie. Take care of your lovely family. I'm so happy the way things turned out for you."

"Thanks," he said, returning the hug. "Tell Gavin I said hello."

"Like I said," Andrea walked backwards towards her buggy. "We're in the book. I mean, you have a phone, don't you?"

Flack nodded.

"Use it," she said with a wink and turned her back to them and walked away.

* * *

"She seems really nice," Sam commented, watching the older woman go before turning her attention to Kieran. And peering into the shopping cart.

She arched an eyebrow at the Target bag sitting on top of items that still needed to be purchased. Knowing that her husband must have bought something in the electronics section. It was the only department that made you buy items before going into another part of the store.

"She is," Flack said, and turned around in time to see his wife peeking into the bag.

"And who would this be for?" Sam inquired, a grin spreading across her face.

He smiled sheepishly. "Daddy's need to have some fun too," he reasoned.

"I agree. And you'll be having lots of it while you and your Wii are getting acquainted while you're sleeping on the couch."

"See, I knew you were going to say that. Because I know you so well, babe. And I got to thinking that you will never banish me to the couch."

"Really?" she asked, opening Kieran's knapsack and taking out a small package of animal crackers, popping one into her mouth before handing one to her son. "And what made you think that?"

"Because you want a baby. Badly. And you need my help to do it."

"Danny's always available," Sam said, catching the sippy cup before Kieran could send it flying in favour of eating a cookie. "I mean, I'm sure his sperm is just fine. And he's always willing and raring to go."

Flack frowned. "Over my dead body."

"That can be arranged," Sam said, helping herself to another animal cracker. "And the next time you leave the seat up and I fall in at two in the morning, so help me God, I will dismember your body and they will never find all the pieces."

"Be quiet," Flack told her, leaning over the shopping cart, Kieran pressed between them as he kissed her softly. "You love me."

"You wish. I merely tolerate you most days."

"Likewise," he said with a grin and kissed her longer this time. "Now can we go? Where's the buggy? Are you finished yet?"

"I had to leave it in another aisle that wasn't so busy. And I need to grab a couple more things."

He sighed and checked his watch. "Make it quick and I may be able to catch the whole third period."

She rolled her eyes. "Just for that, you are not getting laid tonight."

"Yes, I am," he declared confidently as she started off down the aisle. "You don't know how to say no."

"You just watch me," she said and disappeared into the crowd.

Kieran was turning this way and that, looking into the cart, in between his legs. Than turned a despondant, dejected face up at his father.

"She took the cookies didn't she," Flack said.

"Mom-ee," Kieran told him, and blew a noisy raspberry.

"There's something you need to know about women, kid," Flack said to his son, pushing the cart in the direction his wife had gone. "They're crazy and unpredictable. They get off on driving us insane and teasing us until we think we're going nuts and can't take it anymore. They take up too many shelves in the bathroom for all their girlie crap. They spray perfume on the bed sheets and paint their nails on the couch. They spend outrageous amounts of money on crap they don't need and bitch at us for not being romantic or sensitive enough. And you know what?"

Kieran stared up at his dad with big blue eyes. Listening intently.

"We love them and couldn't live without them."

* * *

It had been a long time since Sam could just sit in the tub with the lights dimmed and candles lit and a glass of wine. A little pampering suggestion Stella had offered up when Sam had said having a than six week old who breastfed ever two and a half to three hours and a new husband working unpredictable hours was beginning to drive her insane. Of course, back than the wine had to be substituted for decaf tea, but the premise was the same.

So it had been music to her ears when after peeling winter clothes off of a sleeping Kieran and depositing him successfully into his crib without waking him, her husband had told her to take off and take some time for herself while he put all the bags away and tidied up the supper dishes that were still sitting on the kitchen counter. And it was an even nicer surprise when he walked in the bathroom with a glass of wine and a sly smile as he took away the tea she had taken in there. Saying that there was enough milk in the fridge that he'd be able to feed the baby by bottle, if, by some fluke, he decided to wake up for something to drink in the middle of the night.

She stayed in there as long as she could. Taking out the plug and refilling the tub with hot water each time the temperature cooled down. Sipping the wine slowly and closing her mind off to thoughts of anything work related. All she wanted to do was relax and think happy thoughts for a change. Forget about the problems in the world and stop in her desire to fix everything.

An hour later, when her skin just couldn't take anymore, she called it a night and drained out the water and washed her hair. Tying it up in a towel, she dried herself off and smeared rose scented body lotion from head to toe and climbed into a warm pair of flannel pyjamas. The apartment was nice, but freezing as hell most nights.

The lights were off in the apartment save for the glow coming off of the television and the hundreds of miniature, multicoloured Christmas lights that sparkled on the faux Christmas tree that her husband had taken upon himself to assemble and put lights on while she was in the tub. Baby gates situated around the tree to keep Kieran away and out of trouble.

"You like?" Flack asked, from where he now sat on the couch, legs stretched out, feet propped on the coffee table.

"It's beautiful," she replied, leaning over the couch to kiss him, long and soft, before sitting down beside him. "You didn't have to, baby."

"I wanted to. It didn't take long and I know how you said the worst part was putting up all the lights. So I figured, take some time and get that done and than you and Kieran can decorate it whenever."

She smiled and tucked her feet up under her and snuggled into him. Laying her hand on his stomach and her head on his chest. "I take back all those times I said you weren't very romantic," she said.

"And insensitive," Flack told her, grabbing the remote and flicking off the television before wrapping his arm around her. "You call me that a lot, too."

"Okay," she said, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. "So you're not always an insensitve, unromantic bastard."

"Thanks," he chuckled. "Goes with you being a flighty, immature, selfish, spoiled rotten little bitch," he teased her.

She laughed and cuddled in closer to him, his hand resting just above her ass. "My mom used to call me that all the time," she said, voice quiet in the stillness of the room.

"What did she used to call you?" he asked, sensing the way the whole mood in the apartment suddenly changed.

"Lots of things," she replied, playing the button on his shirt.

"Bad things?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Like…?" he pressed.

"Things that are bad enough that they're the whole reason I am dreading her and Sarge coming here over Christmas."

"Then tell her they don't need to bother coming," Flack said. "'Cause the last thing I want or need is her coming here causing shit when there's already enough stress floating around."

"They want to see Kieran," Sam reasoned. "And I can understand that. Besides, when you're around she's always really nice."

"Probably because she knows I'll tell her to fuck off and give her detailed instructions on how to do it."

"Probably," Sam laughed.

He softly rubbed her side and her hip as they sat there, basking in the silence and the warm glow given off by the twinkling Christmas tree. He looked down at her, enthralled at how young and peaceful and innocent she looked, her damp hair loose and flowing, no make up on her face, and the lights sparkling in her golden eyes. And for the first time in a long time, he thought about how sad she looked.

"So these things that your mom said to you," he approached the subject carefully. "Just how bad are we talking? Are you going to tell me or…"

"Did the Rangers win tonight?" she asked. Abruptly changing the conversation. Letting him know that she wasn't going to talk about it. Not tonight. Probably not any night.

He decided his best course of action was to not push the subject. He'd learned quickly into their relationship that the more you pushed, the more she closed herself off. And that he didn't want.

"I don't want to talk about the Rangers," he responded in disgust.

"That bad? I thought they were playing Philly. Aren't they like the worst team in the league?"

"They are. And I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay," she said. "So what do we talk about?"

"How about you telling me why in one of those Target bags there's an expensive looking doll in it and little red velvet dress with white lace on it and tiny black leather shoes and these funny, itchy looking lace leggings. 'Cause the last time I changed Kieran's diaper, I'm pretty sure he was still a guy. I mean, we do have a son and not a daughter, right?"

"The doll is the 2010 Limited Edition Barbie Winter Gala Princess," Sam explained. "Tim's aunt called me and said she's starting a collection of all these dolls for Addie and that was the only one she couldn't find. And asked me to pick it up if I saw it."

"And what did we buy her?"

"What didn't we buy her is the better question. Don't worry, Donald. Your second baby is well taken care of."

"Good," he said and yawned noisily.

"However, the little clothes I bought for Kieran?"

He stared down at her. "Excuse me?"

"I thought that with his long dark hair he'd look ravishing in red velvet."

"What? You're fucking disturbed," Flack declared and went to stand up.

Sam laughed and grabbed him around the waist to keep him where he was. "It was all for Addie," she assured him. "I just thought that little outfit would look adorable on her and maybe she could wear it to the lab Christmas party."

"Jesus. You had me worried there for a second that you were going to try turning our son into a girl."

"Never," Sam said, turning her face up towards her husband. "I love the two boys in my life."

He smiled and ran a hand over her hair and kissed her softly.

"I'm talking to Reed Garrett next week," she reminded him, as she nestled her head into his chest.

Flack sighed. "I know. And you know how I feel about it."

"Donnie, I already told you that if you tell me not to do it than I won't."

"Samantha, you're a big girl. I'm not your boss. And if you feel it's the right thing to do and you think it's a smart decision, than it's your choice. I told you how I felt and what my fears are. I'm worried that Lessing will get a hold of this article and know your name and see your picture and develop some sick thing for you, I don't want him anywhere near you or Kieran. And so you know, Mac agrees with me."

She looked up at him. "You told Mac?"

"Reed told Mac he was going to be talking to you. Mac asked me how I felt about it. And I told him."

"And what did Mac say?"

"He said that he didn't think it was a good idea and that when he heard it, he had the same initial fears as me."

"He said that?"

Flack nodded.

"Hmm…" she said simply.

He knew he'd touched a small nerve in her somewhere. Because it was common knowledge how much she respected Mac and his opinions.

"I also told him that when you were pregnant with Kieran, you called him sexy."

She sat up and stared at him. Trying to figure out if he was serious or not. "You didn't."

"I did. I told him how much he turns you on when he goes all Marine Mac on people."

She laughed and slapped his stomach. "No you didn't."

"Oh yes, I did. And he said he was flattered. Then I told him that he'd have to kill me in order to steal you away from me."

"I don't think you'll ever have to worry about that," she told him.

"No?"

Sam shook her head and moved closer to him, so that she was nearly perched on his lap. "No one will ever steal me away," she vowed. "I am perfectly content where I am."

"Good," he said with a smile and kissed her. Long and soft. Then buried his face in her hair. "You smell really good," he told her.

"Good enough to eat?" she asked, fiddling with his belt buckle.

"Oh absolutely," he replied, kissing her once again, this time harder and longer and much more passionate.

She shrieked and than giggled when he caught her off guard by grabbing her by the hips and swinging her around. Flipping her onto her back on the couch.

He covered her body with his, propping himself up on one arm.

"In fact," Flack said, pressing kisses to her lips and her chin and her cheeks as he fingers began unfastening the buttons on her pyjama top. "I am in the mood for a late night snack this very moment."

He finished with the buttons and set to work undoing the tie at the waist of her pyjama pants. Slipping his hand down the front of them when they were loosened enough.

Her body arched underneath him and her eyes closed and her head tilted back in anticipation. Sighing as his lips found the hallow of her throat, than groaning as his finger tips grazed against her clit. She slid her hands up the back of his shirt, feeling the hard, toned muscles of his broad back. Loving the way how they moved and felt under her eager finger tips.

His lips drifted to the space between her breasts. Than lower and lower, until he was sitting on his heels and peeling the bottoms off of her. In awe at the way the lights played on her slender, flushed body. She gasped and burrowed her hands in his hair as his lips and his tongue teased her most sensitive spot.

And as of that moment, all troubled thoughts and the entire outside world ceased to exist.

**WOW! Awesome response for that last chapter. A huge thank you to all of you that read and reviewed. And even to the lurkers. Just drop a review folks! It's nice to know whose out there!**

**HUGS AND THANKS TO:**

**Hope4sall  
****Brrtmclv  
****Laplandgurl  
****Marialisa  
****Laurzz  
****Csinyrocks2  
****Wolfeylady  
****Forest Angel  
****muchmadness  
****ImaSupernaturalCSI  
****Soccer-bitch  
****Hardylover7477  
****TruLuv  
****EddiesGirl**


	17. Death Becomes Them: AKA Nine Sleeps

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN**

**A/N: THIS IS A PAST CHAP. SOMETHING MY CRAZY MUSE WON'T LET GO OF. THE SHOOTING THAT TAKES PLACE IN THIS CHAP (NO, NOT FLACK'S, SORRY) IS BASED ON AN ACTUAL FAILED CAR JACKING THAT OCCURRED NEARBY MY HOMETOWN. THE SIMILARITIES END AT THE SHOOTING AND EVERYTHING ELSE IS SOLELY FROM MY LOVELY IMAGINATION. **

**Death Becomes Them**

"There is no joy for me  
Christmas is black for me  
No hope no cheer  
Christmas is black every year  
Everyone dies on Christmas  
Loneliest time of the year  
Everyone cries on Christmas  
Oh Christmas,  
Just fills me with fear  
Deck the halls with boughs of Black  
Your sister's dead from dealing crack  
Was years ago, you were just eighteen  
You weren't there but you can hear her scream  
Your family waits by the Christmas tree  
Just wondering where you might be  
Where'd we go wrong, what can we do?  
These charming strangers who don't know you."  
-Black Christmas, MDC

* * *

Flack stood on the curb in front of Lucky Day Bodega on East 178th in the Bronx, ankle deep in snow, the collar of his heavy wool winter coat pulled up to keep the biting wind off of the back of his neck. Snow fell steadily the black velvet sky as he jotted extensive notes down in his memo book as he eyed the luxury SUV parked in front of him. Both passenger and driver's side door open and the over head light shining brightly. Vehicle still running with the keys dangling in the ignition and two very dead bodies and blood pools and spatters all over the leather interior.

Flack brought his forearm up to cover his mouth and nose and coughed and sniffled noisily. He felt like shit. Too many hours and too little sleep combined with not bundling up well enough with the below freezing temperatures that had clung to the city in the past two weeks. He only had himself to blame. Not covering his ears and forgetting to wear even a scarf or clothes half the time. The cold had quickly spread through the lab and at home. Sam had been nearly bed ridden for three days the week before, and Kieran had developed a croupy cough that had them either throwing the window open or turning the shower on and sitting in the steamy bathroom with him when an attack hit.

The first night had been scary as all hell. Flack had woken from a dead sleep to what sounded like a dog barking in the next room. Followed by a startled Sam, also torn out of a sleep, bounding out of bed and scurrying to the room next to them. Within seconds she was screaming for him, saying that something was wrong with the baby. He wouldn't stop coughing and was trying to cry at the same time and was starting to turn blue. He'd hurried in and found her near hysterics with Kieran clutched to her chest, the child struggling to draw a breath. Flack had froze. The sight of his son like that was terrifying and he felt frozen to his spot. Utterly and totally helpless.

It was Sam's begging and pleading to do something that had snapped him out of his daze. He raced for the phone and called up Hawkes. Who listened over the phone to Kieran's coughing and suggested the steam from a hot shower or the crisp night air. Flack had scooped the baby out of his panicking wife's arms and wrapped a blanket around him and carried him out onto the balcony. Within minutes the hacking, chest rattling cough had subsided, leaving his son bawling and terrified and clinging desperately to him.

They'd bundled Kieran up and headed for the Trinity General. Three hours waiting in the ER followed by another two in a waiting room trying to hold oxygen over a baby's mouth and nose. In the end, after the on call pediatrician listened to Kieran's lungs, they'd been sent home with prescriptions for two inhalers and orders to purchase a special inhaler that fit like an oxygen mask and made it easier to accurately give the dose of steroids that would either prevent an attack before it happened, or would open up the air passages if the baby was hit by one.

Elevating the head of the crib mattress and adding a drop of eucalyptus oil to the humidifier in the nursery had helped to. The barking cough was gone, but the child was still cranky and miserable and had since developed the sniffles and a slight ear infection that required drops and a suggestion from an ENT that Kieran go under the knife and have tubes inserted into his Eustachian tubes. He was prone to nasty ear infections, and stubborn fluid that plugged everything up and prevented him from hearing properly and his speech from developing.

It was relatively minor surgery, but Flack wasn't too keen on the idea of his almost eleven month old son having an operation of any sort. They'd come to a decision that they'd give it a couple of months, and if an audiology appointment still showed Kieran was having trouble hearing, then they would go ahead with the procedure.

There was nine days before Christmas. And what had initially started out as the most wonderful time of the year, brimming with excitement for his son's first holiday, was turning into one of the worst for Flack. And the chances of spending the majority of his two days off for Christmas Day and Boxing Day curled up in bed fighting off the flu were growing greater and greater by the minute.

He coughed once again. Than found once he started he couldn't stop.

"That's why your wife wants you to quit smoking, Flack," Angell commented, as she ducked under the crime scene tape and joined him on the curb. "You sound like you're going to cough up a lung."

"I'm sick," he informed the other detective. "Sam passed it around."

"Times like that, you sleep on the couch," Angell told him. "I guess there goes your plans for heading to AC for New Years Eve. Because that doesn't sound like it's going away any time soon."

"I plan on going home after shift, taking enough medicine to knock out a horse, catching some sleep and making sure this goes away as quickly as possible. Get anything from possible witnesses?" he nodded down at the log book in Angell's hand.

"No one saw a damn thing. Which isn't uncommon in this city, but strange considering it's a Friday night, barely midnight and every bar and dive joint around here is packed to the gills and traffic is not what I call sparse. I find it hard to believe that there was no one around when someone walked up to this car and did that," Angell pointed her pen at the SUV. "Kind of damage."

"Anyone at least hear anything?" Flack asked.

"I have six people all saying the same thing. They heard at least a dozen gunshots, than a vehicle peeling away and the constant blaring of a car horn. Which we know was caused by our driver there, slumped over dead on the steering wheel. I just have to say that I am thankful Fire got that damn thing turned off. My ears are still ringing."

Flack glanced over his shoulder and up at the buildings behind them. Most were stores with apartments over top of them. The businesses were long closed for the night, but lights burned in many of the dwellings and several curious on lookers were peering out from behind curtains.

He looked across the street. Uniforms and two other detectives were busy chatting up bar patrons and simple pedestrians on the sidewalk. Traffic had been cordoned off a block in each direction to keep and even more lookie-loos were gathered behind the barricades hoping to get a closer look at what had transpired.

"Get someone into these apartment buildings," Flack instructed Angell. "I find it hard to believe that no one say anything. What I find even harder to believe, is why in the hell someone driving a ninety thousand dollar SUV was driving around in this neighbourhood to begin with. See the clothes and the jewellery these guys are wearin'? They are way out of their element in the Bronx."

"Wrong turn maybe?" Angell suggested.

"Something tells me it's a little more scandalous than that," Flack said. "Take a couple unis and start some indoor canvassing. And get the tapes from the red lights cameras at each of the intersections within a two blocks radius in either direction."

"Got it," Angell said, jotting everything down. "You thinking botched car jacking?"

"At this point in time," Flack sighed heavily and stepped further back onto the curb to better survey the extent of carnage in front of him. "There's about a half dozen different scenarios running through my head, and honestly, none make since when I look at what we got."

"How you mean?" Angell asked.

"If witnesses say they heard the gunshots and than a car peeling away, than that blows my car jacking theory all to hell. Why carjack someone when you have your own car? Unless you've got a buddy with you driving his own vehicle and you're lookin' to boost something high end. You know, like that movie with Nicholas Cage. Gone in Sixty Seconds."

"Auto theft ring. Stripping them down for parts or even shipping them out of the city. It's probable," Angell said with a nod. "But…I know you were going to toss a but in at the end there…"

"But…I don't know. That just doesn't seem to fly with me. People scout cars like this. And no one is expecting a SUV like that, in a neighbourhood like this. And if you're boosting for profit or even glory and awesome street cred, you're going to be checking out the more elite areas of the city. Not here."

"How about the shipping them out? The stinking rich paying the poor for scoring them cars? Using thieves as personal shoppers so to speak."

Flack thought about it. Eyes scouring the vehicle and its occupants as his mind worked over every possible angle and scenario. "I don't know," he said at last. "I mean, this is an expensive vehicle. Sam and I looked at a Lexus SUV a little while back and nearly shit when we saw how expensive that was. And this is a BMW. But they're not that hard to come buy or off the charts for the kind of people that pay thieves, slash personal shoppers, as you called them, to get. They're looking to score Maserati's and Ferrari's and Lotus'. A BMW is just a little pebble in the grand scheme of things."

Angell couldn't hide a smirk. "You been watching Colombo again, Flack? Because you're brain is in fine form tonight."

"Got my thinking cap on tonight," he said with a grin.

* * *

"Must be a special occasion for you to dig that out," Carmen commented, as she, Mac and Sam ducked under the crime scene tape, kits in hand. "Sam managed to stitch up the huge hole in the top?"

"You're a laugh riot, Devine," Flack said. He fixed his eyes on his wife. "What ya doing here, Thumbelina?"

"Mac called me because half the lab is off sick," Sam explained.

"Whose with Kieran?" he asked.

"I left him alone in his crib with a bottle of milk. He can fend for himself."

Flack frowned.

"Relax, would you? I called your mom and woke her up from a dead sleep and Mrs Krantz from 306 is staying with him until grandma gets there. That woman never sleeps I swear."

"Doesn't sleep when her husband is on nights at the docks," Flack told her. "Now that's a devoted woman."

"Well if you ask me, she's a nut case," Sam said as she stepped off the curb and peered into the SUV. "Whoa…hello…" she exclaimed as she caught sight of the mess. "Need a shovel and a bucket to clean this up."

Angell sized up the three CSIs. All in matching, heavy navy blue winter jackets with CSI:NY emblazoned in big white letters on the back. Despite the hoods pulled over their heads, both Carmen and Mac were shivering in the frigid night air. Sam however, seemed toasty warm thanks to the wool hat, black snowboarding pants and boots she had on.

"Good to see at least Sam has brains out of all of us," Angell commented.

"I'm a wimp when it comes to the cold," she explained. "I lived in Arizona way too long. Only problem is these pants make my ass look huge."

Flack sighed and turned to smirk at Mac, who, usually not the one for small chit chat at crime scenes, had a rather amused look on his face. Sam seemed to have that effect on people. Even someone as unfeeling and cold as Mac Taylor sometimes seemed.

"And you wonder why I expressed concern when you started hiring so many women, Mac," Flack said. "This is exactly the reason. Listening to them talk about clothes and comparing each others asses."

Mac laughed lightly. Than became all business. "What we got Flack?"

"Here's the thing, I'm not entirely sure at this second. Angell and I have been running through some ideas and our initial thought was car jacking gone bad. Things don't add up. But for now, that's what we're running with. At eleven sixteen this evening, a call came into nine one one reporting the sound of multiple gunshots outside of the bodega here."

"Who called it in?" Mac asked, pulling a pair of latex gloves from one of his pockets and snapping them on.

"Bodega owner," Flack looked down at his notes. "Rupinder Dali'wal. He was in the back getting some stock to put out when he heard the shots. Said he heard about eight. Seven other calls to nine one one also reported a shooting in this area. Angell talked to some other neighbours who all told her they heard between eight to twelve shots all together. Than a car hauling ass out of here, followed by the horn of this vehicle going off."

"Who turned off the horn?" asked Mac.

"Fire department. The officer first on the scene, called them when said officer noticed the bodies inside. One of their guys checked for vitals and than shut the horn off. They said they touched nothing else. And that they wore gloves."

"A lot of people out tonight," Mac commented, surveying the neighbourhood. "All these eyes and no one saw anything?"

"It's an epidemic," Flack said. "You know, temporary blindness."

"What else do you know?" Mac inquired.

"Just the basics. Two male vics. Obviously deceased. I didn't go scouring around for ID or anything, but my best estimation puts them between eighteen and twenty five years of age. Anyone wanna take a stab at COD? Just for shits and giggles?"

"Oh…me, me!" Sam waved her hand over her head as she rocked back and forth on her heels alongside of the car. Anxious to get to work. "Multiple GSWs?"

"You win the trip to Hawaii," Flack said.

"Trip for two?" she asked hopefully.

"Absolutely."

"Sounds good to me. Let's get the hell out of here before Mac actually expects me to do any work. And speaking of work…" she turned questioning eyes to her boss.

"I've got Angell and some uniforms starting a canvas of some of these apartments," Flack told the older man beside him.

Mac nodded, plotting out his course of action. "Carmen," he said at last. "You go with Angell and help with the canvassing. Samantha, you and I will work on the scene."

"Can I….?"

"You can have the victims," Mac said, answering the question before she got get it out of her mouth.

"You are one sick, twisted little girl," Flack told his wife, as she bent down to snap open her kit.

"It's the only excitement I get spending my life with you," she teased, snapping on a pair of latex gloves before climbing into the bloody SUV.

"Why do I put up with this, Mac?" Flack inquired. "All the wise ass comments and hurtful put downs?"

"Because you love her," Mac reasoned. "And you'd be lonely and miserable without her."

"Well I don't know about miserable," Flack said jokingly. "But you nailed the other two parts. Want me to call the ME's office?"

Mac nodded. "And call the garage and arrange for this SUV to be towed back. It's too cold out here to be working. And half the evidence is probably frozen."

"I found some wallets!" Sam called from the front seat of the vehicle.

Mac and Flack moved to the driver's side door, where Sam was leaning across the deceased male behind the wheel, searching the pockets of his blood stained jacket.

"It's a lot of blood, Mac," she commented, dropping the wallets into Flack's waiting hands. "I can't move without getting it all over me. But I can tell you, at first blush, that each vic was shot approximately five times. All rounds hit above the waist and below the neck, except for one," she tilted the driver's head done to show the gaping wound in the back of his head. "The shot entered here, exited through the forehead and embedded in the windshield. It's the same on the passenger."

"Those are kill shots," Flack said. "Execution style."

"Probably done last," Sam added. "And from up close and personal."

"Only place those shots could have come from to have the bullet in the windshield is the back seat," Mac said, sidestepping to the rear door and popping it open to glance inside.

"There was more than one shooter for sure," Sam spoke up. "The rest of the wounds were made from a slightly farther distance and from outside of the car. And some are through and throughs. I spied a few bullets lodged in the doors and floorboards."

"And some in the backseat," Mac told her, fingering a hole in the leather of the seat behind the driver. He climbed back out and shut the door. "What can you tell me about the wounds?" he asked.

"I can tell you that they weren't made by the same weapon. Size variance of the entrance wounds indicate they were made by two, maybe even three different guns."

"God I love when she goes all ballistic Queen on us," Flack said. "Makes me go all tingly inside. By day, house wife taking care of the baby and doing chores and making dinner, by night, all hard core Rambo."

"Calibre?" Mac asked.

"It's really hard to tell with the amount of blood and damage done," she replied, backing out of the SUV. "But my best, educated guess is medium. I know it's not much to go on. Sorry…"

"It's fine," Mac assured her. "You'll be able to get a better look at things once the ME cleans the bodies and autopsies them and removes the bullets. It's cramped quarters in there."

"She's the size of a ten year old, Mac," Flack said as he searched through the vics' wallets. "She can fit in most peoples' pockets."

"Hey, Don," Sam called sweetly.

He glanced at her.

She made sure Mac wasn't looking and mouthed FUCK YOU.

"That would be my pleasure," he said and winked at her.

She snorted and rolled her eyes.

"Driver is David Arruda," Flack said, checking the licence in his hand. "Twenty-one from Staten Island. According to his other ID, he was a student at Chelsea University. His most unfortunate driving companion is," he referred to the other wallet. "Lukas Tait. Also twenty-one and from Staten Island and also a student at Chelsea University."

"Take down that information and get a hold of next of kin," Mac instructed, crouching down to snag a clear plastic evidence bag from his kit. "You call the ME and the garage?"

Flack nodded as he jotted down the victims' information in his log book. "They're on their way," he responded. "I'm going to get right on to calling these kids' folks."

"Thanks, Flack," Mac said, holding the evidence bag out so Flack could easily deposit the wallets inside. "Ask if anyone in the family knew why these kids would be in a neighbourhood like this. And if they knew their last whereabouts."

"No problem," Flack said, snapping his log book closed. "You guys call if you get anywhere with that SUV."

"We will," Mac assured him, sealing the bag in his hands as the homicide detective ducked under the crime scene tape and headed off.

"Do you want me to start processing the vehicle, Mac?" Sam asked.

"We're going to have it towed to the garage. We'll do it there. You can come on out now."

She slipped her slender form from the vehicle and shut the door. Securing both it and the rear door with bright orange evidence stickers she grabbed from her kit.

Mac did the same on the driver's side.

Sam packed up her kit and joined him on curb. Snow softly trickling down around them, the stiff, biting wind stinging their cheeks. They stood in silence for quite some time, Mac's eyes taking in the entire scene around him, Sam's solely focused on the bodies in the vehicle before her.

"It's sad, isn't it, Mac," she suddenly said.

He turned his head to the side and looked down at her. "What is?" he asked.

"That things like this have to happen. Especially at this time of the year. That even at what is suppose to be such a peaceful, wonderful time, human beings are capable of doing such awful things to each other."

"We make our living off of death and sadness and suffering," Mac reminded her.

"I know…I just…" she sighed. "Sometimes it makes me feel really sad. That's all. It makes me feel awful to think that these boys' families will be getting the worst phone calls of their lives soon. Right at Christmas. I feel terrible about that."

He smiled down at her and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Me, too," he said.

* * *

"So Angell and I got nowhere on the canvassing," Carmen announced, tying her auburn hair back as she breezed into the garage where Sam, decked out in coveralls and work boots, was patiently waiting for her to help with processing of the BMW.

"Ditto with autopsy," Sam said, flipping her cell phone closed. "They're backed up. It's going to be a while until they get to my guys and get me those bullets."

"Calling home?" Carmen asked, zipping up her own coveralls.

Sam nodded and slipped her phone into her pocket. "Kieran's still sick and he woke up screaming about half an hour and ago and crying for daddy. And Don's mom says she's handling all his whining and ear pulling and crying okay, but…."

"You're still afraid he's going to drive her mental," Carmen concluded.

The tiny brunette nodded. "Goddamn ear infections," she muttered.

"Maybe that operation for the tubes is the way to go," Carmen said.

"Try convincing Don of that. He's the one holding out. I don't know what the huge deal is. It's a ten minute procedure."

"It's his baby," Carmen reasoned.

"Yeah? Well it's my baby, too," Sam pointed out. "So I figured this will go a lot quicker if there's two of us," she said, abruptly changing the subject to avoid getting too emotional. "You want the back or the front?"

"I'll take the front," Carmen said, putting on some gloves and popping open the driver's side door.

"I always have been a back door kinda girl," Sam commented, snapping on her own gloves before opening the back door of the SUV.

"Please spare me any details of yours and Flack's sex life," Carmen said.

"Like you and Tim haven't at least tried it," Sam moved her kit closer.

"I wouldn't tell you if we had."

"You know, it doesn't hurt like people are always going on about," Sam continued, grabbing her ALS light and switching it on.

"Samantha, please…I do not want to hear this."

She sighed as she set to work. "I am just saying…."

The two women worked quietly, quickly and efficiently.

"Someones been naughty," Sam commented. "I have biological trace, and lots of it, in the back seat."

She took several different swabs and sealed them tightly in their cardboard containers. Using a black magic marker to jot down the date, time and her initials on the side before dropping them samples into her kit to be sent to DNA.

"Got a present for you," Carmen announced, her head appearing above the front seat, a bullet clasped tightly in a pair of tweezers.

Sam looked up and smiled brightly. "Merry fucking Christmas!" she cried, and held out her hand, palm up and open.

Carmen dropped the bullet into her friend's hand. "Took it out of the passenger's seat."

Sam poked at the slightly damaged projectile with the tip of her index finger. "There's hardly a nick on it," she observed. "Damn near pristine. Thank God for cushy leather interior. It actually protected the bullet. It's an eight millimeter. Unique striations, too. See the spiralling on it?" she held it up to the light.

"Barely. But ballistics is your baby, Sammie. Not mine. Why would there be spiralling on it?"

"Couple things," she answered with childlike exuberance. "One could be that it was fired from a gun that was too small to accurately fire the bullet, or there would have been a slight modification to the barrel of the weapon. Like a homemade silencer or something like that I've seen this thing a few times in Phoenix. One time, Zack arrested this guy and…"

She stopped suddenly. A dark expression covering her face when she realized the name she had just spoken for the first time in over a year. That was a painful chapter in her life that she hated to revisit, and felt guilty that thoughts of the bastard would creep into her mind a time she was the most happiest. A beautiful baby, a great husband. Plans for more children.

"You know," Carmen said gently. "It's not a crime to say that name."

"I know," Sam said. "It's just that….it doesn't matter. I've just seen this type of thing before. I'll be able to take a closer look at it once we finish processing and I can get it upstairs."

She dropped the bullet into a small evidence bag and sat it in her kit. "There was more than one shooter I am sure of it," she talked out loud as she continued processing the back seat. "Different sizes of entrance wounds….different splatter patterns…someone firing from the back seat….definitely more than one person."

Carmen ducked back down into the front and continued to work, grinning as her best friend continued to carry on a running converstion with herself.

"Whoa…." Sam suddenly said, in a tone that Carmen knew indicated the brunette was now talking to her as well. "Hold up for a second…."

"What'cha got?" Carmen asked, popping her head up once again.

Sam held up a strappy scarlet red high heel shoe with obvious snow and blood damage and a matching red evening purse. "Well hello mystery woman," she said.

"There was a backseat passenger?" Carmen asked. "But there was only two bodies…."

"Guess she got out," Sam responded. "I doubt she was injured too bad. I have small gravitational blood drops back here but nothing that would suggest a shooting took place. And there's a void in the spatter where she was sitting. And lookie here," she plucked something from the middle head rest. "Long blond hair! Whaddup!!"

"But where would she go, Sammie?" Carmen asked, grabbing an evidence bag from her own kit for the hair. "And why would she just take off and not call for help?"

"Scared, maybe? In shock by what she just witnessed?" Sam dropped the strand of hair into the bag.

"Taken by the perp," Carmen offered.

Both women shuddered at the thought.

"Quite possible she's our backseat shooter and took off with the others afterwards," Sam added. "All I know, is that if she witnessed what happened and whoever did this knows she can identify them, we better find her before they do."

"If they haven't already," Carmen sighed.

"Hows it going?" Flack's bellowing voice suddenly appeared at the side of the vehicle.

"Look what we just found!" Sam exclaimed, and slid backwards out of the SUV. Only when she went to stand up, she didn't leave enough room for head clearance, and caught the back of her head off the door frame. "Motherfucker!" she roared, and nearly went down on her knees. Seeing stars.

"And she wonders why we have a swear jar at home," Flack said to Carmen, as the auburn haired CSI got out of the SUV as well. "You okay?" he asked his wife, concern in his eyes and in his voice as he laid a hand on the back of her head.

It was as far as the displays of affection while at work went. It was a bitch staying professional some days. Most days, actually.

"No!" she cried, near tears. "Can I go home now? Take sick pay? Sue the department for a massive concussion?"

He touched her hair. Fingertips tenderly massaging the rapidly expanding bump on her skull.

"I'll go and get some ice," Carmen offered.

"Thanks, Devine," Flack said.

"Take the moments wherever you can get them," Carmen told him. "That's my motto."

"I'll remember that when I'm looking to get lucky and the first available janitor's closet in which do it in," Flack laughed, as the pretty, auburn haired woman hurried off.

* * *

"That hurt," Sam declared, reaching up to touch the injured spot, her hand resting on top of her husband's.

"I think you'll live," Flack said and held up his other hand, sticking three fingers in the air. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three."

"You're favourite number of fingers," he said with a sly smile.

"You're dirty," Sam informed him.

"You wouldn't want me any other way," he said, and removing his hand, took the brazen move -brazen for them at work at least- and pressed a soft kiss to the bump on her head. "What were you going to tell me?" he asked.

"Couple things," Sam replied, turning towards the SUV. "First, Carmen managed to extract one of the bullets. It's an eight millimeter with a unique striation. I'll know more when I can get things up to the lab."

"What about the bodies? Anything from them?"

"Sid's backed up. Half his department is out sick and he's swamped."

"Making out with the ME's again, huh? Passing around your damn virus."

"Very funny," Sam said. "And we have established that there was a backseat passenger."

"Get outta town."

"I do not lie, Detective Flack. There was someone in the backseat. Voids in the blood pattern.." Sam pointed out the area in the backseat. "..tell me that she was sitting in the middle."

"She?" he asked.

"I found these," Sam turned to him, holding up the shoe and the evening bag.

"Nice," Flack commented with an appreciative nod. "So where'd our lady in red disappear to?"

"That is up to you to find out my dear," Sam said, reaching up to tighten and straighten his tie. "You are a detective. You get paid the big bucks to find these things out."

"Big bucks…sure…" Flack opened the clasp on the purse. "Bad news, though. No ID."

"Hey, hey, hey!" Danny called in his dead perfect Fat Albert impersonation as he came sauntering into the garage. Wearing coveralls as well. A red velvet Santa hat with a furry white pom-pom dangling from it perched on his head.

"Shouldn't it be ho, ho, ho?" Flack asked, frowning at the sight of that hat on his best friend's hat. "Jesus Christ you're a loser, Messer."

"Bah humbug," Danny responded. "Get in the spirit, Flack. Ya got a little one at home. It's the most magical time of the year. I am showing up at your place bright and early Christmas morning dressed as Jolly Old Saint Nick. Just for little K. And wait until you guys see what I got him," Danny rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

"As long as it's not a car or a pony," Flack said.

"No and no," Danny told his best friend. "And all I'm gonna tell ya is that I've had it since beginning of October and you guys are gonna shit bricks when ya see it. So? What's the good word?"

"The word for today is motherfucker," Sam said, touching the bump on her head.

"Clocked herself coming out of the SUV," Flack explained to Danny.

"Nice purse and shoes," Danny said, nodding at the detective's hands. "Red's your colour."

"They go with your hat," Sam told him. "I found those in the backseat. Void in the blood pattern says there was a passenger back there."

"Interesting," Danny said, peering into the vehicle. "What a damn mess," he commented.

"What are you doing down here?" Carmen asked, as she returned with an ice pack that she held to the top of Sam's head.

"Mac called me in 'cause Hawkes and Speed are off sick," he replied. "Told me to come down here, give you two lovely ladies a helping hand. So? What's going on? Any news other than this fabulous bag and shoes?"

"So far one eight millimetre bullet recovered," Sam said.

"I went and talked to the next of kin for both gentlemen," Flack tossed in. "Needless to say, neither was a pleasant experience. I did however, find out from one of the vic's brothers where our two DBs were last night."

"Before they were deceased or after?" asked Danny.

"You're in rare form today, Messer," Flack commented. "You get lots of sleep last night or something?"

Danny sighed happily. "Or something," he said.

"Forget I even asked," Flack grimaced. "So our two vics were out clubbing. Adam checked one of their wallets and found a receipt from the ATM at Neon Green, some new club over on Broadway and Sixteenth street. Time on the transaction showed there was money withdrawn an hour before the call to nine one one went through."

"And it's about a half hour drive to that location in the Bronx," Danny said. "How much was the withdraw?"

"Get a load of this. It was for five grand," Flack told them all.

Danny whistled. "My daily limit is a grand. And five g's enough money to score a decent haul of drugs."

"Deal gone bad?" Sam wondered aloud. "Did Adam find the money?"

"Between the two of them, they only had forty bucks and change between them. And there was no drugs or drug paraphernalia on either one according to Sid. But he assured me he's sending blood to tox."

"So what the hell?" Danny asked, turning to the SUV, his hands on his hips as he tried to piece everything together. "You take out five grand and drive to the Bronx to score some drugs. You get all shot up to hell but there's no sign of the money or narcotics. What gives?"

"Maybe we're not looking hard enough," Carmen sighed.

"That's up to you guys," Flack said. "I'm gonna head over to the club and see if any of the bouncers or bartenders can give me more info on our vics. Maybe they even know our mystery lady, They're open until three apparently. Maybe I should call ahead to get on the VIP list. Who wants to come with?"

"Go ahead, Sam," Carmen said. "You've had enough exictement in the backseat."

"Whose the lucky guy?" Danny asked playfully. "Or are you and Flack resorting to sex in the garage on company time 'cause you can't get any with the rug rat in the house?"

"We take it where we can get it, Messer," Sam said, and reached for the zipper on her overalls.

Danny raised both eyebrows. "Outta sheer curiosity Brooklyn, what'cha got on under there?"

She pulled out the neck of the jumpsuit and peered down it. "Bubblegum pink seamless bra with black lace trim and matching thong underwear," she responded. "From Victoria Secret."

Danny clasped a hand over his heart and grabbed Flack by the shoulder. "You're a lucky bastard," he informed his best friend. "Gonna give me a sneaky peeky, Brooklyn?"

"Hmmm, let me see," she said, ever so slowly pulling down the zipper on her coveralls, her eyes never leaving Danny's. She smirked. "I think not," she told him, and yanked the zipper down the rest of the way to reveal a deep purple chenille sweater and a pair of black dress pants.

She pulled the coveralls off, yanking them over her boots. "I just have to hit my locker and grab my coat," she told Flack. "Ready?"

"Willing and able," he teased.

She rolled her eyes. "Men," she grumbled. "See ya, later guys. Call us if you find anything."

"That goes both ways," Carmen called to her, as she and Danny stood watching as Sam and Flack headed across the garage.

Flack had his hand on the small of his wife's back, smiling softly down at her as she touched the top of her head and recapped her ordeal. Neither CSI could hear what Flack had said, but Sam gasped dramatically, laughed and pushed her husband away. Flack chuckled as well, grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to him and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She beamed up at him. All her emotions and feelings laid bare in her eyes.

"Talk about Mutt and Jeff, huh," Danny commented, after his two friends disappeared from the garage.

"They're different, alright," Carmen agreed. "But something tells me, out of all of us, even though they're the odd couple, Sam and Flack will be the ones to out last every one of us."

Danny nodded. "That would not surprise me." He turned around and studied the SUV, hands on his hips. "So," he said, looking at Carmen. "How about me and you tear this bitch apart?"

* * *

Neon Green was located at the corner of Broadway and Sixteenth. It was once an old textile factory and had since housed failed department stores and a funeral home and most recently, midtown Manhattan's largest and most fabled four story sex store, The Hidden Pearl. Now the outside was painted midnight black and had the club's name painted on the side of it in monstrous neon green letters.

Green lights were strung along the edge of the roof and over the black canopy that stretched from the front door to the sidewalk. Bouncers in black turtlenecks three sizes too tight, their massive physiques meant to warn patrons of the punishment they'd face if they got out of control and to no doubt make up for lack of brains and reasons the musclemen suffered from.

Patrons hoping for entrance into the club were lined up for a block. Shivering in the frigid temperatures and blowing snow for overpriced drinks and horrible music that boomed out onto the street every time the front door opened. Young women in too short skirts and tank tops that barely covered their assets, or lack of, and young men that didn't stand a chance in hell of scoring with any of them trying their best to make a good impression by flashing their money or expensive cellphones.

"Please tell me you were not like this in university," Flack commented, his hand firmly gripping Sam's hand as he pushed his way through the crowd, making his way to the front door.

"Give me some sort of credit," Sam said. "I was mini skirts and thigh high boots and backless tops. Not Jimmy Choo ripoffs and fake Louis Vuittons. And besides, I was more at home in the local pub that served Guinness and two dollar shooters."

"That's my girl," Flack praised, bringing her around to the front of them as they reached the entrance.

The beefcake of a bouncer allowed Sam to pass through, than stepped in Flack's path.

"Hot ladies cut to the front and get in free," the bouncer said. "Guys pay a ten dollar cover and wait at the back of the line."

"He's with me," Sam told the young man.

"Sorry, honey, that's house rules."

"Yeah?" Flack asked and pulled his badge from the waist of his pants and shoved it in the cocky bouncer's face. "Well this trumps the house."

The bouncer blinked at the sight of the badge and than stepped back and allowed Flack to enter.

"You know what worries me?" Flack asked his wife, shouting over the music as he put his badge back. "That you were into guys like that when you were younger!"

"Stop underestimating my intelligence!" she shouted back. "Where do we go first?"

"To the bar. We'll talk to the bouncer and I'll get a hold of the manager and get that tape from the ATM and from their security cameras. I noticed two alone at the front entrance!"

Sam had to plug her ears with her fingers. The electronic music threatening to shatter her eardrums as Flack guided her through the sea of people with a firm, protective hand on the back of her neck.

"What can I get for you two?" the bartender - tall and slender with spiky black hair and more mascara and eyeliner than most of the women in the club- asked over the noisy throng.

"The manager would be good," Flack told him, slapping his badge down on the bar.

The bartender simply nodded and retreated to a phone at the far end of his domain.

"Aren't you so glad we were both past the clubbing stage when we were dating?" Sam asked her husband. "Could you honestly see yourself taking me to a place like this?"

"No. But on the other hand," he nodded in the direction of a busty young woman in a strapless dress gyrating against her female friend. "I wouldn't mind seeing you in a dress like that. Doing things like that."

"In your wildest and wettest, Don," she said.

"Manager's on his way," the bartender told him as they returned. "Can I get you guys anything while you wait?"

"No, thanks," Flack responded.

"Actually," Sam said, reaching into Flack's suit jacket to pull out the photos of their two victims. Enhanced pictures of their drivers' licenses. "Some information would be nice."

"About?"

"You serve these two tonight?" Sam asked, placing the photos on the bar and sliding them across.

"I served a lot of people tonight," the young man told her.

"That's nice," she said. "But it's not what I asked you. I asked you if you served these two."

He sighed heavily and looked down at the pictures. "Can't say I did."

"Well maybe you remember their companion," Sam told him. "They were with a young woman with long blond hair, red dress, red shoes and a little red evening purse."

"Natasha," the bartender said.

"Who?" Flack asked, getting out his log book and a pen.

"Natasha," he repeated. "Natasha Cormier."

"And how do you know this Natasha?" Sam asked.

"She's a regular here. She does cage dancing for us."

"That's classy," Flack commented. "You have an address for this Natasha? Phone number or anything like that?"

"You can ask my manager," the bartender suggested, waving at a tall, stocky man with shocking red, curly hair at the end of the bar.

"I will do just that," Flack said. "You gonna be okay here asking him some more questions?" he asked Sam. "I'll go and have a talk with the manager and get that info and access to those tapes."

"I'll be fine," she assured him, giving him a smile as he squeezed her arm softly before heading for the end of the bar. "Are there any friends of Natasha's working tonight?" she asked the bartender.

"No. But I can get you names and numbers of a couple. My brother's girl is her roommate and another girl here works out with her."

"You mind getting those right now for me?" Sam asked sweetly.

"No problem," he assured her, and walked off.

Sam sighed and shrugged out of her coat and placed it on an empty stool beside her. Clasping her hands on top of the bar , she waited for the bartender to return with her information. Keeping one eye on Flack as he talked with the manager at the end of the bar, showing the man the pictures of the victims and gesturing towards the ATM machine by the front door. Her other eye firmly set on the obviously intoxicated young man in a Sean John polo shirt and Tommy Jeans making his way down the bar towards her.

Just what I fucking need, she thought. Her cellphone, clipped to her pocket, vibrated against her and she unclipped it and checked the caller ID. A text message coming in. From Danny. Letting her know that autopsies were complete and the bullets were waiting for her in ballistics with her name on it.

Oh happy day, she thought and put her phone back. Groaning inwardly as the young man now sidled up to her.

"W'sup," he slurred, giving her a wink and a nod.

Sam smirked and shook her head to show her disinterest.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked.

"No," she replied simply.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want one," Sam told him.

"Let a decent guy buy you a drink."

"Look, buddy, I'm about ten years older than you. And I'm married and have a baby. So thanks but no thanks."

"Just one drink?" he asked, holding up a finger.

"No drinks," she insisted. "I'm here on business."

"What kind of business?"

Sam sighed. "Police business," she replied, gesturing to her badge.

He squinted as he looked down at it, then a broad grin spread across his face as she caught sight of her holster and gun and the handcuffs attached at the back of her pants. "Those real?" he asked. "'Cause if they aren't, I'd love to play whatever sick, twisted, dirty little games you're into."

She just shook her head and took a few steps sideways to get away.

"You're really cute you know that?" he asked, following her and laying a hand on her hip.

She looked down at the offensive object touching her, than up at the drunk, obnoxious face. "I'd move that if I were you," she warned.

"Or?" he asked.

"Or I'll move it for you."

"And how are you going to do that, little Miss Thing?" he challenged, sliping his hand around to her ass.

She smirked, took a step back and grabbed the young man's hand and twisted it painfully until she heard and felt it crack, all the while bending his thumb back until the tip of it touched the back of his hand. He roared in pain and dropped to his knees.

"Is that sick, twisted and dirty enough for you?" Sam asked, released his hand and shoved him back onto his ass in the middle of the crowded bar.

"Fucking bitch!" he roared, and attempted to struggle to his feet and go after her, until Flack, seeing the exchange as he made his way back through the sea of people, snagged the younger, much smaller man by the shoulders of his shirt and yanked him to his feet.

"Going somewhere kid?" Flack asked. "'Cause you even take two steps towards her and I'll be sending ya downtown for the night and you can sober up and cool your heels in a holding cell? You hear me?"

He nodded.

"Now get the hell out of here," Flack said, shoving the kid away. "Peacefully," he added, when the intoxicated young man went to hurl off an insult. He waited until the kid stumbled through the crowd and disappeared before turning to Sam. "You alright?" he asked.

"Detective Flack," she said with a smile. "You're my hero."

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. He's probably got a busted thumb and sprained wrist, but I am just peachy. How'd it go with the manager?"

"He wrote down Natasha's home number and address. He's also arranging to have one of our tech's come in and take apart the ATM to get the camera and is sending the security tapes to the lab as we speak. Via his personal valet."

Sam snorted. "Nice. I just got a text from Danny. Autopsy results are in on both vics. And my bullets are waiting for me. Can we head back to the lab?"

"Not yet," Flack told her, shaking his head.

She frowned. "Why?" she smiled at the bartender as he finally returned and handed her a small folded piece of paper.

"Because I just got a text message myself. From Angell. Seems a woman who can't remember her name or what she was going tonight, wandered into Angel of Mercy ER about forty minutes ago. And guess what she was wearing."

Sam's eyes lit up. "A red dress?"

"Red cocktail dress and her feet were bare. And she has blond hair. Guess she stumbled in there all roughed up and her clothing torn. Claiming she doesn't know how she ended up in that state. You know what that means, right?"

"I won't be getting back to the lab anytime soon?" she guessed, as Flack helped her into her coat.

"Well that too," he told her, gently pulling her hair out of the back of her coat and laying a hand on her hip to guide her through the crowded nightclub.

"It's going to be a long day?" she tried again.

He leaned in and snuck a kiss to her cheek.

"It's your turn to buy breakfast," he said.

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing!! And to all you lurkers out there, please drop a line? Pretty please? With a cherry on top? It would be nice to hear from you all!!**

**Thanks to my reviewers:**

**Hope4sall  
****Brttmclv  
****Laurzz  
****Marialisa  
****muchmadness  
****Bluehaven4220  
****Wolfey lady  
****TruLuv  
****Forest Angel**


	18. What Lies Beneath

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN**

**A/N: THIS IS A CONTINUATION OF THE CRIME IN THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER**

**What lies beneath**

"Attitude, you got some fucking attitude  
I can't believe what you said to me  
You got some attitude  
Inside your feeble brain  
there's probably a hole  
If you don't shut your mouth you're gonna feel a blow  
Attitude, the one you got, oh baby  
Attitude, the one you got, oh baby  
Attitude, attitude."  
-Attitude, Guns n Roses

* * *

Angell was pacing like a caged tiger. The small heels on her black leather boots clicking on the antiseptic clean tiles in front of the third floor elevators at Angel Of Mercy Hospital. It was shortly before quarter to three in the morning and her nerves and patience were on short supply. The constant string of dead ends she and Carmen had faced during the canvassing had not only shattered the confidence, but had made them both question the integrity and consciences of the human race. Because there was no way in hell that a shooting on a busy street in the middle of the Bronx had gone down and no one say a damn thing. Angell had seen the number of people that had been subtly peering from behind their curtains, watching the cops and the CSIs to their jobs. She would bet a years pay that more than half the people she'd talked to, had seen everything that had happened.

But there was no court orders for making people talk. Just like there was no excuse for Angell herself to go door to door and smack some sense into each and everyone of those assholes. And God, she was tempted to. She couldn't understand why anyone in their right mind would let something so horrific and unforgivable go down without stepping up and helping out the authorities. How did people sleep at night knowing their lack of cooperation was letting monsters roam the streets?

Questions and worries like that often drove Angell to ponder why she ever went into law enforcement. So many times, when faced with the desire to quit and delve into something more mundane and peaceful, she came to the painful realization that the only reason she had ever decided to become a cop was to impress her detective father who had lived in shame and disappoint after each one of her brothers failed the academy and had been forced to take what their old man considered less than stellar jobs. That left the baby of the family. The only girl, to make it in the old boys club of the NYPD. And she'd succeeded and than some. Graduating at the top of her class, excelling as both a uniform and a detective. Slowly, yet steadily climbing the ladder.

Angell sighed and checked her watch. She'd left that message for Flack over forty-five minutes ago. She understood traffic was a bitch with all the snow, but this was getting a little ridiculous. Times like these made me wish I'd gone into dentistry, she thought, shoving her hands in her pockets as she commenced pacing once again. Or even something more simple like hairdressing or cosmetology. She was pretty sure she would have made a damn good stylist or makeup artist. Working on the rich and powerful and famous of New York City. Instead of dealing with death and violence and pain day in and day out.

I could see that, she thought with a nod. Making more a year in just tips than what I make now with the department. Steady days off, possible invites to the hot parties. A condo on Park Avenue. Brand new car to cruise around in. Designer clothes with labels still on them in an overflowing walk in closet. Now that's the life.

She could envision herself working on movie and television show sets. Maybe even as someone's personal stylist. A coveted possession to the likes of Cher or Madonna. Celebrities who couldn't and wouldn't go anywhere without her to fix them up. Someone who appreciated her hard work and sacrifice. Who thanked her during an Oscar acceptance speech. Who left her millions upon millions when they kicked the bucket. And she could live in the lap of luxury in their Bel-Air or Malibu estate and drives a Rolls or a Bentley. With no cares in the world. Just sit around all day by the pool eating caviar and sipping champagne.

A loud chime went off as the elevator arrived at the third floor. And she snapped out of her reverie just as the doors opened and Samantha and Flack stepped out. Trailing wet snow behind them and shaking flakes from the hair and dusting it from their jackets.

"Great timing," Angell told them dryly.

"We got here as soon as we could," Flack informed her. "The roads are a fucking bastard. We had to stop by the lab to pick up Sam's kit. And we just heard there's ten more centimetres of white shit to come. Within the next day and a half. Can you believe that?"

"Never mind the great flood," Angell quipped. "Snow will do us in first. And you two just interrupted the most wonderfully relaxing day dream."

"Keep your wet dreams with Dr Hawkes away from work," Flack told her. "Last thing I want to hear about."

"For your information, I was fantasizing about the fabulous life I could have had. Instead of putting up with sarcastic bullshit from the likes of you."

"You wound me, Angell," Flack said. "So? What's going on? Where's the girl?"

She motioned for the two to follow her and lead the way to the left. "They admitted her overnight for observation," she explained. "She has contusions and lacerations to her forehead, a busted nose and a split lip. Slight concussion. And some bruising on her upper arms. ER docs told me no injuries to any other parts of the body."

"A slight concussion isn't usually something that would cause amnesia," Flack commented.

"Here's the thing. Our amnesiac? Not so amnesiac anymore. I went in there to ask her a few questions once she regained steady consciousness, and suddenly she remembers things. Her name, where she was…."

"Bits and pieces?" Flack asked. "Nothing unusual about that. It's how things usually come back to people."

"We're talking descriptive detail," Angell told him. "To me, that's just a little weird. How she could walk in here not knowing what happened to her an hour ago, yet all of a sudden all this info just comes rolling out of her mouth? Ask me, something is not quite right."

"Sexual assault?" Sam inquired.

"Well she's claiming that's what happened," Angell replied, pausing outside of the closed door to room 302. "But if you want my opinion, my trained eye tells me that there's nothing wrong with the girl except for the fact she's trying hard to hide something or protect somebody. She has no defensive wounds whatsoever, and she puts on this phoney crying jag when she starts talking about what happened."

"And what did happen?" Flack asked.

"All I got from her was that she was out clubbing with her boyfriend and his best friend with they stopped at the Bodega to buy some chocolate bars…"

"Chocolate bars?" Sam arched her eyebrow.

"That's what she told me. Anyhow, they stopped at the bodega when two men, wearing all black with black wool masks on came up to the car, tossed open the driver's side door and started shooting. No words were exchanged, nothing. They just opened fire on the boyfriend and his friend."

"How the hell did she not get hit?" Flack wondered aloud.

"That's what I asked her," Angell said. "Apparently she didn't like my tone because she told me to get the hell out and that she's not saying anymore until I bring her a cop who is, and I quote, less arrogant, obnoxious and pessimistic."

"So you called me?" Flack chuckled. "I tend to fit in all three of those categories."

"I told her that my partner tonight was a male and maybe she'd be more comfortable sticking with me," Angell said.

"And what did she say?" Sam asked.

"She said that it didn't bother her at all and that she hoped he was hot."

Flack arched his eyebrows.

"I do not make this stuff up," Angell said. "This girl has the brains equivalent to half an Anna Nicole Smith, I swear."

Flack smirked. "Hot? Good thing Detective McDreamy is here than, huh?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "Carmen called you that once and you go on and on about it. Let it go."

"Come on," Flack said, using his knuckles to rap on the wooden door in front of them. "I'm hot and you know it. You wouldn't have married me otherwise."

"You know what…." Sam began, only to be interrupted by a soft, pained female voice inquiring who was at the door.

"NYPD," Flack called. "You asked to speak to another detective."

"Just a moment please. I just want to freshen my face a little."

"Are you kidding me?" Flack directed his question at Angell, who just shrugged her shoulders as if to say, See what I mean?

"Miss Cormier," Sam knocked again "We're not worried about your personal appearance. We're here to talk to you about the incident this evening. If you need to make yourself decent, we'll give you a minute and than we're coming in whether you're ready or not."

There was silence for several long seconds. Than the slight rustling of sheets and the squeaking of the bed frame and finally Natasha Cormier telling them she was ready to receive visitors.

Flack looked down at Sam and raised his eyebrows. "She can't honestly be serious," he said.

Sam shrugged. "I've heard stranger."

He snorted and shook his head and pushed open the door, motioning for his wife to go in ahead of him.

"Have fun," Angell said, as the door closed behind them.

* * *

The private room was dimly lit. The only source of light coming from the above the bed florescent lamp. Flack made short work of the that and flicked on the main lights via the switch to the left of the door. Natalie Cormier, sitting up in the bed, clad in a bland hospital gown and the standard issue wool blanket tucked securely around her, gave a pained cry as the lights came on and covered her eyes with a forearm. The first thing that Samantha noted was the scratch marks along the young woman's forearms.

Over her years on the job, Sam had seen many a rape and a domestic assault case. Countless images of defensive wounds were burned into her memory. And from that brief glance, for the first time that night, Sam was sure of one thing.

Those marks were made strategically and deliberately. A ruse to foul the cops. The only things she wasn't sure of was who had orchestrated the plan and who had carried it out. And why.

As they lingered in the doorway, she saw the way Flack's eyes took in the young woman's arms and battered face. A slight frown on his face giving away that he was having the same sceptical thoughts, questioning the story that Natalie Cormier had given the ER staff and Angell. He cocked his head to the side and glanced down at Sam. A knowing look passing between the two.

"Miss Cormier," Flack began, as he stepped towards the bed.

"Please," she sniffled, head down and her chin tucked to her chest. She lightly dabbed at her swollen, bruised eyes with a wrinkled Kleenex. "Call me Natalie."

"Natalie, I'm Detective Flack," he continued. "And this is Detective Flack from the Crime Lab."

She looked up at the mention of the identical names. Her gaze shifting between the petite woman with dark hair to her waist and clad in an ankle length charcoal grey wool jacket, and the tall, dark, broad shouldered detective with blue eyes she could see from across the room.

"There's two of you?" she asked curiously. "Brother and sister?"

Flack smirked. It wasn't the first time that someone had assumed that, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. He wondered just how many stupid people there were in the city that couldn't make out the startling differences in physical appearance between him and his wife.

"We're related," he vaguely confirmed. "You asked the other detective for someone new to talk to about what happened tonight?"

Natalie nodded and sniffled noisily and wiped her eyes once more.

Phony bitch, Flack thought, as he moved closer to the bed and pulled his log book and pen from the inside pocket of his jacket. "We're going to start by asking you a few questions about what went down," he said, pulling a chair up to the side of the bed and sitting down.

"Do you mind if we tape record you?" Samantha asked, holding up a small hand held recorder she'd stashed in her pocket.

Natalie frowned. "What for?" she asked.

"In case either of us miss anything you say, we can always refer back to the tape," Sam explained, sitting her kit and camera back on the ground.

"I guess that's okay," Natalie said, pushing her long blond hair off of her neck. Giving both full view of a nasty looking bite mark on the side of her neck.

Neither Sam nor Flack jumped at the chance to question her about it. That would come later when Sam was photographing the young woman's injuries and performing the standard sexual assault kit.

Sam perched on the foot of the bed and laid the tape recorder on top of the bedside table and pressed record.

"Natalie, can you tell us what happened tonight?" Flack asked simply, pen poised and ready.

"We decided to go out and hit some bars, mostly in midtown Manhattan. Celebrating my twentieth birthday three days ago. We left my place in lower Manhattan shortly after nine."

"Whose we?" asked Flack.

"Me, my boyfriend and his best friend."

"Names?" inquired Flack.

"Lukas Tait and David Arruda," Natalie said, confirming the ID's of the two dead men.

"And which is which?" Flack asked.

She appeared confused.

"Which is your boyfriend?" he clarified.

"David," she replied, in a soft whisper, than hung her head once again and sobbed quietly.

Sam and Flack looked at each other across the bed. Their eyes silently communication their true feelings about the young woman in front of him. That she was seriously tricking herself into thinking she was a good actress, and that she had another thing coming if she thought they could put one over on them.

Flack sighed and reached for a handful of tissues in the box next to Natalie's arm. Might as well play along, he thought, tapping her shoulder lightly with the Kleenex.

"Thank you," she blubbered, and took the tissue and noisily blew her nose.

"We traced your final destination to Neon Green on Broadway and Sixteenth," Sam continued the questioning. "We found a bank statement in your boyfriend's wallet that indicated he withdrew a large sum of money approximately one hour before his death. When his belongings were searched at the Medical Examiner's office, there was only twenty dollars on his person. What happened to the money he withdrew?"

"He took it," Natalie responded in a hushed voice.

"He?" Flack asked.

"Whoever killed David and Lukas," she answered, the crying beginning once again.

Flack cleared his throat and glanced over at Sam, who was watching the battered woman before them with a somewhat bemused expression on her face.

"Let's talk about that," he said. "About what happened to David and Lukas. What took the three of you into the Bronx?"

"We were a little hungry and wanted to grab a snack," Natalie told him.

"Chocolate bars?" Sam asked.

She nodded.

"And this bodega in the Bronx is the only store in New York City that sells the certain brand of chocolate bar you want?" Flack inquired. "There were no stores in midtown or lower Manhattan that carry it? And what kind of candy is worth a half an hour drive?"

"You don't believe me, do you," Natalie stated sadly, her eyes flicking between the two detectives.

"No," Flack told her. "We don't. But I'll tell you what we do believe. We believe you're lying. The three of you didn't go into the Bronx looking to buy some hard to find chocolate bar. You went there to purchase drugs and that's what the five g's your dead boyfriend took out of his account was for."

"Tell us the truth, Natalie," Sam said gently.

The young woman sighed heavily and drew a shaky breath. "David and Lukas said they knew this guy from Chelsea that could score us some coke."

"Whose this guy?" Flack asked.

She shrugged. "They never said his name. We were suppose to meet him, in front of the bodega, and drive for a few blocks while the deal went down."

Flack nodded as he jotted down notes. "And what happened once the three of you got to this bodega?"

"We waited a few minutes and someone approached the car and knocked on the driver's side window. David rolled it down and that's when the guy started shooting."

"Describe this guy," Sam said.

"Tall, stocky build, wearing all black and a black ski mask."

"What about the second shooter?" Flack asked.

Natalie blinked. "Second shooter?"

"We know there was two shooters. Ballistics evidence and processing of the vehicle confirm it," Flack told her. "Where was the second guy?"

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head slowly. "Once the first guy started, I just screamed and put my hands over my face and ducked for cover in the backseat. Maybe he came to the passenger's side door and started shooting too. It was so loud and so scary…I guess I just freaked and blacked out."

"How'd you manage to get out of there in one piece?" asked Flack. "Hell of a lot of bullets flying around there. Such a cramped, small space, too. It's amazing you made it out of there alive."

"I guess I was just lucky," Natalie responded.

"Who got into the backseat with you?" Sam asked. "We know someone was back there and shot David and Lukas. Do you remember someone climbing in there and doing the deed?"

"Barely," replied Natalie.

"Well how about you tell us what you do remember," Flack said irritably. "Because we can't seem to wrap our heads around the notion that you managed to survive a complete and utter bloodbath. We have forensic evidence that suggests you were sitting up, in the back seat when the shootings occurred. And I bet you, when we grab that bag over there and Detective Flack and her buddies at the lab check the clothes you were wearing, blood spatter is going to prove our theory. Now you can't tell us that all of this went down and you don't remember a thing."

"How'd you get out of there, Natalie?" Sam pressed. "Did the shooters take you? Is that who beat you up? Raped you?"

"Someone grabbed me out of the backseat," she confirmed, crying quietly. "He grabbed me by my hair and dragged me out. Forced me to get into a car."

"What kind of car?" Flack asked.

"I didn't get a good look at it."

"What happened next?" asked Sam. "Where'd they take you and do all of this to you?"

"I don't know…some alleyway."

"Some alleyway?" Flack tried to control his frustration and temper. "What alleyway? In the Bronx? In Manhattan? Where? How long did they drive for?"

"I don't know…a half hour maybe."

"Maybe?" Flack arched an eyebrow.

"I was scared. I thought they were going to kill me. I wasn't paying attention to the time. They stopped in an alley and they raped me and beat me."

"So you're confirming that there was two separate shooters," Flack said. "A minute ago you were acting all surprised when I mentioned a second shooter and now you're telling me that the second guy was there all along. So what is it? Was there one? Two? Three? Maybe more?"

"There was two," Natalie confirmed.

"And both of them raped you and beat on you?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Did you fight back?" inquired Sam, casting a glance down at the young woman's perfectly manicured nails.

"Of course I did! No one wants that to happen to them!"

"How'd you manage to get away?" Flack asked.

"They let me go."

"Just like that?"

Natalie nodded.

"One more question," Flack said, writing feverishly. "Where'd the five grand go? Did the shooters take it?"

She nodded once again.

"You physically saw them take the money?" Sam pressed.

"No…I just assumed that's where it went…I mean, if you guys didn't find it that's the most logical explanation right?"

"Right now," Flack said, snapping his log book closed and capping his pen. "Nothing is logical about any of this."

Sam reached over and pressed stop on the recorder as Flack stood and slipped his book and pen into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. She got to her feet as well and picked up the small machine and handed it to her husband.

"That's all the questions we have for now," the detective told Natalie. "Detective Flack will photograph your injuries and perform a sexual assault exam that you consented to earlier."

"You can't do the exam?" Natalie asked. Almost hopefully.

This girl can not be for real, he thought. "Not my area of expertise. She's the scientist. I'm just the guy that tags along and asks all the questions. I'm going to step outside and…"

"You don't have to leave," the young woman told him. "I mean, I've never been shy. I don't mind if you stay."

"Department policy," he informed her. "I'm just going to have a quick word with my…" he almost said wife and stopped himself. "With Detective Flack."

"I'll be right back," Sam told Natalie, then followed Flack to the door.

* * *

They slipped out of the room and were joined by Angell as Flack closed the door softly behind him.

"She's lying," Flack announced.

"That was my first thought," Angell concurred.

"That is not a beating you give to someone to seriously maim them," he continued. "That's a beating you give someone to make it look good. To make it appear like the one that got the boots put to them had nothing to do with the bigger picture."

"There were no defensive wounds whatsoever," Sam added. "And if a woman is raped, they aren't wanting some man in the room while they're getting a sex assault kit done on them."

"That was just plain creepy and weird," Flack said. "And the majority of female rape victims want another female to talk too. Not a guy."

"I can test for GSR after I do the exam," Sam suggested. "But something tells me she's going to refuse it."

"Can you trick her?" Angell asked. "Make her think you're doing some crazy thing on her looking for DNA or something like that?"

Sam considered it. "I can try. But I'm telling you right now, she's not as dumb as she's letting on. She knows exactly what she's doing. She think she's fooling us. All we can do now is play along and hope she fucks up somewhere along the line."

"I'm going to go call the lab and see if DNA results are in," Angell said, and headed off, cell phone out and already dialling.

"I'm gonna call Adam and see if any of those tapes from the bar, or my red light cameras arrived," Flack told Sam. "Meet back here?"

She nodded. "That is one fucked up broad in there, Don," she said.

"Guess it's up to you to unfuck her," he told his wife, than frowned and chuckled. "I don't even think that's a word. And it came out sounding really perverted."

"I got the drift," Sam assured him.

"Good luck," he said, and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

"You could get fired for that," Sam told him with a grin, as she reached for the door handle.

"You gonna squeal on me?" he asked with a broad smile as he backed away.

"Maybe," she sing-songed, then slipped back into the hospital room.

* * *

His work in trace on hold for the night and a new batch of tasks ready and waiting under his nose, Adam had just settled down with a steaming cup of tea and a chocolate chip muffin in the AV room when his cell phone, resting on the work station behind him, rang noisily.

Mac had called him back in following a gruelling double shift that saw him pulling duty in both trace and AV. The lab tech had just dozed off on his couch, still fully clothed, with his iPod ear phones blaring music into his cranium when Gus shook him awake, a pissed off look on her face as she shoved the cordless phone at him.

She'd been in the middle of a dead sleep in the bedroom when the phone had startled her awake. She knew Adam was home. She'd heard him singing horrendously off key to Nickelback as he walked through the front door forty minutes earlier. And she could not understand, why, after eight rings, he wasn't answering the home telephone.

Falling asleep on the couch was nothing new from Adam. It annoyed Gus, because she'd become quite accustomed to having his warm, snugly body to cuddle up to in the middle of the night. And she'd gone out into the living room, in her slippers and house coat, the cordless from the bedroom in her hand and an agitated, impatient Mac Taylor on the other end of the call.

Half an hour later, Adam was trudging back into the lab when all he really wanted to do was sleep. Desperately. He'd made the mistake of babysitting his nephew a couple days when he was sick so that his sister and Flack could still go to work. Normally, spending time with Kieran was Adam's most favourite thing to do with his spare time. They went to the zoo and the library and the children's section at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Once Adam had even taken his little buddy to a comic book convention. Only poor Kieran had been so sick he'd been house bound. And now, unfortunately, some of the germs had been passed on to his adoring uncle.

Adam felt miserable. A raspy voice and congested sinuses made him sound even worse. He was suffering and all the cups of ginseng or enchincea tea in the world would not cure him. So why, on one of the stormiest, coldest nights of the winter, did he find it so hard to say no to Mac?

Because you need to money, Adam told himself, as he settled down with a stack of surveillance tapes that had arrived shortly before he'd walked in the door. He took a sip of his ginseng tea. Revelling in the warmth that flooded his scratchy, aching throat. He pulled a package of Halls from his pocket and popped one of the cherry flavoured lozenges into his mouth. Mac had given him a briefing on what had gone down earlier in the Bronx, and now he was prepared for the long haul.

And now his phone was ringing. Adam put a foot on the bottom of the desk and launched his chair across the small work area, snatched his phone and slid back to his original point of origin. All in one seemingly fluid motion.

He checked the call display. Frowning when the last name FLACK came up. He pressed talk and held the phone to his ear.

"Male or female?" he asked.

"That joke is getting a little old, Adam," Flack responded.

"I don't know…I always slightly chuckle when I say it," the lab tech said. "I mean, do you two actually realize the major confusion you caused around here when you decided to get married? It's been a year and people still can't get things straight. In fact, I was just thinking that…"

"Adam," Flack cut him off. "You're giving me a splitting head ache already, buddy."

"My sister is to blame for that," Adam corrected his brother in law. "I lived with her for nearly nineteen years. I know what a migraine she is with her constant cleaning and her nagging and her penchant for spraying rose scented room freshener and her…"

"Adam…"

"I remember this one time involving seventy dollars worth of lilac scented candles. She came to visit me when I was in residence at Columbia and started complaining about the smell of dirty feet in my dorm room so she went out and…"

"Adam!" Flack repeated more forcibly.

"…she ended up filling my entire room with the smell of lilacs. I am telling you the scent was enough to choke a horse. I practically needed a gas mask for three days just to survive in there. And it wasn't like it was old tennis shoes or dirty socks causing the smell. I had just forgotten about this science experiment I had stashed under the bed. A potato with all these wires stuck in it and sitting in a cup of water . It was actually a really cool experiment about trying to create an alternate power source. Only Sam got grossed out by the sight of this moldy potato and tossed it. Thanks to her I got a D on that project and I've never quite forgiven her for it because it was the only mark I ever got in my life that wasn't an A. Still pisses me off to this day to think about it. So anyway she…."

"Adam!" Flack nearly bellowed into the phone.

"Sorry…." the lab tech said sheepishly.

"You've told me that story three times since I've married your sister."

"It's one of my favourites. But I guess you're not calling to hear me reminisce about old times."

"No. But you're seriously causing me to question why I ever married into the Ross family," Flack said.

"Because you're madly, desperately and passionately in love with my sister?" Adam offered.

"Don't fool yourself, Ross," Flack joked. "I'm callin' to see if you got all my surveillance and ATM tapes."

"Yes and yes. I have them right beside me and I am just getting ready to settle down with them for a long winter's night. Is there something in particular you want me to start on first?"

"I want you to look at the footage from the red light cameras first. See if you can catch sight of a car speeding through any of the intersections and if you can get me a plate number."

"Your wish is my command…"

"And then I want you to call over to the Lucky Day bodega in the Bronx and get the manager to cough up his security tapes. I saw a camera in there when I first talked to him. Hopefully it has enough range on it to catch the front of the store."

"Sounds good," Adam said. "I'll call you if I find anything that sticks out. What about the ATM tape?"

Flack was silent for a few seconds as he contemplated the question. "Do me a favour?" he asked.

"I will try my best."

"Did you dust the vic's wallet or bank card?"

"Danny did," Adam responded. "And he found two sets of prints. One belonging to the victim we were able to match from the prints Sid took down in autopsy, and a set belonging to an unknown."

"Hmmm…"

"What are you thinking?" Adam asked curiously, as he popped the tape from the first set of red light camera's into the computer.

"I'm going to get some elimination prints off of Natalie Cormier. If I get Sam to take a picture of them, she can send the image through her phone can't she?"

"Absolutely," Adam responded.

"If she sends the image, would you be able to compare them to the unknowns from the wallet?"

"I would. It's not a hundred percent accurate doing it that way, but if there's strong ridge detail I should be able to match them up. If there's something to be matched."

"I'll get back to you in a few," Flack told his brother in law and hung up.

Adam pressed end and sat his phone on the desk top. He brought his hands together and cracked his fingers noisily and then hit enter on the keyboard in front of him to bring up the footage on the tapes. "I'll be waiting," he said in response to the detective's farewell, and then prepared himself for a long, sleepless night.

* * *

"It must be weird to work with your brother," Natalie commented, as she adjusted her hospital gown.

Sam had just finished with photographing the girl's various injuries. She jotted notes down in her memo book. Concentrating more on what she didn't see than what was actually there. The extent of bruising and damage did not match up to Natalie's tale of being kidnapped forcibly, beaten savagely and sexually assaulted. There were no abrasions of lacerations below the neck. Her doctor's report listed no broken bones or fractures. She had little more than a fractured nose and a slight contusion to her forehead and a split lip. There was no hair ripped from the scalp. That was the most common occurrence of being dragged forcibly by your hair.

She had doubted the story the young woman told from the second she'd opened her mouth. And now all of the pieces were starting to fall into place.

"He's not my brother," Sam said, setting her memo book down on the bedside table. "He's my husband."

"Really?" Natalie's eyes widened at the revelation. "You two don't act like husband and wife."

"Strictly professional while on the job," Sam told her. She went to her kit sitting on the chair Flack had vacated and snapped it open. "If you can lie on your back, pull your gown to your waist and lie with your legs wide and bent at the knee."

"I've been through this before," Natalie said, as she did as she was asked.

"You've had a sexual assault exam before?" Sam asked, slightly surprised, slipping a pair of gloves onto her hands.

"Not exactly. But I had an abortion once and this is how you are when they do it."

Sam didn't respond. She had her own personal views on abortion. As a Roman Catholic, she had been brought up to believe that ending any life was a mortal sin. As a grown woman who'd developed beliefs and morals of her own, she realized it was essentially every woman's choice what they wanted to do with their bodies. She'd never have an abortion, but she'd known other people who had. And while she understood having the procedure preformed if there was a life or death situation facing the mother or the child, the thought of careless women using abortion as form of birth control made her sick to her stomach.

"Have you?" Natalie asked, as the CSI gathered up the supplies she'd need to perform the exam.

"Have I what?" Sam responded with a question of her own.

"Ever had an abortion?"

"I've never gotten myself into the situation where I've needed one," Sam replied. "That's what they make condoms and the pill for. So you can avoid ever having to do something like that."

"Do you have children?" Natalie asked curiously.

"One," Sam replied, as she settled down on the second chair that she had placed at the foot of the bed.

"Boy or girl?"

"Boy," she said. "Now if any time you feel uncomfortable and want me to stop, just say the word. Okay?"

"How old is your little boy?" Natalie asked, ignoring the question.

"Eleven months on the twenty-eighth," Sam opened up the packages of swabs and set to work.

The first thing she noticed was that there was no bruising to the inner thighs, or severe vaginal tearing, two things that always accompanied a rape. She said nothing and continued on, the nagging doubt and the distaste for the woman before her growing stronger with each passing second.

"What's his name?" Natalie asked.

"Kieran."

"That's unusual."

"It's Irish. It means small and black or dark. It's fitting for him. Although he's proving the small part wrong with each passing day."

"You want other kids?"

"Some day," she said, dropping the used swabs into their packages and sealing them shut and labelling them with a Sharpie marker. "That's it," she announced. "You can put your gown down and sit up. There's just a couple more things that I need to do."

She got up and went to deposit the swabs in her kit and discard her gloves as the young woman straightened herself out. She grabbed a tiny evidence enveloped and a disposable sharp, wooden instrument used for collecting DNA and trace from under the fingernails. Although Sam highly doubted she'd find anything. Her eyes fell on the GSR testing solution and cotton pads and she thought of what Angell had suggested. Outfoxing the fox to get the answers and the proof they needed. She grabbed what she would need and returned to the bed.

"Hands out, palms up, please," she said politely.

"You're looking for skin and what not under my nails," Natalie commented, watching as the older woman carefully, and thoroughly scared under her impeccably manicured nails.

"You watch a lot of crime shows?" Sam inquired, trying to hide a smirk as she found exactly what she suspected she would. Absolutely nothing. Except for a small black fibre caught under the index finger on the left hand. However she pretended to scrap contents from the stick into the envelope and then sealed it securely.

Natalie shrugged. "Sometimes…but I don't really pay attention to the crimes. I just watch it for the eye candy."

Sam smiled. "That's solely the reason I watch them, too. There's some pretty hot looking guys on those shows. I wish I could say that police work is like that in real life, but the NYPD seems few and far between as far eye candy goes."

"You seemed to manage to scoop up a pretty hot guy," Natalie commented.

"I'm not complaining," Sam said, and dropped the swab cartons into her kit. "I just want to do one more test," she said. "Hands again?"

Natalie handed them out, then watched, a frown on her face, as the petite brunette cop ran a soft cotton pad over one hand, than a fresh pad along the other.

Sam picked up the small spray bottle sitting on the bed and squirted some solution onto one pad, and then the other.

Nothing.

"That's it," Sam told the young woman, and gathered all of her supplies and packed them back into her kit.

"Do you have any suspects?" Natalie asked curiously.

"We have some ideas," Sam told her, and gathered up the brown paper bag containing the young woman's clothing that sat on the window ledge.

A knock came to the door and Sam went to it and unlocked it and poked her head out.

"A word?" Flack inquired.

Sam packed up her kit and stepped out into the hall, closing the door softly behind her.

"Well?" Flack asked quietly.

"She wasn't raped," Sam replied a matter of factly, setting her kit on the ground.

"You sure?"

"I've done a lot of these exams, Donnie, and she was not raped. There's evidence of sexual intercourse. Maybe some rough sex involved, but she was not raped. And she's had sex very recently."

"How recently?"

"My best guess is between two to five hours. I took some DNA swabs. If there's any sperm to be found, testing can tell us how recent the deposit was made."

"But not rape?"

"I can say with a hundred percent certainty that she was not raped. What about Adam? Did he get anything off the tapes?"

"He's just starting them now. That girl is involved Sam. I don't know to what extent. I don't know if she had anything to do with the actual shootings, but she damn well knows who did. You manage to test for GSR?"

"It was negative. Both hands."

"Shit," Flack muttered and shook his head.

"That doesn't prove anything. I found a small black fibre that could have come from her wearing gloves. When I get it to trace, they'll be able to determine what kind of fibre it actually is. And if she was wearing gloves, that would explain no GSR."

He sighed and laid his hand on the frame of the door and closed his eyes briefly. He was tired and weary. His body ached from illness.

"Maybe you should just hand this case over to Angell," Sam suggested gently, laying her hand alongside one of her husband's flushed cheeks.

"I'm fine," he lied, opening his eyes.

"You're sick, Donnie. Really, really sick. You should go home and get some rest. I'll even make you some chicken noodle soup when I get in. Give you lots and lots of TLC."

He managed a smile. "She's involved, Sammie."

"I know that and you know that and Angell knows that. But we don't have proof. And we need that proof."

"What I need is her prints," Flack said. "Adam told me that Danny found two sets of prints on David Arruda's bank card. The vic's and an unknown. And I would bet my life that they belong to that lying, conniving little bitch."

"I doubt she's going to go along with just coughing up her prints," Sam told him. "She's smart. And she's especially smart at playing the dumb bimbo card."

"It doesn't hurt to ask," Flack said.

"And if she refuses?"

"We trick her. If she says no, offer her a glass of water. Or get her to sign her name on something. Take the prints off of her pen."

"You're asking me to fool a suspect in order to get evidence?"

"That's exactly what I am asking you," Flack said.

Sam smiled. "I love you," she told him.

He grinned, briefly touched his lips to her forehead and reached for the handle on the door. "Let's get to it," he said, and pushed his way into the room.

* * *

"You need what?" Natalie asked, her eyes narrowed as she looked between the two detectives.

"Elimination prints," Sam replied.

"Why?"

"So we can rule out that you had anything to do with what happened to your boyfriend and his buddy," Flack told her.

"I had nothing to do with it," Natalie declared, and crossed her arms over her chest.

"We know that," Sam said calmly. "But we need to prove it to our bosses and the court. And the only way we can do that is if we get your prints and compare them to ones pulled from the SUV. If they don't match up, then you'll be home free and never have to worry about taking heat for what went down."

"My fingerprints are probably all over that SUV," Natalie said. "Of course you're going to find them."

"You think you would want to prove to everyone that you had nothing to do with your boyfriend's untimely, gruesome demise," Flack told her.

"I already told you I had nothing to do with it," she snapped at him.

"Okay, we get that," Flack said, remaining calm. "But wouldn't you love to be scratched off the list as a potential suspect? We're not the only two working on this case, and just us saying you're innocent isn't going to fly with our co-workers or with the DA. So for your own good, let us take your prints so we run it against the others and let you off the hook."

"I'm not giving you anything!" Natalie spat at him. "I've given you two enough! I've answered all your questions and let you poke and prod at me! For my own good is for the two of you to get the hell out of my room and leave me alone!"

"Whoa…" Flack said, holding his hands out in self defence. "There's no need to get hostile with us, Natalie. We're just asking for your fingerprints. Not a limb or a kidney."

"I'm tired," she informed him, her eyes blazing. "I'm tired and I don't want to talk about what happened any more. I just want to get some rest. Please leave."

"Natalie," Sam tried, her voice soft as she laid her hand on the young woman's shoulder. "It really is for the best. Because the more you fight us on it, the less innocent you look. You realize that don't you?"

"Please just leave me alone," the young woman begged, tears welling in her eyes.

"We're sorry to have upset you," Flack said, as he backed towards the door.

"Is there anything you need, Natalie?" Sam asked, smoothing the young woman's hair away from her face. Like a mother comforting her child. "Some tissues? A glass of water?"

"Some water would be nice," she responded. "And could you get him," she glared over at Flack. "The hell out of my room."

"I'll wait outside," Flack told his wife, as she passed by him on her way to the small private bathroom to fill a small plastic cup with cold tap water.

He paused in the doorway. Looking into the bathroom.

Sam glanced up and their eyes met in the mirror. She held the cup up and gave him a thumbs up sign.

He smiled and slipped from the room.

Sam shut off the tap and journeyed back into the room. Natalie was already sitting up in bed, waiting. And while the young woman sipped slowly, Sam took the opportunity to dim the lights for her once again and fix the mound of pillows behind her.

"Thank you," Natalie said, settling back in bed and holding out the cup.

"Take care," Sam told her, sticking two fingers in the cup, trying to avoid getting her prints on it as much as possible.

"Will you let me know when you catch whoever did this to me and David and Lukas?" Natalie asked, as she turned over in bed, so her back was facing the CSI.

"You'll be one of the first to find out," Sam assured her and left the room.

* * *

Flack was waiting, an open evidence bag in his hands.

Sam held up the cup, a victorious smile on her face.

"Very nice," Flack said in appreciation. "I called Adam. I was going to get you to send over an image of the prints to him for comparison, but seeing as you managed to score the whole cup, we'll just take it in and have it dusted."

"And the tapes?" Sam asked, buttoning her winter coat.

"He said the only images he got of a car speeding away from the scene, is blurred and distorted, mostly from snow on the camera lens. Most he could tell me was that it was a black four door."

Sam sighed and took the evidence bag from him. "Not much to go on," she said, crouching down to set the bagged cup into her kit before snapping it closed and standing up once again.

"Nature of the beast," Flack said.

"The beast is a pain in the ass," she declared. "I hate it. All the pain and suffering and bullshit is so not worth it."

Smiling, he reached out and tapped a finger against the tip of her tiny nose. "Come on, you know you love your job. And it loves you. It's the one thing that keeps you sane. Isn't it, Freckles?"

She frowned. "Watch it, Flack. Or I'll break your finger next."

"Thought you liked it when I came up with cute little nicknames for you," he said, picking up her kit in one hand, and escorting her down the hall with his other hand on her shoulder. "I mean, Thumbelina, Rapunzel, Freckles…"

"You're pushing it, Don." she said. "Sometimes you're a total pain in my ass."

"You'd miss me if I was gone," he told her confidently, as she reached out to press the button for the elevator.

"That was my line if I do remember correctly," Sam said. "I used that on you once."

"Couple times actually," he informed her. "Once while we were dating and another time just after we got married. And you know what? I would miss you if you weren't around anymore. I mean, who would do my laundry and pick up after me and cook my meals?"

"You're an ass," Sam told him.

He grinned and pulled her into him, sneaking a kiss to her temple. "Would you miss me?" he asked. "If one morning you suddenly woke up and I was gone?"

"You really have to ask me that?"

"Sometimes," he admitted.

She frowned.

"And maybe I just like hearing the words coming out of your mouth."

"You like having your ego stroked is what you really mean."

"Among other things," he laughed, and jumped to avoid an elbow to his stomach.

"I seriously hope I don't ever make you feel like I'd be happy if you were gone," Sam said, offended by the suggestion.

"Sometimes I get the impression you're life would be a lot less stressful," he told her.

"It would be," she agreed. "But it would also be lonely and empty. And I don't ever want to feel that way."

"You know," he said, as the elevator arrived and he motioned for her to go ahead of him. "I'm pretty good at giving people things so their less bored and not so lonely."

"Really?" Sam asked, pressing the button for the underground parking. "And what things are those?"

Flack thought about it. Then looked at her with a huge smirk on his face. "You know how every time we seem to step into an elevator together you seem to get a litte…what's the word…fiesty?"

"What exactly are you hinting at?" Sam asked.

"Nothing. I was just merely saying how when we get into elevators together somehow the stop button gets pushed."

Sam grinned. "God I hate when that happens."

They both started straight ahead.

Flack coughed to break the silence and nudged her with his elbow.

"What?" Sam asked.

He nodded in the direction of the stop button and made as if to press it.

"Don't even think about it," Sam said, and grabbed his hand and yanked it away from the control panel. She went to drop his hand but he held on tight and smiled at her.

"What now?" she asked.

"I can't smile at you or hold your hand?"

"We're an old married couple, remember? We don't smile at each other or hold hands."

"My mistake," he said with a chuckle. But didn't let go of her hand.

"You're on way too much cold medication," Sam said. "You're going all lovey dovey and sappy on me at work."

"Can I help it if I am in love with my wife?"

"I am so getting you off of that Tylenol Cold and Flu," Sam declared.

The elevator arrived at the underground lot and Sam went to step off. Only to have her husband catch her by the arm and pull her back inside for a long, steamy, toe curling kiss.

"That is exactly why Mac doesn't like us working together," Sam told him, as he hit the open door button and they stepped off.

"I love you, Freckles," he said.

She glared at him and stomped off towards the waiting unmarked squad car.

He chuckled and do the only thing he could.

Follow dutifully behind.

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! And even the lurkers! Although dropping a small line would be appreciated!!**

**Thanks for my reviewers last chapter:**

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	19. Living Daylight

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN**

**Living Daylight**

"As I walk along these streets  
I see a man that walks alone  
Distant echo of peoples feet  
He has no place to call his own  
A shot rings out from a roof over head  
A crack head asks for change nearby  
An old man lies in an alleyway dead  
A little girl lost just stands there and cries  
What would you do, if it was you  
Would you take everything for granted like you do?  
A boy just 13 on the corner for sale  
Swallows his pride for another hit  
Overpopulation there's no room in jail  
But most of you don't give a shit  
That your daughters are porno stars  
and Your sons sell death to kids  
You're so lost in your little worlds  
Your little worlds you'll never fix."  
-Open Your Eyes, Staind

**A/N: THE CRIME CONTINUES…**

Kieran's bubbly, contagious giggling drifting out into the hallway of the apartment building. Along with the Christmas carols playing on the kitchen radio and the sound of his grandmother's soft voice and the rattling of dishes as she prepared breakfast. It was a massive relief to Flack, as he toed off his shoes by the side of the door, to hear his son doing something else other than whining and crying. Those seemed to be the only forms of communication he'd been indulging in lately and it had quickly become aggravating. It wasn't Kieran's fault of course. The kid couldn't talk and couldn't just come right out and say hey, I feel like shit here. Only way he could get his point across was excessive wailing and the yanking at his ears and that nerve grating whining he seemed to be such a huge fan of.

Flack himself felt like a first class bastard for not being able to handle his son's crabby moods better. His temper flared easily and there were many times he just dropped Kieran in his crib and shut the door to block out the screaming just so he could walk into the other room and gather himself before he snapped. And other times when he'd just plop the kid in Sam's lap and say 'do something with your son' and walk out for some fresh air and to save his sanity.

So that giggling and the babbling were music to Flack's ears as he slipped the key into the lock and unlocked the door and let himself into the apartment. Dropping his keys on the hall table and hanging his winter coat in the hall closet before journeying into the kitchen.

"DAH-DEEEEE!" Kieran shrieked in pure joy and happiness at the familiar face that suddenly appeared in the room. He clapped his little hands together and blew kisses and commenced kicking and rocking so energetically that he nearly moved the high chair, breaks on, across the linoleum floor.

"You're home early," Patricia said, accepting a kiss on the cheek from her oldest son as she prepared French Toast. "When Samantha called earlier I got the impression you two wouldn't be home for quite a while."

"I thought I'd pop in to see if he's sent you to the nut house yet," Flack commented, slipping out of his suit jacket and draping it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

He unbuttoned the cuffs on his shirt and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. The first rule to interacting with Kieran was to accept the fact that things would get messy. And judging by what looked like chocolate pudding smeared across his son's face, Flack wasn't taking any chances.

"Dah-dee," Kieran gushed, beaming brightly, showing off the dimples in his cheeks. Turning his messy face up for a kiss.

Flack pressed his lips to the top of his son's head. "Can't kiss ya, sorry, buddy. Daddy's sick."

"And you'll get sicker if you don't take some time off and get some more rest," Patricia informed him.

"You're starting to sound like my wife," he complained. "I took her well meaning advice and doped myself up on Tylenol Cold and Flu. Whatever I have will break soon."

"Before or after it turns into pneumonia?" his mother asked.

Flack ignored her. "What's your grandma been feeding you?" he asked his son, grabbing a wipe from the travel package on the table and cleaning off Kieran's face. "You shoving chocolate into him this early, grandma?"

"My lips are sealed."

"Good thing I came home and not Sam. She sees you feeding him chocolate pudding this early in the morning and she's having a meltdown. And who eats pudding at this time of the day?"

"It's what he wanted," Patricia reasoned.

"And he just happened to learn how to say chocolate pudding over night?" Flack teased. He pulled a chair over and sat down in front of the high chair. "I think you grandma just likes to spoil you and doesn't know how to say no to you," he said to Kieran, running a hand over his son's recently shorn hair.

"It's a grandmother's right to spoil their grandchildren," Patricia declared, pouring a cup of coffee from the fresh pot she brewed herself and setting it down on the table where he could reach it. "And can I help it if he's my favourite? He's my baby's baby."

"Your baby? Chris is the youngest, remember?"

"No matter. You were my first. I went through sheer hell to get you into this world, Donnie. And regardless if you're a married man with your own children or if your thirty or sixty or eighty, you'll always be my baby," she kissed his cheek softly and smiled and went back to the stove.

"Dah-dee," Kieran said and picked up a frosted Cheerio. Several were scattered on the high chair tray. Dry Cheerios, of any kind, being his favourite snack. "Dis," the baby held the tiny piece of cereal out to his father.

"No thanks, buddy," Flack said. "You eat it. It's yours."

"Dis!" Kieran insisted.

"I don't want it," Flack told him gently. "You eat it."

"DIS!!" Kieran bellowed, thrusting his hand out as far as he could.

"Hey!" Flack spoke sternly. "Enough! No attitude! You're starting to sound like your mother!"

Kieran's eyes narrowed and he frowned and stared long and hard at his father.

Flack just stared back. Eyebrows arched, a 'don't push your luck, kid' look on his face. A battle of the wills ensuing between father and son. Kieran was an expert at stare downs. He had his mother's strong will and determination. And both of his parents' unbelievable stubbornness. And despite his strong objection to his son ever getting into police work, Flack could see the little guy across the table in interrogation one day, staring down the perps. And winning.

"For God sakes, Donnie," Patricia complained, cutting a piece of French toast into small manageable pieces and setting them on Kieran's favourite plastic Baby Einstein plate. Which she than sat in the fridge to cool the food down. "Just eat the damn Cheerio."

"I can't let him win, mom. I can't give in. I do it now, he's going to be walking all over me when he's a teenager."

"That's just ridiculous," his mother snorted. "Who told you that?"

"That parenting expert slash social worker Sam and I went to see a because Kieran was having those rocking and biting and pulling his own hair issues. He said that Kieran was just a baby and already proving he ran the house."

"What a load of crap," Patricia declared. "He's a baby. He's totally dependant on his parents. He isn't potty trained so he needs you to change his diapers, he still needs to be fed if he's eating something that needs a fork or a spoon, he can't communicate his wants and needs verbally. Of course he somewhat runs the house. So give me, and him, a break and eat the cheerio."

Flack sighed.

Kieran had one eyebrow arched and his head cocked to the side. As if thinking, I've got you where I want you, old man. Now show me I'm the king of this castle.

Flack reluctantly took the Cheerio and popped it into his mouth.

Kieran offered up a smile and a wink.

"Just like your mother," Flack mumbled.

"Mom-mee," Kieran chirped, and picked up his sippy cup and took a swig of the milk inside.

"Doesn't he remind you of Sam?" Flack asked his mother.

"In some respects," she replied, taking Kieran's breakfast from the fridge and setting it down in front of him. "He has a lot of her in him. He's bubbly and sociable and laughs and smiles a lot. Just like his mother. But in other ways he's just like you. He's temperamental and stubborn as all hell. And the mouth on him," she shook her head. "Just like you as baby. All your life actually."

Flack grinned and sipped his coffee. "I think he gets most of his attitude from his mother. Trust me, she's full of attitude and bitchiness when she wants to be. Other times, she's sweet and demure and lovable. And he's just like it."

"In all fairness, he's a mix of both of you," Patricia said, fixing her own plate of food. "But looks wise…he's all you, Donnie."

Flack just smiled and nodded. Keeping a close eye on Kieran as he scooped up pieces of the French toast and popped them into his mouth.

"Hungry?" she asked. "I can make you some."

"Sam and I ate a couple of hours ago," he replied. "Thanks, though, mom. And I'm sorry she had to call you so late last night."

"It was no problem," Patricia assured her son. "I'm just glad I'm close enough by that I can help on short notice. And see him as much as I do. You know he's my precious little man, Donnie."

"I know, mom. You tell me and Sam every day."

"And I will keep telling you. I love your niece and nephew and you know that. But Kieran…" she sighed and smiled across the table at her grandson. "He's extra special to me. Holds a bigger piece of my heart. Probably because he does remind me so much of you. And because I honestly never thought I'd see the day when you got married and had children of your own."

"That makes two of us," Flack said. "And I know you and dad had all but given up hope of me giving you guys grand kids and a daughter in law."

"Not everyone is meant to be married. We just figured you weren't the type to want a steady commitment and a wife and children."

"It wasn't that I wasn't the type," he told her. "I just…I don't know. I wasn't mature enough I guess and the women I was meeting and dating, if you can call it dating, just weren't the type you bring home to mom and dad and pledge forever to. To be honest, I don't even think I was mature enough for all of that when I first met Sam. I mean, I knew pretty fast into it that I wanted to marry her, but I'd never intended on things as moving as quick as they did. A baby on the way and married by the end of the year."

"I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason," Patricia told him. "And that adorable, innocent sweet creature right there is that reason. He wouldn't be here if you hadn't have met Sam that day and made the life choices you did."

Flack nodded slowly. "I never thought of it that way," he said.

"And I know you haven't always had the best relationship with your father and when you told us that day he…"

"I don't want to talk about that, mom. That's all water under the bridge now."

"Just hear me out. I know your father was a bastard to you all of your life and I should have done more to protect you and your brother, but Kieran was what brought the two of you back into each others lives. Your father adores him. His grandson means the world to him."

"I know," Flack said. "And I know being around Kieran and spending time with him is his way of attempting to make up for things in the past. I know all of that mom. But it doesn't change what happened when I was kid or even as I got older. I mean, I can forgive him. But I'll never forget."

"No one ever said you even had to forgive him," she told her son. "But isn't it nice to know that he's in your son's life in ways he was never in yours?"

"It is…absolutely. But how'd we ever get onto talking about dad in the first place?"

"Because you remind me so much of him."

Flack sighed heavily.

"I don't mean in name and looks and disposition. I mean in the way you are with your son. When you were this age…your father was over the moon to have a name sake. He used to get on his knees every night when I was pregnant with you and beg and plead to have a son. It was the be all and end all as far as he was concerned. And when you were born…he was so good with you, Donnie. He'd change diapers and rock you and feed you and care for you when you were sick and I thought I was going mad. And when you got to the age Kieran is now, the two of you would always sit together every morning for breakfast. It was the special time together that you're father craved so much. And you're what got him through many a long, trying day."

Flack didn't have the heart to add, "Until he alcohol became his best friend." Instead he kept his mouth shut and sipped his coffee and kept a close, watchful eye on his son.

"There was a point in time that you're father did love you," Patricia said.

"I don't want to talk about me and dad," Flack told her, suddenly feeling emotional over the image of his old man caring for him as a baby and being clean and sober enough to be a decent human being. There was still a lot of pain there. Pain and anger and bitterness. He wondered if it would ever go away completely.

"You're a good man, Donnie," his mother told him. "You're a great husband and a wonderful father and you should be proud of yourself. Because in the grand scheme of things, when it's your time to go, you're not going to be judged by what kind of cop you were. The measure of a man is the lives he touched and the people he loves and those who love him. And you're got an enormous supply of both."

"It's hard, mom," he admitted. "Balancing everything. Finding time for Sam and Kieran. I'm not home as much as I should be and sometimes I think I could be doing a hell of a lot more for both of them. Yet she never asks for more. She never asks for things she knows I can't give."

"Because she loves you," Patricia said. "No matter what. And I know for a fact that you adore her."

He smiled and nodded. "She's got me right where she wants me," he admitted. "Wrapped around her little finger. And you know what? I wouldn't change it for anything in the world. This is my safe place. Being home with her and Kieran and…"

He was interrupted by Kieran flinging a piece of soggy French toast across the room and directly into his grandmother's coffee cup. That broke the seriousness and the heaviness in the room and both adults laughed and Flack reached out to run a hand over his son's hair.

He wasn't the perfect father in the world. He was the first to admit it. But when his son smiled brightly and his blue eyes danced and his nose crinkled, Flack knew that creating that life in front of him was the smartest, and most perfect, thing he had ever done.

* * *

Danny Messer slept soundly. His glasses pushed up onto the top of his head as he sprawled out on the cramped couch in the crime lab's bullpen area. He'd gone in there two hours before to simply sit down with a coffee and rest his eyes. It had been quarter after five in the morning when he and Carmen had finally completed the processing of David Arruda's BMW. They had inspected the thing front to back and top to bottom. Pulling out seats and ripping them open and tearing open door panels and the floor boards in a frenzied search to locate either the five grand or the narcotics they had suspected were bought with it. Flack had called to say that Natalie Cormier said no drug deal had gone down and that the shooters had run off with the green. Than followed that up with the declaration that the girl was a complete nut case and most certainly full of shit from start to finish.

On with the search, Danny had said after he'd hung up the phone. It had been a valiant effort but it had been futile. There was no sign of the cash or even the slightest hint that drugs of any kind had been either done, or stashed in the car. So armed with prints to be run and trace samples of what Danny suspected was saliva on both the inside and outside of the driver's side window and confirmed GSR on the back of both the driver and passenger seats, he and Carmen had headed upstairs to change and to begin the long haul of running the appropriate forensic tests. He'd popped his various samples into the GC/MS and ran the blood and saliva down to DNA. Running into Sam who had just returned from the hospital with what she had collected from Natalie's rape kit.

He hadn't been the least bit surprised when Sam had told him that there was no way that Natalie had been sexually assaulted. Or that Flack had come to the conclusion that the beating the young woman had received was nothing more than a ruse to throw the cops off of the true story. From what little play by play of the interview Flack had given him over the phone, Danny had already come to the conclusion that the supposed victim was more than likely behind the horrific deaths of her boyfriend and best friend. And unfortunately, it was a scenario Danny had heard many times before and knew he would hear again.

So while Carmen worked in the lay out room looking at Natalie's clothes and their samples were being processed, Danny had taken the opportunity to take a little bit of a break. He needed to get some fuel in the tank and get off his feet and close his eyes for a few minutes. Only a few had turned into a hundred and twenty. And if it wasn't for Carmen running into the room and slapping him off the head with a case folder, he most likely would have kept right on sleeping.

"Rise and shine sleepy head," Carmen chirped. "We've got results."

"What?" Danny asked, in a complete daze from being woken up so suddenly.

He opened his eyes and blinked several times, looking around the room and getting his bearings and wits about him. He had forgotten where he was. In his state of exhaustion and comfort, his mind had tricked himself into thinking he was warm and snug in his own bed. He groaned in disappointment when he realized he was actually at work and that he'd be unable to complete the rather lovely siesta he'd been in the middle of.

"Messer!" Carmen bellowed from above him.

He startled and sprang up into a sitting position. "Alright…alright…keep your pants on… I'm awake already…what time is it?"

"Quarter to eight. We got results," Carmen shoved the folder in his hands.

"For what?" he asked, yawning noisily as he fumbled with the glasses on his head. "GC/MS?"

"DNA."

"Get outta here," Danny said, slipping his glasses onto his face. "Hell must have frozen over to get them back this soon. Quickest I've seen ever is six hours. And that's pushing it."

"Mac lit a fire under their ass to get them ASAP."

"Let's see what we got here," Danny flipped open the folder. "This is the results from Natalie's rape kit? Why you handing this to me? This is Sam's baby."

"Because there was two separate sperm samples collected during the exam," Carmen explained. "One as you can see is from her boyfriend, David Arruda. Which isn't surprising. But the second sample is newer than the first. David's was degraded. DNA estimated the time of the deposit was between at least ten hours ago."

Danny checked his watch. "That puts her having sex with her boyfriend an hour and a half before the call to nine one one went through. When did they say the second was made?"

"Roughly four to six hours."

"Well we know she was just making her way into the ER about four and a bit ago," Danny said. "So it's safe to assume that she had sex somewhere around twelve thirty, one-ish."

"But Sam is a hundred percent certain that Natalie wasn't murdered."

"So she had consensual, albeit rough sex with one of the shooters," Danny concluded.

"Exactly!" Carmen exclaimed. "And here's the best part…"

"I hate how you do that to me. Tease me. Hold out on me like that."

Carmen opened the folder in her hands. "The donor for that sample isn't in CODIS. But his father is."

"Getting warmer," Danny said. "What's his old man in the system for?"

Carmen smiled broadly and held the folder out for Danny to read the rap sheet.

"Brooklyn know about this?" Danny inquired, already rising to his feet.

"Not yet."

He grinned and snatched the file out of her hands. "Race ya to ballistics," he said, and took off for the door.

"Grow up, Messer!" Carmen called after him. Than took the opportunity to sit and rest her own eyes.

* * *

"Don't shoot!" Danny cried in way of greeting as he hurried into ballistics, where Samantha, her sweater long gone and now wearing a simple black t-shirt, was standing on a step stool and using a long handled net to fish a bullet from the firing tank.

"You've already missed all the fun," Sam told him, scooping up her recently fired bullet and jumping down from the stool. "Took me a bit but I just found a match for the first kind of bullet pulled from our victim's bodies. I was able to determine first off, that there were two separate guns used in the shootings. There were nine millimetres and tens taken from both vics and the SUV."

Danny walked over to the work station where she had a handgun from the ballistics locker sitting, along with a round she had test fired and a bullet from the crime scene. "Whose this bad boy here?" he asked, nodding down at the small black and metallic semi automatic weapon.

"It's a SIG-Sauer Pro SP 2009," she replied, carrying a small handgun and her retrieved bullet over to the table, both of which she sat down alongside evidence taken from the scene.

"Never heard of that one. Give me the tutorial, Brooklyn. I know how much it makes you all warm and tingly to shoot things and talk shop."

"It's a semi-automatic," she told him, picking it up and turning it over in her tiny hands. "I haven't seen too many of them, but I did speak at a conference in San Francisco once when I worked for Phoenix PD and the top ballistics expert in the country was there and had one of these on display. It was made in 1998 and is originally from Germany and Switzerland. Not a common weapon in North America to say the least. Mostly it's just collectors with these things."

"Looks like a nine," Danny commented.

"It is. But you can use cartridges for both a forty calibre Smith and Wesson and three fifty seven SIG in them. Detachable magazine holds fifteen rounds for a nine millimetre, and twelve rounds for the others."

"It's a small but nasty bastard," Danny concluded. "And the second?"

"Just checking right now…" Sam said, as she moved to a microscope to compare her test round to the second type of bullet pulled from the victims. "I've test fired seven different weapons already…I am hoping this is a match or I am all out of options. And something tells me that that isn't what Mac wants to hear right about now."

"So where's the hubby?" Danny asked, sitting down on the stool next to her. "Crawl away to die somewhere?"

"He went home to check on Kieran and his mom," Sam replied, peering into the microscope and adjusting the lens. "You know, in case Kieran drove her to either drink or jump off the balcony."

"Come on, he's not that bad."

"Oh yes…he is," Sam said. "Okay…here we go…" she set the two bullets side by side and stepped back from the microscope and pressed enter on the computer keyboard in front of her. "Keep your fingers crossed."

"Don't you just love not having to do the actual work anymore?" Danny asked, as he sat down on the stool alongside of where she stood. "Just put it in there and let the computer go to town?"

"I don't know. I kind of liked the whole checking things for myself scenario."

"Only you would," Danny teased her, as she yawned noisily and sat down beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. "Wimp," he said.

"I've barely slept in the last four days. Kieran with his issues and Don coughing up a lung every five to ten minutes. He's been guzzling cold medication and he's still not feeling even remotely better. And he's a damn suck when he gets sick. Get me another blanket, fix my blanket, fluff my pillow, make me something to eat, get me a drink. It goes on and on and on. It's like having a second kid."

"Yeah….but I bet he likes you playing nurse if ya catch my drift."

"Sure he does. But I had to draw the line at wearing some kind of perverted costume. I mean, isn't owning a French Maid outfit enough?"

Danny smirked. "For most men it would be. I'd kill for Erica to own something like that."

"When would she wear it? You two are too busy fighting all the time to enjoy normal sex let alone anything kinky."

Danny sighed. "Sad but true. Are you serious? You own a French Maid outfit?"

"Are you kidding me?" Sam laughed. "No. I clean the house in old sweatpants and a t-shirt or a tank top and a baseball cap on my head. When I clean the house that is. Which trust me, does not happen as often as it should. I can just hear my mother now when she walks in the door next week. She's going to blow a gasket when she sees my place."

"It's not that messy," he assured her. "I've seen a hell of a lot worse. And you guys work some crazy hours and you got a mini Osama running around. Can't blame ya if the place is a bit unruly and disorganized."

"Don calls it organized clutter. Trust me, there's nothing organized about it. I need a maid to come in and clean the place up, and Super Nanny to come and straighten my child out."

"Wanna go and grab some breakfast after this?" Danny asked. "My treat?"

She yawned loudly once more. "I already ate."

"You bitch. When?"

"Don and I had something to eat after I dropped my stuff off at DNA."

"Just something to eat or did you two sneak off and find an available supply closet somewhere?"

She gasped dramatically and feigned offence. "We do not indulge ourselves in such things at work," she informed her friend.

Danny snorted and arched an eyebrow.

"Okay…so maybe once or twice. Hell, it's not like we're the only ones. But now, none of that went on. There's no time for stuff like that today."

"Always time for stuff like that," Danny told her.

"Maybe…but seeing as we're trying to achieve actually achieve something and I'm not ovulating at this particular point in time."

Danny grimaced. "Way too much info. And are you telling me that the only two you do get busy is for the sole purpose of making a baby?"

"No…I didn't say that. There are times we just do it for the sheer fun of it."

"No sense doing it if it's a chore," Danny declared.

Sam sighed heavily. "What's taking this thing so long? I'd have the results quicker doing a manual comparison."

"Wait for it….wait for it…." Danny said, watching the screen before them as the system compared the two bullets. The two images merged together and there was a loud beep, followed by the words POSITIVE MATCH flashing on the screen.

"Fucking A!" Sam cried, and breathed a huge sigh of relief, as the printer next to the computer spat out the results.

"Nice job. Brooklyn. So what are we looking at?"

"Straight up ten millimetre from a forty calibre Smith and Wesson. The easiest damn one and it's the last one I checked," she said, hanging her head in mock shame.

"Happens to the best of us," Danny told her. "Only thing that matters is that you figured it out."

"It's just a small piece of the puzzle," Sam said with a sigh. "I think I'm going to…"

She was cut off mid sentence by a loud chirp from the computer. Both she and Danny looked over to see that not only had the scan matched up the striation on the bullets, it had also brought up a hit in the NYPD data base.

"You're kidding me," Sam said, as she moved closer to the computer screen. "What kind of blind luck is that?"

"Shoulda just scanned the bullet from the scene and saved yourself a whole lot of aggravation," Danny observed, leaning forward to read the information displayed on the monitor.

"I never imagined I'd hit on a prior," Sam said, glaring at him. "And that's what I get for doing things ass backwards."

Danny opened his lips to speak. Sam reached out and clamped her hand over his mouth.

"Spare me some perv comment, Messer," she said.

"I'll be good," he mumbled against her palm.

She removed her hand. "Check this out," she said. "A case to case hit. An unsolved home invasion that killed two people in Brooklyn six years ago. Two weeks prior, a forty calibre Smith and Wesson, along with several other weapons including a Sig Pro SP 2009 was stolen from Harrison's Guns on Vine Street. It's an unsolved as well. The owner apparently went in to open shop in the morning and found one of the safes had been busted into."

"Whose the owner?" Danny asked curiously.

Sam scrolled down the screen. "Paul Browning."

"Wait a second," Danny flipped open the case folder in his hands. His eyes scanned the information before him. "How's this for even more blind luck?" he asked. "DNA came back from Natalie's rape kit. There were two donors. One was the boyfriend David Arruda, and the other was an unknown."

"Whose swimmers hit the mark first?" Sam asked.

"David's sample was degraded. So she slept with this other jackass after the killings. But get a load of this. His father was in CODIS. Busted fifteen years ago for possession of an illegal firearm. And guess who his old man is…" he held out the folder for Sam to see.

"Paul Browning? Are you serious?"

"Boom!" Danny exclaimed. "What I don't get is this that this guy was arrested for an illegal firearm and he now owns a gun shop? How majorly messed up is that? That's like calling in a plumber and him taking a massive dump in your toilet."

Sam snickered. "Maybe daddy knows where we can track down his little boy," she said.

"I'm already dialling, Flack," Danny told her. "Can you get me the last known address and number for Mr Lock, Stock and Four Smoking Barrels there?"

She scrolled back up the screen and highlighted the information for him.

"Flack," Danny spoke into the phone. "Sorry to break up daddy time, but your old lady just got two positive matches on the types of bullets used and one of them was a case to case hit from six years ago…home invasion homicide in Brooklyn…best part of this is that these guns were stolen from a gun shop two weeks prior to the crime…hang on, I'm getting to the good stuff…the owner of said gun shop was in CODIS for illegal possession of a fire arm. DNA from the rape kit shows that Natalie had sex with two men. Her boyfriend and an unknown who is the biological son of this gun shop guy….no kidding…Merry Christmas huh?…..Paul Browning, 1699 Fairfield Street, Queens….want me to meet ya there?….all right…Ciao."

Danny pressed end on his phone and stood up. "Flack's gonna meet me there. Told me to give ya a big hug and a kiss, but seeing as that could be misconstrued as sexual harassment or someone might see and think we're having an affair, I'll let him give it to ya himself later."

"That's fine," she said, standing up as well and stretching noisily. "His hugs and kisses are better anyway."

"You wound me, Brooklyn," Danny declared. "Call if anything comes up on those tapes or that bank card."

She gave him a thumbs up sign over her shoulder.

* * *

Flack had called ahead to Paul Browning. The drive to Queens was a long, arduous one. Snow was falling heavily and making it nearly impossible to see even a few feet ahead of you. The winds were strong, rattling the windows of his squad car as he travelled at a snails pace in bumper to bumper traffic on the Queensboro Bridge. What normally should have been a twenty minute trip had quickly exploded into a nearly hour one, and when Flack pulled up in front of a modest two and a half storey grey brick home, Danny was just killing the ignition on the Avalanche several feet away.

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas," Danny sang merrily as the two men met at the foot of the two car drive. "Sorry I had to mess up your time with the monster."

"It's okay," Flack said, shoving his hands in his pockets as they trudged through the snow, head down to keep the biting wind off of his face. "I sat with him while he had his breakfast and we played for a bit. It was nice to go home and take a breather for a bit."

"He doing alright?" Danny asked. "With his ears and all that?"

"Infection is still hanging around but he's getting there. I think Sam and I are going to go with that operation to get the tubes put in. Would save the kid a whole lot of grief. So what we know about this guy?"

"Just what I told you. In the system for illegal possession of a fire arm fifteen years ago. Owns a gun shop in Manhattan and six years ago, called the cops and reported a break-in at his store. All kinds of shit was taken. Including some relatively rare collectors items. One of those guns, Brooklyn traced back to a unsolved home invasion, slash homicide that happened two weeks after these guns were stolen."

"And it's his son that had sex with Little Miss Innocent after her boyfriend was brutally murdered?"

"Biological son," Danny confirmed, as they climbed the front porch steps.

They stopped on the middle step to kick snow off of their shoes. Danny had on heavy, warm boots to go with his gloves and scarf and knit cap. Flack was wearing simple black dress shoes and no hat or gloves.

"And ya wonder why you're sick," Danny said, as they headed onto the covered porch.

"Shut up," Flack grumbled, coughing noisily before pressing down on the door bell.

They heard heavy footsteps approaching the door. Followed by the scraping noise of someone pulling back the covering of the peep hole so said person could see just who it was on their porch. Flack took off his badge and laid it over the small hole. Knowing full well that there was no way in hell anyone could see it properly at that close of a distance.

"Who is it?" a muffled voice asked.

"NYPD, Mr Browning," Flack responded. "We spoke nearly an hour ago on the phone."

There was the dull click of a dead bolt being opened and the finally the door was yanked open to reveal a short, slight man in his early forties. He had rapidly balding thin, wiry blond hair and beady dark eyes and was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a green and black plaid hunting jacket over a thermal shirt. Exactly what Flack had been expecting from a guy who'd gushed over the phone about the right to bear arms and spending the weeks in the bush up in Canada for shits and giggles.

"Took ya guys long enough," Browning complained. Not making a move to motion them inside.

"Well in case you haven't noticed, it's like Armageddon out here with all this snow," Danny told him. "Can we come or do you want to chat out here in paradise?"

Browning frowned, than stepped back as he held the door open farther and jerked his head in the direction of the interior of his home.

"Much appreciated," Danny said, as he and Flack stepped into the front foyer of the home.

"You guys mind taking your shoes off?" Browning asked, leaving them standing in the foyer as he headed down the narrow hallway towards the back of the house.

"As a matter of fact we do," Danny told him. Remembering the time Lindsay had removed her boots outside of an apartment they were going into to interview someone.

He couldn't recall the woman's name. But remembered the case well. The murdered doctor at the doll hospital and the little girl that had squealed to her doll, Secret Sophie, that her mother, a school teacher, had been making out with one of her students. It had been one of the most bizarre cases he'd ever worked on. Mostly because this mature, supposedly professional and sophisticated woman had sat in front of him and declared her love for a teenage boy.

"We gotta leave him on in case we have to high tail it out of here on a call," Danny explained, as he and Flack journeyed down the hall to where Browning was in the kitchen, pouring steaming coffee into massive china mugs.

"Gonna stick around to clean my floors?" Browning asked, setting the coffees down on the kitchen table.

"We'll call in a maid and you can send us the bill," Flack replied, shrugging out of his winter coat and draping it over the back of a chair before sitting down.

Danny took a seat beside him. Browning across from them.

"So what's this about?" Browning asked.

"Your son is in a fair bit of trouble," Flack told him.

"Which one?" the man inquired, sipping coffee and seeming neither interested or surprised.

"How many you have?" Danny responded with a question of his own.

"Two. Dylan and Nathan. I've raised them since they were just little kids. On my own. After their mother decided the family life wasn't for her and took off."

"How old are they now?" Flack asked, taking notes.

"Dylan is 21, Nathan is 19. I haven't spoken to them in a few months."

"Why not?" inquired Danny.

"We had a falling out when I found out my boys were into some illegal activity."

Flack arched an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"Dealing drugs. Running books. I wasn't going to let them live in my house doing that shit and I kicked them out."

"Where are they living now?" Flack inquired.

"Staten Island."

The homicide detective nodded as he jotted that down. Something more to tie the victims to the alleged perpetrators.

"So what did they do?" Browning asked. "Knock over a corner store?"

"We have evidence that one of your sons was involved in a murder," Flack told him. "Two murders, actually. We found him through you. His DNA was recovered and because yours was in the system for the time you did fifteen years ago, that led us here."

"Amazing what damn technology can do these days," Browning commented.

"You seem neither upset or surprised that one of your sons, and maybe even both, were possibly involved in such a terrible crime," Danny told him.

"You wouldn't be either if you grew up with those two. Always getting into fights and spending time in juvy for petty crimes. Gun collecting. That was the huge passion they shared."

"Do they still?" Flack asked.

"When they left they had at least three dozen a piece."

Danny whistled. "That's quite the haul. I wonder how many are illegal or stolen? I guess ATF will find that out when they raid the place."

"You have a lot of guns, Mister Browning?" inquired Flack. "You take your work home with you?"

"I have a few fire arms," he admitted. "Hunting rifles mostly. And I have a license and papers for all of them. Am I going to get my stolen ones back?"

"That's highly unlikely," Danny told him. "You know, considering they were used in the commission of a felony. Like two counts of murder two."

"We need your sons' address," Flack told the man across from him. "And I picture of them would be nice. In case I have to put an APB out for them."

"25675 Crestwood, Apartment 5C," Browning rattled off as pushed away from the table and journeyed into the dining room.

Flack's phone, tucked in the pocket of his suit coat, vibrated against him. He paused in his writing to pull it out and check the caller ID. Adam. He decided to let it go to voice mail.

"Here's a couple," Browning said as he came back into the kitchen, armed with photographs. "Taken at a family function just before they moved out. Nathan is the normal looking one. Dylan is the one with the weird haircut and make up. Make up on a guy. Can you believe that?"

"Unfortunately I can," Danny said, as Flack took the pictures and studied them. He saw the way his best friend's eyes widened in recognition. "You know him?"

Flack nodded. "He's the bartender at Neon Green. Sam and I talked to him when we went there."

"Been working there since he became of age," Browning told the detective. "That's how he met his girlfriend. Some blond rich bitch. Can't remember her name but she really rubbed me the wrong way."

"You wouldn't have a picture of her would you?" Flack asked.

Browning nodded and disappeared once again.

Flack's phone vibrated once more. Adam. Again. Once more he let it go to voice mail.

"That's her," the older man said, as he came back in, holding out another photo.

Flack took it. A smirk crossing his face.

"Natalie," he said simply.

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! Even the lurkers for just checking this story out! I appreciate each and every one of you. Reviews are welcome. Positive only, please. But the more the merrier!!**

**Thanks to:**

**Hope4sall  
****Brrtmclv  
****Bluehaven4220  
****Laurzz  
****Hardylover7477  
****Forest Angel  
****wolfeylady  
****GregRox  
****muchmadness  
****ImaSupernaturalCSI  
****Soccer-Bitch**


	20. It All Comes Down To This

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN**

**A/N: GETTING CLOSER TO THE TRUTH FOLKS…..Special thanks to Aphina for helping with some things and clear others up. Much appreciated! Kisses and hugs to ya!**

**AND THANKS TO ALL OF YOU! WE REACHED 200+ REVIEWS ALREADY! OREOS AND BROWNIES FOR YOU ALL!**

**It all comes down to this...**

"(Jesus Walks)  
God show me the way because the Devil trying to break me down  
(Jesus Walks with me)  
The only thing that that I pray is that my feet don't fail me now  
(Jesus Walks)  
And I don't think there is nothing I can do now to right my wrongs  
(Jesus Walks with me)  
I want to talk to God but I'm afraid because we ain't spoke in so long

To the hustlers, killers, murderers, drug dealers even the strippers  
(Jesus walks with them)  
To the victims of Welfare for we living in hell here hell yeah  
(Jesus walks with them)  
Now hear ye hear ye want to see Thee more clearly  
I know he hear me when my feet get weary."  
-Jesus Walks, Kanye West

* * *

While Flack was driving to Queens to talk to Paul Browning, Adam was frantically and excitedly scouring the halls and rooms of the crime lab for his sister. He checked trace and ballistics. No sign of her. He'd even breezed into the lay out room and bull pen area and nothing. Same for the lunch room. And he was just about ready to burst from the phenomenal news he had uncovered when he finally spotted her, stepping off the elevator with a cup of tea and small brown paper bag in her hands. Her glasses pushed up onto her head, acting more like a head band than what they were actually intended for.

"Sammie!" he cried, hurrying to her. "I have got some results that are going to blow your mind!"

"From the videotapes?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "From both the camera at the Bodega and the ATM. And you are not going to believe what I saw. This is honestly, possibly the biggest break I have ever made in a case here. Well, except for maybe that time Mac let me play Second Life to help catch that assassin. You really should have been here to see that. It was amazing, Sammie. I just kicked major ass. That was more pleasure than business and I.."

"Stick to this case, peanut," she said, leading the way down the hall.

"Okay. So Flack asked me to concentrate on the bodega camera first. And while the pictures off of it aren't that great, I was clearly able to see the whole crime played out right in front of me. And it's disturbing. Add that to what I saw on the ATM and this baby is all but wrapped up."

"You won't believe what I just found!" Carmen exclaimed breathlessly, as she raced out of the trace lab and directly into Sam and Adam's path. Excitement and satisfaction danced in her stunning green eyes.

"A match to the unknown prints on David Arruda's bank card?" Adam guessed.

Carmen frowned. "Who told you?"

"Ahhh," Adam said with a wide grin, pointing at Carmen with the pen in his hand. "It's all elementary my dear Watson. I can also tell you with no doubt or hesitation that the prints match Natalie Cormier and that they were most likely over top of David Arruda's therefore proving she was the last person to have touched the card."

Both women stared at him.

Adam nodded. "Do you see that? I'm a damn genius. You're both pretty impressed with me right now aren't you. I'm smarter than you're average bear you know. In fact, and this is me speaking modestly, I find it's just plain hard being smarter than everyone around here."

Sam arched an eyebrow at her younger brother and sipped her tea.

"Well except for maybe Mac and Hawkes," Adam quickly added. "But I'm right up near the top with them and the rest…" he held his hand at his waist. "I'd say somewhere down here. Although Flack has really been impressing with me lately with his scientific talk and understanding. So he may soon surpass both of you."

"We talk about work at home," Sam said. "Forensic shit is our favourite kind of pillow talk."

"You have to talk about work to lull him off to sleep?" Adam asked. "Geez, I thought ten minutes alone with you would be enough to do that."

Sam glared at him.

"Kidding. I am just kidding."

"Didn't you have something to show me?" Sam asked.

"Yes….right….follow me ladies…into my lair if you will…"

Sam and Carmen followed him down the hall and into the AV lab. Adam gallantly pulled out two chairs with a dramatic flourish and gestured for the two ladies to have a seat, one on either side of him as he sat down in front of the monitors before them.

"Now this is the footage from the ATM camera," Adam told them, hitting play. "Backing up why Carmen found Natalie's prints on her boyfriend's bank card."

"A lot of guys give their girlfriends and wives or whatever access to their cards," Sam commented, as the three of them watched, in black and white, a laughing and boisterous and most likely intoxicated Natalie Cormier using her boyfriend's bank card. "I mean, Don and I had a joint account three months into our relationship."

"But this is five grand, Sammie," Adam said. "This isn't twenty or forty bucks to grab something at the corner store or even a couple hundred to pay a bill. This is five grand and I don't think any guy is going to just let his girl withdraw that kind of cash."

"And if Natalie was the one who withdrew the cash, how'd she get the statement into his wallet without him knowing?" Carmen asked.

"Well he most likely gave her his wallet to go and grab some cash," Adam theorized. "I mean, I do that with Gus all the time. So if she had his wallet on her, it would have been easier for her to get the statement in there and make it look like he was the one who withdrew the money for a drug buy."

"Nice thinking, Adam," Carmen praised.

Adam may have been a bit of an odd duck, but he was a hell of a nice guy with a heart of gold. He'd do anything for his colleagues and friends and especially his family. And he was possibly the most intelligent person outside of Hawkes that she had ever met.

Both Ross kids had made their sole focus their schooling. Neither were social butterflies that cared more about the parties and hanging out. Both were more likely to have their noses in books than a pint of beer. While Sam had made her goal a masters in forensics -heavy on the physics so she could pursue her love of ballistics- Adam had gone for a degree in criminalistics and found the love of his life through specializing in AV technology.

"But what I don't get is why, if she's so rich, did she need to take her boyfriend's money to pay someone to kill him?" Adam inquired.

"And what did David Arruda do to piss his girlfriend off so bad she'd kill him," Carmen added. "And where does Lukas Tait come in? Was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time? Innocent casualty?"

"But there were two gunmen," Sam said. "Two gunmen to kill two people. You wouldn't need two for just one guy."

"Wanted to make sure the job was done right?" Adam offered. "If you ask me, there's a lot of unanswered questions. First off being who kills someone for just five grand? That's a cheap hit. What person in their right mind wouldn't ask for more money than that to kill someone?"

"You're never in your right mind when you commit murder," Sam said. "And a massive amount of cash withdrawn from a bank account would no doubt raise some eyebrows. If she's that rich, than she's got a father that's holding the purse strings and he'd notice a huge chunk of change missing. What about this bodega tape?"

Adam picked up a video tape sitting next to him and held it up. "Now I warn you, what you're going to see here is pretty graphic and not for the squeamish. I almost had a heart attack and threw up the first time that I watched it. The footage is grainy, at best, but you can clearly see the crime take place, along with Natalie's involvement."

"Roll it, Adam," Carmen said. "How graphic is graphic?"

"It's definitely R rated," he told her, and slid the tape into the machine. "I've re-wound it to the part where the gunmen approach the car coming from the west."

Sam slipped her glasses on and leaned in close to the screen. Adam was right, the picture was relatively poor and in black and white. The bodega owner most likely figuring to save the money on an expensive system. That some security was better than no security.

* * *

The three watched, as two figures, clad in simple black t-shirts and black pants stepped alongside of the SUV and knocked on the drivers side doors. The first thing that Sam noticed was that the perps wore gloves, the second was that neither wore masks as Natalie had said. It was quite obvious that she knew them and was in on it. If she wasn't, they would have killed her for being able to identify them.

The camera was focused solely on the front end of the SUV and there was just a brief glimpse of Natalie in the backseat. Sam guessed, after brief words were exchanged between David Arruda and his assailant, that the girl who claimed to love him, sat calmly and emotionless in the back seat as David and his best friend were brutally and unforgivably murdered. No one in the room moved or spoke. It seemed as if no one even breathed as they watched the deaths of two young men unfold in front of them.

Sam counted seventeen individual muzzle flashes. And when both men were slumped over dead in their seats, the gunmen calmly opened the doors and sat David and Lukas up in their seats. The gunman on the driver's side leaned into the back seat and handed something to Natalie in the back. And than she was leaning forward and in camera range once again. Seemingly calmly and composed as she shot both deceased parties in the back of the head. Than she disappeared from view and the gunmen backed out of the SUV and closed the doors.

Natalie reappeared less than thirty seconds later. Now out of the vehicle and rushing off with the assailants. On her own free will and accord.

Adam leaned forward and pressed stop. No words were exchanged as the three sat in utter disbelief and shock at witnessing the assassinations of two innocent human beings.

"That little bitch," Carmen , feeling sick to her stomach, was the first to break the silence that had fallen on the room. "She's been fucking us around all this time. She had them rough her up to make it look good just like Flack said. She left her shoe and her purse there to make it look like someone had abducted her."

Adam inhaled deeply and slowly let out the breath. "That is something I hope I never have to see again. I've watched it twice now and each time…" he shook his head and couldn't continue.

Sam laid a comforting hand on her brother's shoulder and slowly stood. A hand over her forehead as she paced the lab. Needing to come to terms with what she'd seen and deal with it before continuing with the job. It seemed cold and callous to be able to just turn the emotions off and get on with things. But that's what they were paid to do. And there was always time for tears and rage when she was home and away from work.

She gathered herself and went back to where Carmen and Adam sat. "Can you do any better on the perps faces?" she asked, slipping back into her chair.

"I've already tried," Adam replied. "I can't get the picture any clearer. But we got her right? She's an accessory after the fact or whatever you guys call it. And she shot them, too."

"But those weren't the kill shots," Sam told him. "They were dead long before she shot them. We need to find the perps."

"And there's no proof that five grand was for killing them," Carmen added. "Nothing showing that money was ever transferred between her and the suspects."

"Well wherever that money went, she needs to be picked up," Sam concluded.

"I'll go and let Mac know what we found," Carmen said, standing up. "See what move he wants to make with Natalie."

"Thanks, Carmen," Sam called to her best friend as she hurried from the room. She glanced over at her younger brother. He was clearly torn up by what he had seen, but was doing a hell of a job hiding it. "Are you okay?" she asked, rubbing his back.

He nodded and composed himself. "I just…I haven't ever seen anything like that…"

"Well hopefully you won't have to ever again," Sam said. "You need a few minutes to…"

"I'm fine," he assured her.

She nodded and ran a hand over his hair and rested it on his shoulder. "Peanut, go back to the beginning of the tape. To when the gunmen approach the SUV and than ran it at half speed."

Adam sighed and reached across the desk and hit the rewind button. Stopping it at the appropriate spot and hitting play and than slowing the footage down.

Sam leaned closer to the screen. Her finger resting on the perp on the driver's side. Following him into the picture. "Freeze it right there," she instructed. "There's a log on his shirt. See it? Left chest? Can you enhance that for me?"

Adam nodded and hit a button on the keyboard. Magnifying the image to nearly the point of distortion.

Sam had to look twice. Not believing her eyes the first time.

"Sonofabitch," she breathed. Recognizing that tall, slender build and that Pete Wentz inspired hair cut anywhere.

"You've seen him before" Adam asked.

"I just talked to him less than seven hours ago! He told me that Natalie was roommates with his brother's girlfriend or some such shit. Can you run that a little farther?"

"Sammie, I really don't…"

"You don't have to look at it. I will tell you when to stop."

Adam sighed once again and did as she requested.

"Stop! Right there. Zoom in a bit more."

"She's laughing about it," he said in disgust. "And judging by the way she just kissed him, I'd say there's more to the relationship than he lets on."

"A whole lot more," Sam agreed. She stood up and ruffled his hair. "Awesome work, Peanut. Do me a favour?"

"Shoot…uh…no pun intended, of course."

"Call Don and tell him what you found. And about the fingerprints. I've got the club manager's business card and it's got his cell number on it. I'm going to give him a ring and get this kid's address. Than I'm going to find Angell and we're going to go pick this kid up."

"Do you really think that's smart?" Adam asked. "I mean, he's obviously armed and therefore dangerous and you and Angell going there alone…I don't like that idea."

"We'll bring some uniforms along," Sam replied. "Chances are, they've ditched the weapons. And to be on the safe side, we can wear vests."

"I just think it's something maybe Flack and Danny and Mac would be able to deal with better," Adam told her.

"I can take care of myself, Peanut," she said. "I'll catch you later. Don't worry."

He watched as his older sister disappeared from the room. Hoping to hell she knew what she was doing.

* * *

Mac Taylor was all business. His take no shit attitude on full display as he strode down the busy third floor of Angel of Mercy with Carmen and two uniforms hot on his heels. The news that Natalie Cormier had pulled the wool over the eyes of his best people had put Mac in a seriously foul mood. And when Adam had showed him those video tapes, Mac had clenched his teeth together so hard his jaw ached and the veins in his forehead threatened to explode. The conniving, lying witch wasn't going to screw around with them any longer, and Mac had immediately sprang into action and assembled a small team to take with him to Mercy.

Only he wouldn't need it. Because the moment he stepped into that small private room, it was clear that Natalie Cormier was prepared to stay one step ahead of the NYPD at all times. The bed was empty and impeccably made. The bedside table was clutter free and organized. There were no personal effects in the tiny closet near the bathroom.

Mac's eyes were blazing and his fists were clenched as he surveyed the room. And when he turned abruptly on his heel and stalked out without a word to Carmen or the officers, Carmen knew that Mac was about five seconds away from tossing someone out a window or through a wall. He'd taken it as a personal insult that the young woman had brazenly and unabashedly screwed over the lab. While it had been obvious that she was involved somehow, no one had expected to what extent she had gone to in the murders of her boyfriend and his best friend. Mac was furious and disgusted and was through playing games with someone nearly three decades younger than him.

He stormed to the nurses station, and slammed his palms down on the desk top, interrupting their conversations regarding Christmas vacation plans.

"Where's Natalie Cormier?" he barked.

"Excuse me?" a petite red headed nurse in thick glasses and a mint green scrub set asked.

"Natalie Cormier. The girl that was in that room right there!" Mac jabbed a finger in the direction of the room behind him. "Where is she? I want to know where she is!"

"Sir, we can…"

"Right now!" he roared. Tearing his badge off the waist of his pants and slamming it down angrily on the desk top. "I want to know where Natalie Cormier is and I want to know now!"

"She checked herself out," the little red head squeaked, visibly frightened.

"When?" Mac asked.

"About two hours ago. She just got dressed and announced she was leaving."

"Mac, how is that possible?" Carmen asked her boss. "The only clothes she had was what she walked in here in and we have those in evidence."

"Explain," Mac said to the nurse. "She walk out of here in a hospital gown and bare feet?"

"A young man was with her. He brought her some clothes."

"What did this young man look like?" Mac asked.

"Tall, rather slender. Strange haircut, eyeliner and mascara."

Mac closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath before letting it slowly. "The bartender," he said, opening his eyes and shaking his head. "She didn't happen to leave an address on any of her medical forms?" he asked the nurse.

She flipped through a stack of folders in a rack behind her. "Natalie Cormier," she read. "25675 Crestwood, Apartment 5C. Staten Island."

Carmen jotted it down in her memo book.

"Looks like we're taking a little road trip," Mac said, as he stalked away from the desk and down the hall.

* * *

Flack checked his phone for the third time in less than twenty minutes. Adam again. Only this time he sent a text message along with the call that read URGENT PLZ ANSWER.

He excused himself, leaving the remainder of the interview with Paul Browning to Danny as he got up from the table and sought privacy in the adjoining dining room. He dialled back his brother in law's cell number, standing with a hand on his hip and his phone to his ear, eyes flicking over the glass display cabinet in front of him that boasted a few dozen handguns.

Weird fucking place to show off and keep shit like that, Flack thought. Curiously moving closer to get a better look at the mostly antique weapons. Some with elaborately carved ivory grips.

"What's up, Adam? What ya got for me?" he asked in way of greeting when the lab tech answered his phone with a straight to the point 'Ross'.

"I've been trying to get a hold of you for nearly twenty minutes," Adam told him.

"I was in the middle of an interview. You have some results or something for me?"

"Sammie asked me to call you. I went through those videotapes. The one from the ATM shows it was Natalie Cormier withdrawing the five grand. Prints pulled off the bank card match her prints on that glass you guys handed in. So it confirms she was the last to touch the card."

"Doesn't surprise me," Flack snorted. "Girl's a wackadoo."

"That's putting it nicely," Adam said. "The tape from the bodega also confirms that she's a murderer. Or at least a conspirator and an aider and abettor of sorts. You clearly see her deliver the final shots to the back of the head and than take off, willingly, with the perps."

"So maybe wackadoo is too gentle of a term," Flack said. "How about crazy, fucked up, lying, deceitful bitch?"

"Much better," Adam told his brother in law.

Flack frowned as the sight of something odd caught his eye in the display cabinet. Two of the guns seemed out of place, appearance wise. While the others were antiques and obvious collector's items and not something you would use on a regular basis. These were newer and looked well worn. Too well worn, in fact. The grips scuffed and the chambers scratched and dented.

He'd been so intently checking the guns out that Flack hadn't heard the ramblings spewing from Adam Ross' mouth. Until he heard his wife's name and Angell's near the end of a particular sentence.

"Come again, Adam?" he asked. "I didn't quite catch that end part."

"I just said that Sam was able to ID one of the perps as the bartender you guys talked to last night," he replied. "And that she was able to get his name and address from the manager. Her and Angell are on their way to pick him up right now."

"Pick who up?" Flack asked, the information not quite registering. Out of the corner of his eye catching sight of Danny entering the dining room and making his way over to the display cabinet at well. Carrying the photographs and Flack's jacket.

Adam sighed. "The bartender. Sam called me not long ago and she wanted me to call you and tell you that she got a name and an address and she's on her way there. Somewhere in Staten Island."

Shit, Flack thought. Immediately thinking about how Paul Browning had told him that his sons were avid gun collectors and had quite the stash at their place. And while Sam and Angell were both smart enough to know their safest bet would be doing an apprehension of someone wanted for a gun crime wearing vests, they wouldn't know what kind of chaos they were about to walk into.

"Adam, I want you to call Sam and tell her I said that her and Angell are not go into that building until Danny and I get there. Got it?"

"Why?" the lab tech asked. "Is there something wrong that…."

"Just do it," Flack ordered and pressed end on his phone. "Get everything we needed from daddy?" he asked Danny.

The CSI didn't respond. Instead he tapped the corner of one of the photos against the glass of the cabinet and shook his head. "That's the same two guns that Brooklyn test fired in ballistics and got matches to the bullets from."

"You sure?" Flack asked.

"Absolutely. I looked right at them. She gave me a schooling on them. No doubt in my mind that those are the same two guns. The guns that Browning in there reported stolen from his shop six years ago. Is it possible he took him himself and just filed a report to make it look good?"

"Anything's possible. But at this time I can't just reach in there and take those guns into evidence. We need to call for a warrant. First we have to get to Staten Island. To Dylan Browning's apartment before all hell breaks loose."

"Why? What's going on?" Danny asked, sensing the urgency in his best friend's voice.

"Sam and Angell. They…" he paused as his phone vibrated in his hand. "What's up, Adam?" he answered.

"I can't get a hold of Sam. I don't know if her phone is turned off or if there's a problem with the signal…"

"Try Angell," Flack told him. Smirking as Danny pulled out his own phone and used the built in camera to snatch a picture of the weapons in question. "Nice," he whispered to his best friend.

"I did," Adam said. "Same thing. Nothing."

Flack closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. He opened his eyes as he exhaled. "Keep trying," he said to Adam. "And keep me posted. Danny and I are on our way to Staten Island."

He hung up and grabbed his coat off of Danny and shrugged into it. "We gotta haul ass," he told the CSI.

"You gonna tell me what's going on?" Danny asked, as he chased Flack as the detective went hurrying for the front door.

"Sam and Angell. They're on their way to Dylan Browning's apartment. I told Adam to call her and tell her not to go in there without us."

"They don't know what we do," Danny said, as they rushed out the front door and down the snow covered, slippery stairs. Nearly falling on their asses at the bottom. "Those two guys are armed to the teeth by the sounds of it."

"We need to get there, Danny. ASAP. Adam can't get a hold of either Sam or Angell."

"And you're thinking that if they get there and try and get this guy that…"

"My kid needs a mother, Messer," Flack said, throwing open the door to his squad car. "That's the only thing I'm thinking about right now."

"She's smart, Flack," Danny told the detective as he climbed behind the wheel. "Give her some credit."

Flack didn't respond. He slammed his door shut behind him and started the ignition and peeled away from the Browning house, tires spewing slush and snow in his wake.

Danny sighed and sprinted for his own vehicle. Hoping that it wasn't already too late.

* * *

"Can you honestly believe this weather?" Angell asked, as she leaned in close to the steering wheel of her squad car, her eyes squinted as she attempted to make out the names on street signs. Travelling at a snail's pace through the barely passable streets of Staten Island.

"I am still trying to figure out which is worse," Sam said. "This one or last year when Kieran was born."

"I'd say last year. It was the sole reason EMS didn't get to you guys in time and he was born on the living room floor."

"Thank God for Sheldon living so close by," Sam commented. "And Carmen having the right mind to call him. I doubt we would have made it to the hospital either way. Kieran was determined and my luck would have had him being born in an ambulance or a taxi."

"You realize you and Flack have your work cut out for you with that one, don't you?"

The tiny brunette nodded. "He's a stubborn little bugger. And he has his father's temper to boot. You should see him when I'm trying to brush his teeth or clean his ears. And the drops! Oh my God. He goes absolutely crazy and fights me every step of the way. He's just like Don. Head to toe, inside and out."

Angell grinned. "I don't know about that. You're both damn stubborn and love a good fight. I think that's why you two work so well. You keep each other on your toes. You don't take shit from each other. You let each other rant and rave one minute and comfort each other the next. The fights you guys have…I don't know how you two manage to come away unscathed."

"We'd never actually physically hurt each other," Sam said, hitting a speed dial button on her cell and holding the phone to her ear. "And afterwards…let's just say we have damn amazing make up sex and leave it at that."

"Best kind of sex there is," Angell declared, and turned up the speed on her wipers. "Anything on your cell phone?"

"Nothing. It rings and than just cuts out. Maybe Don's battery is dead."

"Maybe it's the storm. Snow and wind like this can really screw things up. I hope the unis didn't get lost on their way here. These winding streets are confusing. Bad enough we lost them coming across the bridge. I can't see two feet in front of me."

"Whatever is going on, it's really inconvenient," Sam said. "I know for a fact he would have loved to have been a part of this collar."

"Maybe he's off arresting Miss Thing," Angell commented.

"Trust me," Sam said with a small laugh. "That would give him great satisfaction."

Angell slowed to a stop and rolled down her window to get a better look at the street signs to her left. "Is it Crestwood?" she asked.

Sam checked the paper she'd tossed on the dash. "Yep…25675."

"This is it than," Angell said, as she hung a left and slowly climbed a steep, slippery slope.

* * *

Just above the crest of the hill was the address in question. A small red brick six storey building that sat amongst Victorian homes and looked out onto an elementary school and recreation centre. There were three blue and whites parked at the curb. The engines running so the uniforms inside could keep warm. There was also a black Avalanche parked across the street and a few doors down, and as Angell glided to a halt behind the cruisers and killed the motor, she and Sam saw Carmen and Mac climb from the truck and head towards them.

"What are you guys doing here?" Sam asked, shrugging out of her coat and than climbing out of the unmarked squad car and closing the door behind her. Angell was at the trunk, getting out the two Kevlar vests they had brought along.

"I'd ask you the same thing but the uniforms filled us in," Mac responded. "This is the bartender's address?"

Sam nodded., taking one of the vests from her friend with a grateful nod.

"Turns out when we went to apprehend Natalie at the hospital she'd checked herself out," Mac told her and Angell. "This was the address that she gave when she was admitted. And the nurse confirmed your bartender came this morning and brought Natalie a change of clothes and that they left together."

"She's a nutter, Mac," Sam said, slipping into the Kevlar and doing the Velcro straps up as tight as she could stand them.

"A nutter?" Angell asked with a chuckle. "Do you just have your own vocabulary?"

"My own vocabulary?" Sam laughed. "I have my own damn dictionary. So? How do things look from our perspective?" she asked Mac, as she pulled a hair elastic from her pants pocket and pulled her hair back into a tight, high pony tail and secured it with the tie.

"Apartment 5C is at the back of the building," Mac said. "I sent a uniform in. He says there were signs of activity in the apartment. A television blaring to be exact. He wasn't entirely sure but he thought he heard someone rustling around. But no one has come in or out of either the front or the back."

"Are we all going in?" Angell asked. "Considering neither you or Carmen are wearing vests."

"Carmen and I will be at the back of the group," Mac told her. "Two uniforms at the front, you and Samantha in the middle. Our main priority is apprehension, but considering the weapons themselves may be in their possession, if you're threatened you do not hesitate to use your own weapon. Am I clear?"

Sam and Angell nodded and they both snapped open the catches on their holsters and took out their guns to load them and turn off the safeties.

"I'm hoping that this will go down nice and smooth," Mac said, unholstering his own gun and motioning for the uniforms to join them.

An unmarked squad came roaring up in front of the building, spraying slush and muck. Another Avalanche following close behind as a furious Don Flack bounded from his vehicle.

"Someone send out a let's kick some ass memo?" Angell quipped.

Flack ignored her as he headed straight for his wife. "What the hell are you doing?" he bellowed.

Sam blinked at the anger in his voice. "Angell and I found out that the bartender was involved and we came here to…."

"To what? Arrest him? You know he's already killed two people. And that he's probably still armed. But you still come here, on your own?"

"I've arrested tons of people, Don. I know how to do it."

"Danny and I were just as this kid's father's house. And you know what he told us? That his son, or should I say sons because they both live here, are rabid gun collectors and have an arsenal stored up in there! And you were just going to walk in there and knock on the door?"

"Flack, take it easy," Mac said in Sam's defense. "She came here to do a job. She didn't know any of that."

"Were you setting out to get yourself killed?" Flack asked his wife, ignoring the older man.

"I wasn't thinking that…" Sam attempted to speak.

"That's right," he cut her off. "You weren't thinking. Is that what you want? Get yourself killed? Leave your son without a mother?"

"So he only has one parent?" Sam shot back. "I'm sorry. I was under the impression he had a mother and a father. That you were his father. Or did I miss the miraculous scientific discovery that enables women to impregnate themselves?"

"Don't be a fucking smart ass," Flack snarled at her.

"Hey!" Mac snapped and stepped between the two. "Enough! You two want to carry on a lovers spat than do it on your own time! Not the department's! Go home and hash it out there! Right now I need you both focused on the job at hand! Flack…you have a vest?"

"Keep one in my trunk," the detective replied.

"Get it. Put it on. You're going through the door first."

"That's good," Sam muttered as her husband walked past her. "So Kieran's father gets killed right before his first birthday."

"Don't fucking start," Flack told her, going to his squad and popping the trunk. He removed both his winter coat and suit jacket and tossed both inside before grabbing the Kevlar vest. He slipped it over his head and securely fastened the straps.

"What about you Danny?" Mac asked, as Flack rejoined them. "You normally keep one in the trunk just in case."

"Sorry boss," Danny replied. "I left my Kevlar in my other pants."

"You're in the back with me and Carmen," Mac instructed. "Flack, what do you know about the suspects?"

"Dylan and Nathan Browning. Twenty one and nineteen. Dylan's the bartender Sam and I spoke to at Neon Green. And as it turns out…"

"Natalie's boyfriend," Mac finished. "If that's what you want to call it."

"I could think of a couple of other things," Danny said. "Accessory to murder, his death maven."

Mac glared at the young CSI.

"Sorry," Danny said. "Wrong time to be a wise ass. I'll shut up now."

"What's going on, Mac?" Flack asked. "How'd you know all that and how'd you end up here?"

"I watched the videotapes. And when Carmen and I went to arrest Natalie, she had already checked herself out of the hospital. The nurse told us that a young man came to help her out. She gave a dead ringer of a description of the bartender. And this is the address Natalie gave when she was admitted."

Flack snorted. "Think she's one of those people that are so smart they're crazy? Or is she just stupid crazy?"

"What else do we know about these Browning kids?" Mac asked.

"Dad says he hasn't seen them in months," Flack replied. "They got themselves in trouble with drugs and he gave them the boot. And they're avid gun collectors just like their old man."

"Oddly enough though…" Danny spoke up. "…for a guy that says he hasn't seen his kids in a while, he had what appeared to be our murder weapons on display in his home. I gotta picture right here, Brooklyn, if you want to take a peek."

Sam stood beside Danny and looked at the image displayed on his phone.

"I know it's not the best pic," Danny said.

"I can't say for certain," Sam sighed. "But that looks like the SIG in question and that's definitely a forty S and W."

"Call for a warrant?" Mac asked Flack.

"Put a call into Judge Warren. I'm one of his favorites. He said he'll have it in a couple hours."

"Good," Mac said. "This is how this will go down. Flack, you're the door man. You'll have three uniforms behind you. Than Angell, than Samantha…"

Flack cleared his throat noisily. The look on his face betraying he wasn't happy with that scenario.

"…followed by myself, Danny and Carmen. I want you all on your toes. These people have played enough games with us. It ends here. Am I clear?"

The collective group nodded.

"Let's go," Mac said, turning and heading for the door and motioning for the uniforms to join them.

"Me and you need to have a word," Flack said to his wife, catching her by the wrist and preventing her from following the others.

"Flack," Mac said sternly, noticing the couple linger on the sidewalk. "Samantha…now is not the time to…"

"I need a minute, Mac," Flack said, more harsh than he had intended.

Mac pursed his lips together and shook his head. But gave them the time.

"I don't want you going up there," Flack told his wife, his voice low and serious. His blue eyes locked on her golden ones. "I'd rather you stay here."

"Don, I've been on a lot of raids. I've always been able to handle myself. I'll be fine."

"Think of Kieran, Sam. What will happen to him if the shit really hit's the fan up there. Kid can't lose both parents at the same time. He needs his mother."

"And he needs his father, Don. So how about this? You stay here and I go upstairs?"

"Fuck, Sam, don't be like this. This about your son."

"Our son, Don. Our son. And I think about him every waking moment of every day. He's my entire existence. Him and you. So don't hold Kieran over my head like some bargaining chip."

Flack shook his head. "I wasn't doing that…I just wanted you to think for a second what would happen to him if both of us went. Who would take care of him? Where would he go?"

"We've named guardians in our wills."

"And two of them are going upstairs too!" he gestured towards Carmen and Danny.

"Adam and Gussie already said they would take care of him. This is my job, Don. I'm a cop just like you. And if you can't handle the idea of both of us going on raids and being in precarious situations, than one of us needs new job. But that's a whole other issue and one we can't deal with right now."

"Sam, I am asking you to stay behind. Please. I have never asked you for much."

"We could both be in an accident and die that way," she pointed out. "So what now? We don't travel together either?"

"Don't be so fucking difficult," Flack said.

"It's time to go," Mac announced, appearing at Flack's side. "Samantha, how about you stay down here with the uniforms and be our eyes and ears," he suggested, holding out a walkie talkie.

"Excuse me?" she asked in surprise.

"I'm erring on the side of caution," Mac told her. "I'm thinking about Kieran here. It doesn't do him any good to have both his parents in harms way."

Sam reluctantly accepted the radio from her boss with a heavy sigh and glared at her husband before stomping away to park herself with two young uniforms by the front entrance.

"Thanks, Mac," Flack said.

"I didn't do it for you. I did it for that innocent baby you have at home. And I am telling you right now, Flack. You and your wife get this all sorted out. Don't bring personal feelings to work ever again. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," Flack said, slightly startled by Mac's harsh tone.

"Now shake it off and let's get to work," Mac instructed.

The two men walked side by side to the front entrance. Flack glanced at his wife. S refused to make eye contact with him. She was pissed and hurt. He'd stepped on her toes at a scene and made her look incapable and weak to her boss. Flack got that. But she needed to get where he was coming from, too.

He sighed when he realized she wan't in the frame of mind to give him the time of day,

"Please be careful," she called out, as he stepped into the building.

He turned, just as the glass door swung shut. Their eyes met. He smiled, pressed two fingers to his lips and than to his heart. Just a little something they'd come up when there were no words, or if there were, no time to say them

And than he turned and was gone.

Sam had never felt so alone.

* * *

The manager hadn't argued when the NYPD had come knocking on his door and demanded use of the freight elevator. He'd simply snatched the key off of a holder by the door and slapped it into Don Flack's upturned palm and then all but barricaded himself in his apartment, fearing and expecting the worst.

They approached the apartment at the west end of the fifth floor in a tight formation. They moved slowly and cautiously, guns drawn and held down to their sides. The chambers loaded and the safeties off. The television was blaring behind the closed door of apartment 5C. Flack paused by the side of the door and listened for any signs of movement. It was nearly impossible to pick up on anything over the outrageously loud studio laughter coming from a cheesy sitcom.

Flack raised a fist and pounded on the door. "Dylan Browning!" he shouted. "NYPD!! Open up!"

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't nervous each time he went through the door on a raid. To have no idea what waited for you on the other side. What you may come up against and have only seconds to decide how to handle it. And knowing there was a possibly that things could go so wrong that once you went in, you weren't coming back out. Except for in a body bag. That fear and nervousness had become greater the moment he'd took on a wife. And had become damn near overwhelming at times once his son came into the world.

It wasn't death that scared him. It was the insurmountable grief and anguish that his passing would leave behind. Because as strong as he knew his wife was, he honestly didn't think she could cope, or go on, without him. She'd become dependant on him to be there for her and their son.

No answer came from the apartment. Flack glanced over his shoulder at Mac. The crime lab boss nodded, motioning for him to try again.

Flack hammered on the door once again. "Dylan Browning!" he repeated. "NYPD! Open the door! Or we're coming in!"

He waited for a minute. Straining his ears for any sound that would indicate the suspects were trying to flee down the fire escape. There was nothing. Just the annoying, nerve grating noise coming from the tv.

"Break it down," he instructed the uniform next to him, and stepped back as the younger man moved in front of him.

The kid was well over six feet and had to go two twenty and threw himself against the door. Employing the technique taught in the academy. To use the fleshy part of the upper arm as opposed to the more bony shoulder. The wood splintered and cracked but the dead bolt held. The kid stepped back and repeated the motion. This time using his full weight. The dead bolt gave way and the door flew open in a mess of wood splinters and plaster from the frame.

Flack went through first, slowly and cautiously, gun held in two hands, pointed directly in front of him. The room was frigid. He could see his own breath. The volume from the plasma tv across the room nearly deafening. He scarcely heard the others flowing into the apartment behind him. Uniforms branching off toe search the bathroom and kitchen and two bedrooms.

His main focus was the unexpected sight of the three young people in the living room. Two sprawled on the couch, another on the floor in a crumpled heap just feet away. He noticed the smell the closer he got. The distinct aroma of human shit and vomit. He gagged, covered his mouth with his forearm.

Natalie Cormier's eyes were wide open and staring up at the cove ceiling. Her mouth a jar, yellowish foam streaked with blood trickling from the corners of her lips. Beside her, Dylan Browning was slumped sideways, head in her lap. His eyes closed, the same ooze speeing from his firmly closed mouth. His younger brother face down in pool of his own vomit and bowel contents.

Flack holstered his weapon. They were dead. No doubt about. But he still crouched beside the body on the floor pressed two fingers along the inside of the kid's left wrist. He stood and went to the couch, repeating the action with the other two young people.

"Massive haul of weapons in the bedroom!" a uniform called out.

Mac got on the radio to call Samantha inside.

Flack felt a presence behind him. Glancing briefly over his shoulder to see Danny, eyes wide in shock and horror at the sight, holstering his own weapon.

"Three DOAs," Flack said simply, moving away from the bodies and towards the wide open window. Drawing in deep breaths of the freezing December air to quell the threatening nausea.

"That was pretty anti-climatic," Danny commented, shaking his head in disgust. "I was expecting gun fight at the OK Corral and we stumble into this."

"Show some fucking respect for the dead, Messer," Flack snapped.

He didn't know why he felt so shocked and shaken by the deaths of these three young people who just hours ago had committed the cold blooded murders of two innocent men. But he was sickened by the final act of justice that these kids had brought on to themselves.

"Jesus," Carmen breathed, eyes wide as she came into the living room and surveyed the macabre scene in front of her.

She slipped her gun into her holster and stepped over the body on the floor as she made for the cluttered coffee table. Where three plastic bottles of water sat. Less than an inch of liquid remained in each container. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of latex gloves and snapped them out. It was unknown moments like these that Mac was always preaching about being prepared for.

Carmen picked up one of the bottles and peered at it from the bottom. Tiny grey flecks floated in the remaining water.

"Arsenic," she announced.

"Couldn't stand the idea of getting tossed in jail and took the easy way out, huh?" Danny snorted.

"Nothing seems easy about expelling your stomach and bowel contents and pissing your own pants, Messer," Flack said as he crossed the living room, planning to check out the sight in the bedroom.

Samantha stepped through the door. "Is it true?" she asked. "They're all dead?"

Flack nodded, watching her as she journeyed into the living room and stood in front of the couch, taking in the sight of the bodies with barely a glitter of emotion or disproval. Unusual for her. He knew his wife better than anyone. How sensitive and empathetic she was at times. So seeing nothing was a shock for him. In fact, he felt utter disbelief when, after a few minutes of quiet observing, she simply nodded and seemed almost pleased at what had gone down.

"Don't seem too surprised there, Brooklyn," Danny commented as he joined her by the sofa, his hands on his hips, her crossed over her chest.

"They were guilty, Danny. We had them. They were guilty and they were trapped. And it's best, in a way that they all went together than locked away separately for the rest of their lives."

"That your fancy degrees talking?" Flack snarled.

"No," she snapped. "It's my fancy mouth talking. So why don't you keep yours shut and run along and play detective."

"I thought you liked it when I play detective," he shot back.

She glared icily at him and opened her mouth to offer up an expletive laced tirade, but Mac stepping into the living room from the hallway that led down the bedrooms stopped her before one word could escape.

He had heard the nasty exchange and now cast a disappointed and unimpressed look at Flack, than at the petite brunette across the room.

"Samantha," Mac said sternly, waving her to him.

She stepped over the body at her feet and journeyed over to her boss.

"I need you to work in the second bedroom," he told her in a quiet, calm voice. "Photographing the weapons and cataloguing what you find. ATF will come to collect them in a couple of hours. Okay?"

She nodded, fighting back tears of both hurt and rage.

He laid a hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle push towards the hallway. "Go on." he encouraged.

She sighed heavily and gathered herself and went to leave.

Flack caught her by the hand as she coolly breezed past him. A silent way of saying, hey, I was a fucking prick.

She yanked her hand away and continued down the hall.

"Let it go, Flack," Mac said. "Let her cool down. A woman doesn't cool down that easy. There's a lot of work to do. I want you to secure the scene and than head over to pick up that warrant. Take Carmen with you and get her to bag those guns and bring them back to the lab. I want you to pick up the father. We'll call it aiding and abetting for now and let the DA take it from there. Okay?"

"That's fine," the detective conceded and turned and headed back for the living room.

Mac sighed heavily and turned his attention to organizing and manning his people.

Feeling that thin line between business and personal quickly slipping away.

**Thanks to all of you who are reading and reviewing! And to the lurkers! I know you guys are there and reading and enjoying. Thanks for the support!**

**Thanks to my reviewers last chap:**

**Hope4sall  
****Brttmclv  
****Laurzz  
****Marialisa  
****wolfeylady  
****Forest Angel  
****muchmadness  
****GregRox  
****Bluehaven4220  
****Soccer-bitch**


	21. Tying Up Loose Ends

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN**

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M FOR LATER SMUT AND IS DEDICATED TO ALL OF THOSE WHO ASKED FOR IT. TOO SENSITIVE OR EASILY OFFENDED? JUST SKIP IT.**

**A/N: THE CRAZY MUSE WANTS ME TO STICK WITH PAST CHAPS RIGHT NOW. UNTIL CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEARS FOR SAM AND FLACK ARE COMPLETED. SO JUST BEAR WITH ME FOLKS!**

**SPECIAL THANKS TO APHINA**

**Tying up loose ends**

"I'm sorry I'm bad, I'm sorry you're blue  
I'm sorry 'bout all the things I said to you  
And I know I can't take it back  
I love how you kiss, I love all of your sounds  
And baby the way you make my world go 'round  
And I just wanted to say I'm sorry.  
This time I think I'm to blame  
It's harder to get through the days  
We get older and blame turns to shame  
'Cause everything inside it never comes out right  
And when I see you cry it makes me wanna die."  
-Sorry, Buckcherry

* * *

Paper work was the bane of Flack's existence.

And the stacks of folders that awaited him the moment he stepped out of interrogating Paul Browning were downright infuriating and intimidating. He was still coming to grips with the sudden and grotesque end to the case. What had started out as an apparent car jacking gone wrong had taken so many twists and turns that it seemed almost surreal. It was mind boggling to think about what had happened in between the snowy night at the side of a blood soaked SUV and the frigid, grey morning standing over the lifeless bodies of three young people who could not face the consequences of their actions.

A search Dylan and Nathan Browning's apartment had turned up over four dozen weapons. Half of which were illegal to own or purchase in the state of New York. A good majority were also stolen. The serial numbers long filed off. After two hours of cataloguing and photographing, Samantha had turned over the end of the case to the ATF agents who'd come to take the firearms into their possession. They'd hauled six large plastic storage containers out when all was said and done. Mac and his team had confiscated two home computers and one lap top. And a small plastic baggie that held the five grand that had Natalie Cormier had withdrawn from David Arruda's bank account.

Natalie had left a note. A manifesto of sorts to explain why she and her new boyfriend and his brother had done what they had. Flack had a copy of it in the case folder that he was now working diligently on. She had written that David had been having an affair with a woman at his work and had gotten said other woman pregnant. The affair had been going on for nearly half a year and she had confronted him about it many a time, only to have him accuse her of being paranoid and not trusting him and not loving him. She'd taken up with the bartender mostly because of his accessibility to weapons. By this time she'd decided to 'teach David a lesson'. It had been her sole idea to kill David and she had preyed on the new boyfriend's weakness for meth and coke and knew if she offered what he considered enough green to support his habit, he'd agree to just about anything.

And he had. He'd gone along with the plan to kill David Arruda for what Natalie considered a damaging and unrecoverable blow to her health, happiness and mental well being. Flack considered that the biggest crock of shit he had ever heard. A lot of guys cheated on their women and unfortunately knocked other girls up, but the girlfriends didn't go all raging psycho. They simply dumped the guy's sorry ass and got on with their lives. Or at the most toss the dude's belongings out the window and tear apart or burn some of his clothes or most prized possessions. They didn't pay off two small time junkies to put as many bullets into the ex as possible.

Lukas Tait was collateral damage. He'd simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He would have been miles away at his job as a security guard at the New Rochelle Mall, but David had invited him out to celebrate David's twenty-first birthday three days before and Lukas had managed to switch shifts in favor of a night out of clubbing. Natalie had gone to the washroom at the club and called up Dylan and explained the change in plans. Dylan had offered up his brother to 'off' Lukas. Instead of just having a change of heart or letting an obvious absent guilty conscience convince her that murder was not the answer, Natalie had gone along with it.

She'd known, the moment that Sam had preformed the sexual assault kit that she and her collective group of wackjobs (Flack's assessment, not a self proclamation on Natalie's part) were royally screwed. She'd seen enough crime shows to know that the CSI was going to find the evidence that she wasn't raped and that she had had recent sexual relations with both David and Dylan. Out of a sheer moment of panic, she had forgotten her right to refuse the exam. The first nail in her coffin. She also knew, by the tone of questioning, that she was near the top of the suspect list. Cops were a lot smarter than either she or Dylan had given them prior credit for. They would know that the beating was staged and they would find her prints on the bank card and see her involvement in the crimes on the security tapes she had foolishly overlooked. What had seemed like a brilliant, foul proof crime at first, had quickly tanked.

She had simply used David's money because her old man, a high profile chartered account who was a big wig in the financial district, had cut off her line of credit and her access to a massive trust fund when he found out she was using drugs and dancing in a cage at what he considered a less than reputable establishment.

There was no apology at the end of the letter. The tone of the words held absolutely no remorse. Nor did it give a reason for why Natalie and her 'boys' had decided to kill themselves. The only motive anyone had to go on was that the three just could not hack it in prison. That they thought death was a better solution than a life sentence spent rotting away in a jail cell.

Flack wondered if there was a nut hospital in hell. Because if there was, the men in the white coats had met Natalie the second she arrived and buckled her into that straight jacket nice and tight.

Paul Browning was the only one going to jail out of the whole sordid group. He had confessed in a brief interrogation that Nathan had come to him only two hours before Flack had called to discuss what had happened. Browning's youngest son was tweaked on meth and scared shitless that the cops were breathing down his neck. He'd brought the murder weapons to his father in hopes that his old man could find some way to help them 'fix' what had happened. Daddy had foolishly sided with his druggie kids instead of simply calling the cops and turning the murdering little bastards in. Instead, he sent Nathan on his way with the stern warning to forget what had gone down, and to trust him to take care of the guns.

He'd been in the process of cleaning and dismantling them when Flack had called asking to talk. Browning's plan had been to clean them and strip them down and rebuild them with parts from other guns so that nothing would match up if the cops did manage to ever find them. He had planned to sell the newly built weapons in his shop. And he had thought, again foolishly, that hiding them amongst his collection in the dining room was a good idea. He wouldn't have known that less than an hour before, the type of weapon had been determined by a ballistics specialist, and that he CSI who had been present at the time, was now in his house and able to identify the guns.

He seemed neither surprised or grief stricken over what happened to his sons. But it wasn't Flack's place to tell people how to act of feel. It was his place to read them their rights and lay the charges out at their feet. Aiding and abetting was first and foremost. Accessory to murder was another. The DA would sort it all out in the end. For now, daddy dearest was cooling his heels in a holding cell at the back of the precinct while he waiting to be transported to Rikers for pre-arraignment holding.

It was up to Flack to attempt to make sense out of the insanity of the entire situation. He was unsure if that would ever happen. It was one of the most fucked up and sordid tales he had ever heard. Sid had determined that the three had indeed taking their own lives with massive doses of cyanide and that they had also had lethal amounts of meth and cocaine in their systems. Flack found it hard to feel sorry for them. The initial shock of discovering three bodies in the state they'd been in had long worn off. Now it was good riddance you pieces of shit. Sure, David Arruda shouldn't have fucked another woman and gotten her pregnant. But shit like that happened every day. He should have just been a man about it and dumped Natalie in favour of the other.

Who Flack felt most sorry for was that unborn baby who'd never asked to be dragged into such a damn mess. The kid would grow up without his father and Flack couldn't help but draw parallels between himself and David. That happened a lot since Kieran had been born. He always felt worse for the vics that left little ones or expectant wives or girlfriends behind. Because it made him think about what it would be like if someone ever had to go to his house and deliver the worst possible news to his wife. The thought of Kieran not remembering him was enough to destroy him.

* * *

Which was why he now scolded himself for being so damn sentimental and told himself to get his ass in gear. It was quarter to five. Almost quitting time. He'd been fearing that with the amount of crap piled on his desk, Gerrard would stretch his shift even further. Instead the old man had listening to the way Flack hacked and coughed and sneezed at his desk and took one look at Flack's pale face and red eyes and told the younger man to clock out at five and no later. That the rest of the work could be finished at home or the next day.

Damn Scagnetti for taking holidays at the busiest time of the year, Flack thought, as he wrote feverishly on the report he was hunkered over. So lost in thoughts of home and what hell may or may not await him when he got there, that he was barely aware that someone had stepped up to his desk. He smelled the dampness from wet snow on the figure's clothes and the slight hint of men's aftershave.

A hand reached out and scooped up one of the two pewter picture frames that rested on Flack's desk. The photo in question was of Kieran, taken two weeks ago, at the photo studio in Macy's. Well enough from his bout with the croup and taking a break from the crankiness brought on by his ear infection, Kieran was dressed in a simple red hooded sweater and black dress pants and sat in front of a colourful, brightly lit Christmas tree, a fake fireplace adorned with stockings just to his left. The kid was flashing that huge, dimple denting smile that crinkled his blue eyes and wrinkled that little freckle splattered nose.

"Naw…this kid can't be yours…" a voice that Flack hadn't heard in years said. "Too damn cute to be yours."

Flack looked up, a smile crossing his face as he took in the familiar face above him. "Gets all of his best qualities from me, Gav," he declared, as he pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up and went around to where the older man was grinning as he studied the picture in his hands.

"No way something that came from you looks like this," Moran teased, setting the frame back down on the desk.

"Well technically, he came from my wife. I just kicked in half of his DNA."

"Wise ass," Moran snickered. "Good to see some things never change. Still got a chip on your shoulder a mile wide and a smart mouth."

"How ya doing, Gav?" Flack asked, as he offered a hand.

Moran snorted and frowned. "Don't give me that shit," he said, and drew the younger, bigger and stronger man in a tight hug.

And with that simple, warm, fatherly embrace, both men knew that what happened in the past was just that. The past. Nothing needed to be said and no apologies needed to be offered up.

"How ya been, Donnie?" Moran asked, holding Flack at arms length. "Other than a busy boy judging by that picture there and what Andrea told me a couple weeks back."

"I've been pretty good. Fighting off some kind of virus or some shit like that at the moment, but other than that, I've been good. Really good, actually. Working a lot. Earned my sargeant's stripes last year."

Moran nodded appreciatively. "Nice job. Quite the feat for someone as young as you. And on top of all the working you somehow managed to squeeze in a kid and getting married?"

"Wonders never cease to exist," Flack joked, and motioned for Moran to take a seat in the chair alongside of his desk before returning to his own seat.

"You can imagine my surprise when Andrea came home from Christmas shopping and told me she'd met your wife and kid. Never figured you for a family man, Donnie," Moran sat, unzipping his heavy winter coat before sitting down.

"Honestly, neither did I. But I guess I just never met that one that you kept telling me over and over again would come along eventually."

"And did I steer you wrong? No. 'Cause she magically appeared, didn't she. I told you to always trust a wise old man. And all those times you bragged about being a bachelor for life, how you'd never be able to survive being with the same person day in and day out. What was it you used to say? 'Cause you got bored after a few weeks? Now look at you. Got wedding ring on your finger and pictures on your desk. You look well, Donnie. And happy. You happy?"

He nodded. "Ninety percent of the time," he said. "We have our problems. Sometimes we'd like to kill each other and we have to work our asses off to hold it all together. But we love each other and respect each other. And we have our little guy there," Flack gestured to the photo of his son. "He keeps us going during the tough, dark times. He's the light of my life, Gavin. They both are."

Moran smiled. "Can't remember the baby's name off hand," he said. "Kevin….Kenneth."

"Kieran," Flack told him. "It's an Irish name. Means small and black or dark."

"How old's he now?"

"He's turning one on January fourth. Pretty damn smart two. He can walk holding on to just one of your hands and he's brave enough to try a couple steps on his own. Learning all kinds of words right and left. Just little ones but at least they're there. Smart as hell. Get's that from his mom."

"You get this shit eating kind of grin on your face whenever you talk about him," Moran commented.

Flack smiled. "He's my boy, Gav. My first born. Can't describe how I feel about him or his mother. I just never felt…I don't know…I never felt complete until I met her and we started a family and what not. Am I making any sense?"

"You sound like a damn Danielle Steele novel," Moran teased. "How long you been married for now?"

"Our first anniversary is coming up on Christmas Eve."

Moran's eyes widened a little and he nodded slowly. "And your little guy is just turning a year next month?"

"We got married when she was seven and a half months pregnant," Flack explained. "Just a small, quiet thing done by a judge. Six guests. Nothing major. We didn't want anything huge. Especially not with her being so far along."

"And you asked her to marry you before or after you found out she was expecting?" Moran asked curiously.

Flack smirked. It wasn't the first time someone suspected that the reason behind their fast engagement and hasty marriage was Sam's pregnancy. His own father had immediately assumed that his first born son was marrying a short time girlfriend because he hadn't been smart enough to use a condom and had gotten her pregnant. But each time the insinuation was tossed his way, Flack saw red. Because he was damn tired of having to defend himself and Samantha and the way they felt for each other.

Sure, it was fast. A little too fast for most peoples liking. But it was their business and no one had the right to judge them. He'd do it all over again in a heart beat, and knew, although it was rare for Sam to be that out there with her feelings and thoughts, that she would too.

"I had plans on asking her before she told me about the baby," Flack answered Moran's question. "It wasn't a shotgun wedding. So hands off my wife, Gavin. Don't imply it's something else…"

Moran held his hands up in self defence. "Wasn't trying to imply anything, Donnie. Just sounds like things happened really quick. How long were you two involved before she ended up in trouble?"

Flack laughed. "In trouble? Come on, Gav. That's a term from way back in the old days. She was never in trouble. I'd rather you say knocked up over that."

"Knocked up, pregnant. Whatever. How long?"

"About four months into our relationship we found out about the baby. She was farther along than we thought she was, so she'd conceived Kieran about a month and a half in."

"So it wasn't like something that you two were planning or anything like that," Moran stated.

"No. We didn't plan on her getting pregnant. We weren't trying for a baby. It just happened. He was unplanned. Not unwanted."

"Don't get so damn defensive, Donnie," Moran said. "I ain't second guessing how you feel about your wife or your kid. I'm just saying that things happened really fast by the sounds of it and I can see why people can misconstrue things and assume it was something a little more scandalous."

"And if it was? If I did marry her out of some feeling of obligation? Does that really matter?"

"Of course not," Moran told him. "But if that's the case, it won't last two years and you know that. So I'm just hoping you're on the up and up about your feelings and what not."

"I love my wife," Flack said, looking Moran dead in the eye. "I love her and I always will and I always have. Nothing scandalous or questionable about it."

"And I believe you," Moran told him. "But you've got to admit that it's all pretty hard for people to digest. What would you think if someone was telling you the exact story you're telling me?"

"I wouldn't think anything. And I'd mind my own business."

"Fair enough," Moran said. "You got a picture of your girl? Andrea was telling me she looks just like some actress on tv. Rachel something or other. From The DC or The OC. I don't know. Some shit like that anyway. She watches all these teeny bopper crappy things that come on in re-runs late at night."

"Rachel Bilson," Flack told his old friend. "And Sam hears that all the time. Second picture there is of me and her. Taking at a friend's wedding last month."

"Samantha?" Moran asked as he reached for the frame.

Flack nodded.

Moran studied the picture in his hands. A smiling, happy couple with their arms around each other and looking very much in love. He grinned at the sight and nodded approvingly. "She's a beautiful girl, Donnie," he said and put the picture back. "Have to admit, she's not the usual eye candy I am used to you toting around."

"She's got style and substance, Gav," Flack told him. "And I always had a weakness for brunettes."

"No you had a weakness for anything that walked with a wiggle," Moran laughed. "She a working woman or she a stay at home wife and mother?"

"You kidding? She'd kill you if you even suggest that. She works for the department. It's how I met her in the first place. She's a CSI."

"That must be awkward," Moran commented. "Working with your spouse."

"It has it's share of trials and tribulations," Flack said with a sigh. "But we manage…so? What brings you here? Just popping by for a visit all the way from Brooklyn?"

"I was in the neighbourhood. Running some errands in mid-town for the wife. Thought I'd stop in and offer up an invitation. Andrea wanted me to call you up, but I said I'd rather do it face to face."

"What kind of invitation?" Flack asked.

"See if you and your family wanted to come over for Boxing Day dinner. Unless you already have plans or whatever."

"No plans," Flack told him. "We're both off. Sam's parents are in town from Arizona and we're all going to my folks for Christmas dinner. But they're heading off with her brother and his fiancee for Boxing Day. We were just planning on staying home."

"Change of plans," Moran said. "You and your wife and your pride and joy there will be spending the day at my humble abode, eating Andrea's famous pumpkin pie and cherry cheesecake. The girls will be there with their kids so you're little guy will have some other kids to play with."

Flack gave a little grimace. "I don't know, Gav. Kieran…he's a little bit of a…what's the best word? A terrorist."

"Aren't they all at that age?"

"No. I mean he's evil. Born evil."

Moran frowned. "Come on. He's a baby. How bad could he be?"

"You know what he did a couple weeks back? First thing in the morning? I went in to get him for breakfast and he'd taken a huge dump and than got his diaper off and got crap from one end of the place to the other. All over his bed, all over himself. It was gross. I thought I was going to puke. Had to get my wife to deal with it."

"Wimp," Moran chided.

"He throws everything. Food, toys. Doesn't matter. He tosses things in the litter box and uses said thing as a sand box. Last week, he ate cat food. The soft kind. All 'cause I forgot to put the bowl on the counter after the mangy little bastard finished eating. The cat, I mean."

Moran laughed. "I got that much, Donnie. And this is all normal baby stuff. Wait until he's a teenager breaking curfew and making out with girls in the back of your car when he borrows it and telling you to fuck off. That's when all the evil stuff starts."

"Well let's hope by that time, the wife agrees to military school," Flack only half joked. He checked his watch. "Quitting time for me, Gav," he said, shuffling papers into their respective folders. There'd be lots of homework for him that night. He dropped the folders into a case box that rested on the floor by his desk. "You wanna come over for supper? Meet the wife and kid?"

"I'd love to. But I still have a few things to do," the older man said as he slowly rose to his feet. "I'll walk ya out though."

Flack stood as well, leaning over his desk to switch off his computer. "You're more than welcome, Gav. The wife won't mind. She's been going on about meeting you since we ran into Andrea at Target."

Moran just nodded and waited for Flack to slip into both his suit jacket and winter coat and snag his keys from the top drawer of the desk and gather up the box. Together the two men walked through the busy precinct and out the front door into the dismal afternoon light and the heavily falling snow.

"How much did you actually tell her Donnie?" Moran asked.

"I told her what happened. I told her you were my training officer and we were pretty tight and you got yourself into some trouble."

"You tell her what kind?"

"I told her everything, Gavin. About having another life on the side and taking that evidence to protect a son no one else knew you had. And I told her what Hector had done and what he hadn't done and that I was the one who had to investigate and all that other bullshit. And how you had to take early retirement to avoid charges and what not."

Moran nodded slowly. "And what did she say?" he asked. "She ain't gonna be walking into my house thinking all this bad stuff and judging me is she?"

"Sam's not like that," Flack defended his wife. "She just listened and said how tough it must have been for the both of us to make the choices we had. She's a mother, Gavin. She knows that love a parent has for their children. That they'd do just about anything to protect their kids. And she knows more than anyone that people make mistakes and bad choices."

Moran followed the younger man to the side of the building and into a crowded side parking lot. "Don't park underground?" he asked.

"Most of the times it's more trouble than what it's worth," Flack replied, using the remote on his key chain to unlock the doors and turn off the alarm of a black GMC Yukon SUV several yards away. "Especially since the department took away free employee parking and charges a monthly fee now. And with two cars in the family…gets a little pricey."

"A lot of things in the department have changed in the last few years," Moran said with a sigh. "Nice ride…impressive."

"Had it a couple years now," Flack said, tucking the box under one arm as he opened the back driver's side door with his free hand. "Comes in handy now that there's more groceries to bring home and baby shit to cart around."

Moran smirked at the sight of the Evenflo front facing car seat in the back. "Now that is a sight I never thought I'd see. You with a car seat in your possession."

Flack grinned. "Damn thing may as well be bolted down it's in there so tight. Besides, wife's got one in her own car. So we don't have to keep taking it in and out."

"Talks of wives and car seats and babies," Moran shook his head in disbelief. "Did I miss the apocalypse?"

"A lot can happen in a few years," Flack reasoned and shut the back door. He leaned against the driver's door and pulled a pack of smokes and a lighter from his coat pocket. He opened the pack and offered it to Moran who snagged a cigarette, nodding in appreciation.

"Still haven't quit huh," Moran commented, as Flack lit both their smokes.

"You kidding?" Flack chuckled and inhaled deeply. "I've quit about six times since my boy's been here. And twice when the wife was pregnant. I've got no will power, Gavin. Mind you, I haven't touched booze in over a year."

"No shit. What happened? Just decide you didn't want to drink the horrors of the job away?"

"Pretty much. I was using the bottle as a crutch. Every time there was a hard case or trouble at home, first thing I'd do was reach for the JD. Get shit faced. I didn't like what it was doing to me. How I was treating people under the influence. Thought of turning into my old man scared the shit out of me. So, I recognized I had the start of a bigger problem, realized my family meant more to me than getting drunk, and that was it. Went to some AA meetings, got a sponsor."

"I'm glad to hear that, Donnie. I was always worried about you in that respect. You've always been a pretty heavy drinker. Best to realize there's an issue before things get out of control."

Flack smirked. "You sound like my wife," he teased.

"Must be a genius of a woman than," Gavin said. "If she's thinking with the Mensa members like myself."

"And you call me the smart ass."

The two men stood there, leaning against the side of the SUV, the snow steadily falling and the wind picking up. The sky was nearly pitch black for only twenty after five in the afternoon. The temperatures were biting and nearly unbearable.

"Sorry it took me so long to get around to see ya, Donnie," Moran said after several minutes of quite contemplation. "There were lots of times I wanted to stop by or call you, especially after that bombing. I guess I was just afraid you wouldn't want to see me after letting you down so badly."

"You never let me down, Gavin. You made tough decision. Simple as that. And I would have gotten a hold of you if I wasn't afraid of the same thing."

"You kidding? I'd never feel let down by you. Shit, I'm mine proud of you than my own kids sometimes. You've come a long way, kid. From a lowly beat cop to a Sargent. Hell of a thing considering you're so young. But I'm proud of you and it looks good on you. Hope your old man thinks so, too."

"Things are better between us," Flack said. "But it's an on going work in progress."

"And now married with a kid," Moran shook his head. "I think that's the biggest, most courageous thing you've done yet. And I hope the two of you are happy and you get many years together. Don't fall into the traps I did, Donnie. A wife and someone on the side. Lots of cops get sucked into that. You're too good for that. Don't let that happen."

"Never gonna happen," Flack vowed. "That's one thing you don't have to worry about. I waited too long to find her to fuck it up."

"Good," Moran said and finishing his cigarette, tossed it in the snow. "'Cause I ever find out you messed around, I'll beat your ass all over this city."

"No sooner than she will," Flack laughed, and disposed of his own smoke. "I gotta head out, Gav. She'll pitch a fit if I don't come home in enough time to spend time with the kid. Sure you don't want to come over? She's not the best cook in the world, but it's edible and I'm not exactly starving to death."

"I'm good," Moran said. "But thanks. And you're a hell of a lot bigger since the last time I saw you. You were just a skinny, scrawny runt than. What she feeding ya to get that big?"

"It's all the sympathy weight I put on while she was pregnant. Haven't lost any of it yet. But she loves me just the way I am. Love handles and all."

Moran smiled. "Oh to be young and in love," he said. He reached out and drew Flack into another hug. "It's was good to talk to ya, Donnie. We're in the book. Call me and we'll talk more about Boxing Day."

"We'll talk soon," Flack assured him, returning to the embrace. "Thanks for coming by. It was good seeing you, Gavin."

"Guess we both shoulda just swallowed our stupid foolish pride and called each other huh? Ah well, too late to worry about that now. I'm just glad you're okay after that bombing and that things worked out so good for you."

"Thanks. Tell Andrea we'll see her soon and thanks for the invite."

"Will do. Truth is, I think she fell in love with your son and just wants to have him around."

"You guys can take him for a while," Flack said, as he popped open the driver's door. "A week, maybe two?"

"You wish, Donnie," Moran laughed, as he headed, hands in his pockets through the snow covered parking lot.

"Hey, Gavin!" Flack called to his old friend.

Moran turned to look at the younger man.

"I never wanted things to end the way they did. I hope you realize that. And that there's no hard feelings there."

Moran smiled. "There never was kid," he said, and turned and journeyed through the blustering, heavy snow.

Flack climbed behind the wheel and shut the door and started the ignition.

Things usually came in threes. The discovery of the bodies and Moran's unexpected visit had been one and two.

He wondered what number three had in store for him.

* * *

Sam had gone home once her part in the case was handed over to the two ATF agents that took over custody of the weapons in the apartment. She'd found a note from her mother in law tapped to the fridge that Patricia had taken Kieran to Queens for the rest of the afternoon and overnight and would be bringing him back sometime the following afternoon. Citing the fact that Flack was sick and both of he and Sam would need some rest after the shifts they had just come off of.

Normally, Sam would have been pissed that her mother in law had just up and left with the baby without at least consulting one of the parents before hand. But she was so tired and weary from the day and still fuming at Flack's treatment of her at the scene and Mac's decision to yank her off of the raid, that she realized, in her state of both exhaustion and anger, that the best place for Kieran was out of the house. The last thing the innocent, unsuspecting child needed was to be placed in between any tension and hostility that would be present between his parents. It was something mommy and daddy needed to hash out without any witnesses or innocent bystanders.

She took advantage of the quiet, empty apartment and took a long steaming bath, accompanied by a good book and a glass of wine. After drying off she slipped into a sweats and a simple t-shirt and curled up on the couch under the comforter from the bed and took a refreshing, well deserved nap.

She was in the kitchen, lights and radio on, catching the weather reports and standing in front of open cupboards contemplating what do make for dinner when she heard the key in the front door. Anger that had put on the back burner now appeared at the surface and began simmering again as the front door apartment clicked open and she heard clothes rustling as her husband slip into the apartment. She listened as he kicked off his shoes and hung his jacket in the front closet. Hoping he'd decide to go straight on for a shower and give her a chance to reign in her temper.

No such luck. Just as she stood on her tip toes and pulled a jar of spaghetti sauce from the cupboard over the microwave she saw him out of the corner of her eye, carrying a case box as he stepped into the kitchen.

"Where's Kieran?" Flack asked, as he sat the box down on the floor by the table. It was ten to six. "He having a late nap?"

By that time of the day, his son was usually strapped in his high chair and causing all kinds of ruckus and noise as he flung food around the room and smeared it all over his face and in his hair. So to find the high chair empty and the apartment so quiet was a startling change.

"Your mom took him home with her," Sam answered. Not looking at him as she pulled two pots from the sink and sat them on the counter.

"You said that was okay?" he inquired, removing his suit jacket and tossing it over one of the kitchen chairs. "In this weather?"

"They were already gone when I got home," Sam informed him. "And before you even say it or even think it, I'm not some negligent parent who doesn't know their own child's whereabouts."

"I wasn't thinking that and I wasn't going to say it," Flack told her. "What the hell is up your ass?"

"Oh I don't know," she said, filling the larger pot with water and setting it on the stove. "I guess I'm just in a foul mood because my boss thinks I'm not capable of doing my job."

"Mac never said that," Flack told her. "What he said was that he was thinking about Kieran's well being and that's why he yanked you off the raid. It's not because he doesn't think you can't do the job."

"You're right," she agreed. "It's because you think I can't do the job."

"Are we going to get into this again?" Flack rolled his eyes and moved to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. "I think this was behind us once we left the scene and the case was closed."

"Everything is always just so easy for you," Sam snorted. "You just sweep everything under the carpet and forget about it. And expect me too because you say enough is enough and that's the end of it."

"I don't want to fight, Samantha," Flack said. "I didn't come home to have it out with you."

"Than maybe you shouldn't have bothered coming home than," she retorted.

"What? And have to put with you calling me ten times in half an hour wondering where I am? Listen to you go on and on about how I never spend time with you or the baby? Sit back and take your crap while you accuse me of having an affair?"

"That was one time," she argued. "One time! And you were the one that came home with another woman's phone number in your suit jacket pocket. So don't act all fucking innocent, Don."

"She was a witness at a scene. She wrote her number down and slipped it in my pocket. I had no intentions of calling her outside of the job. I told you that than and you still made a big goddamn deal over it."

"You walked in three hours after your shift supposedly ended!" Sam told him. "What was I suppose to think? Here I was at home, taking care of your three week old son and you're off doing God knows what and getting caught in the end with some broad's number in your jacket."

"I was out with Danny. He vouched for me. And why the hell are we fighting about something that happened nearly a year ago? Why do you have to be like that? Hold shit over my head forever and a day?"

"Fine," she said. "Let's see how you feel the next time I go out to a bar and come home with some strange guy's phone number."

Flack snorted. "There's a difference between me and you, Sam. See, I wouldn't actually use the number."

"And what the fuck is that suppose to mean?" she asked, feeling the anger threatening to overwhelm her.

"Nothing," he replied, sipping the water.

"What the hell are you insinuating? That I'd cheat on you?"

Flack didn't respond.

"Fuck you, Don," she spat. "Don't ever say I would do that to you because you know damn well I wouldn't! You're just being a mean, obnoxious prick like you usually are when things aren't going your way."

"So I'm a mean, obnoxious prick and you're a crazy bitch with a hair trigger temper. We're a good match."

"Look! You may be my husband but I don't need to take this shit from you or any man! And if you ever pull rank on me at a crime scene again…"

"So that is what this is all about?" he laughed and shook his head. "All because Mac pulled you off of a raid that you had no reason to be part of?"

"That was my case and my raid! Those kids would have been my collar and you dressed me down in front of my colleagues and my friends just so you could get your goddamn name on a DD-5 report. Pad your stats. The NYPD's Golden Boy gets another notch on his belt."

"Is that what you think!?" he shouted at her, incredulous that she would even assume that was the reason for his actions. "You think I acted the way I did to get a collar?"

She turned to face him, arms crossed over her chest. Not responding.

"You're nuts, Samantha. I acted like I did because I knew what kind of perps we were dealing with. What kind of arsenal they had up there! I did what I did to protect you!"

"I don't need to be protected by you, Don! How many times have we gone through this same damn thing since we got together! I'm a cop, too! That's my job! And after more than a year together you would think that you'd have come to grips with that by now."

"So I'm just suppose to think it's okay that you knowingly put yourself in harms way? Just say, fine, do what you want, Sam? Get yourself killed. I don't care. Is that what I'm suppose to be like?"

"No! Of course not. But you're not suppose to be an overprotective, possessive, pig headed jerk either!"

"I wasn't fucking trying to pad my stats or get another arrest under my belt. I was trying to make sure you got home to your son at the end of the day!" he yelled back.

"My son! He's not just my son! He's our son! You helped make him! Remember?!"

"Yeah! I do remember the five minutes of sheer hell it took!"

"Believe me, Don, that's way more of an insult to yourself than it is to me," Sam laughed dryly and went to step past him to get something from the fridge.

He grabbed her by the wrist and pushed her back in front of him and held her against the cupboards in front of him.

"Don't fucking walk away from me!" he snapped.

"I wasn't! I was trying to get something from the goddamn fridge! And if you don't let my wrist go, you're going to be on the ground in a heap crying for your mommy."

"For your information the only reason I acted the way I did today was for you and Kieran. You're his mother, Samantha. His primary caregiver. You're the one that does the most for him and I was just thinking about what it would do to him if something happened to you!"

"But not about what it would to do you!" she snorted and yanked her hand away from him. "Because let's face it," she went back to where she was preparing food at the counter and uncapped the jar of sauce. "You'd do perfectly well without me and go on with your life like I never even existed."

"Don't be fucking stupid!" he yelled at her. "That's fucking bullshit and you know it! But this isn't about me or you! It's about Kieran and how he needs his mother more than he needs his father!"

"That's a load of shit!" Sam informed him, her hands tightening in anger around the glass jar.

"And you know what, now that we're on the topic of our son and his care, I might as well lay how I really feel out on the table."

"By all means," she mumbled sarcastically.

"I want you to quit and stay home to take care of the baby. I want you to be a homemaker and a mother."

"No," she laughed ruefully. "You want me to be a fucking maid and a prisoner in my own home."

"I want you to do the things that a wife usually does. Cook, clean the fucking place up, do laundry. Take care of the kid! You're the one that is constantly bitching about how messy this place is. Than stay the hell home and vacuum and dust and put shit away instead of yapping about not having the time to do it!"

"So it's all me?" she asked. "It's up to me cook and clean and pick up after you? You're a chauvinistic bastard. That may have been the 'in' thing when you're parents were our age, but guess what? Women work out of the home this day and age. So get your head out of your ass and crawl out from whatever rock you've been hiding under and grow up!"

"Hey, I am all for women working out of the house! But when you put your job ahead of your kid I have a problem with it!"

"You sonofabitch!" she bellowed and slammed the jar onto the counter with such force it shattered. "Shit!" she hissed when she felt a shard of glass dig deep into the palm of her hand. The space between her thumb and forefinger.

She yanked the tea towel off of the handle of the stove and wrapped it around her bleeding, stinging hand.

"I always put Kieran and you first, Don! Always I stayed off work longer after he was born so I'd have more time with him and we would have somewhat of a normal marriage! So you'd have someone that did the housework and have home cooked meals ready for you when you got home and clean up after your lazy ass! So don't you stand here and accuse me of putting my job before my son or our marriage! This is a two way street! And you haven't put half of what I have into him or us!"

"That's right, Sam. You're just the perfect wife and mother. You're a regular Stepford Wife. A real fucking martyr."

"Oh go fuck yourself, Don Flack," she snorted and hurried from the kitchen to tend to her injured hand. "Just stay the fuck away from me!" she screamed over her shoulder as he followed her.

"Let me look at your hand," Flack said, trying his best to cool himself down.

"Just screw off!" she retorted, shoving open their bedroom door and nearly knocking out Slippers as she attempted to slip by and out of the room to head for some food.

* * *

Sam stalked into the en-suite bathroom and used her good hand to turn on the hot water. Hissing in pain, tears running down her cheeks as she shoved her bleeding palm under the tap.

"How bad is it?" Flack asked from the doorway.

"Don, I said screw off!" she responded.

He sighed and disappeared from the door. Returning a couple of minutes later with the first aid kit that they kept in the hall linen closet. He sat it on the closed toilet seat and snapped it open. He snagged a roll of gauze, a cotton pad and some antiseptic and surgical tape.

"Let me see it Sam," he said in a gentle tone as he approached the sink once more and laid the supplies on the ledge.

"No…" she shook her head vigorously, tears spilling down her cheeks. "You've done enough. Please just leave me alone."

He ignored her and shut the water off and grabbed a hold of her tiny hand, turning it palm up so he could look at the wound.

"It's a clean cut," Flack said. "Not bad enough to need stitches but still nasty. Good thing is there's no glass in it."

"It stings," she whined. "Really bad."

He stepped to the door and grabbed a towel hanging off the hook.

"Not that towel!" she wailed as he proceeded to dry her hand. "That's brand new!"

"So I'll buy another one," Flack told her, tossing the towel aside when her hand was dry.

She winced as he cleaned the wound with the antiseptic. He placed the cotton pad over it and than wrapped it tightly with some of the guaze, which he tightly held in place with pieces of the tape.

"Are you going to quit your job and become a doctor or nurse?" Sam asked lightly, sniffling.

He grinned. "I think I'll stick to police work. I'm an insensitive, mean prick, remember?"

"That's not what I said," she argued. "I said you were an overprotective, possessive, pig headed bastard."

"My mistake," he said with a sigh. "There," he admired his handiwork. "All better. Almost as good as new."

"It's a pretty good patch job," she agreed.

He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her injured palm. "I'm sorry, Sam…for everything I said and the way I acted today."

"So am I. I don't mean the things I say, Donnie. They just come out when I'm angry."

"We both say dumb ass shit when we're upset," he told her.

"I just…I can't be a stay at home wife and mother. Just like you can't be a stay at home husband and father."

Flack sighed. "I just worry about you."

"You have to trust me enough to know I would never intentionally put myself in harms way. It's my job, Donnie. And I love doing it."

"Fair enough," he said, and kissed the inside of her wrist.

She shivered at the soft contact. Despite the fact that ten minutes ago she had wanted to kill him for being such a chauvinistic, mean spirited SOB, at that moment, looking into those incredible blue eyes and feeling his warm, moist lips on her skin, she was filled with love and tenderness for this man that she had vowed to love forever. And there, sitting just on top of the surface, was want and need and desire.

He smiled as he felt her tremble. He laid his free hand on the side of her face and kissed her. Long and soft and promising. When he attempted to pull away, her good hand grabbed him by the front of his shirt and held him firmly in place as she deepened the kiss, her tongue pushing through his lips and teeth and seeking out his.

Flack slid his hand to the back of her neck and up into her hair, burying and twisting his fingers in the long, dark tresses as he kissed her aggressively in return. His lips and tongue were hungry and greedy as he roughly backed her into the door and pinned her there with his full weight. His other hand reaching between her and the door to grab her ass.

Her hand dropped from his shirt and slid down his chest and stomach and over his belt buckle. It drifted slowly and tantalizingly over his rapidly hardening cock and he moaned into her mouth when her hand tightly squeezed him through the fabric of his pants.

He broke out of the kiss and the hand entwined in her hair tipped her head to the side and his lips found her smooth, slender neck. She quickly and effortlessly undid his belt and popped open the button on his pants and than yanked down the zipper. Feeling him shudder against her when her hand reached in and stroked his impressive length through his boxer shorts.

He decided to return the favor. Slipping his hand down the front of her sweats and vigorously rubbing her already moist vulva before his finger delved between the lips to stroke her clit.

She gasped loudly, tightened her grip on him.

"Jesus, baby," he groaned, pressing himself into her hand. "I think we should go in the bedroom."

She shook her head. "Here…right here…I'm too impatient and too goddamn horny to wait."

"You're demanding," he said, and kissed her passionately. His hand inside her pants slid around to her ass. Both hands now squeezing and fondling her bottom as he pulled her away from the door and turned her around, propelling her the narrow width of the bathroom until the small of her back hit the edge of the sink.

"Ow!" she cried, pulling away from the kiss and smacking his shoulder. "That's going to leave a bruise!"

"You're going to have a lot more bruises than that when I'm finished with you," he informed her, yanking her sweats off of her slender hips and letting them fall to her ankles.

She kicked her pants off as he shed his own trousers and boxers. "So where?" she asked, looking around the bathroom. "Floor? Toilet seat? Get in the shower and…."

He didn't answer. Instead he grabbed her by the hips, fingers digging roughly into her sensitive flesh as he effortlessly picked her up and sat her on the edge of the sink.

"Now this is a first," she commented.

"You talk too much," Flack informed her, and yanked the bottom half of her body towards him. "I'd much rather hear you moaning like a grade A porn star and screaming my name."

"You think so goddamn highly of yourself," Sam snorted. "You're the type of guy that…"

He shut her up by sealing her lips in a demanding kiss. His hands gripped her hips tightly and almost painfully as he pushed into her warm, welcoming body with one solid, deep thrust.

She moaned against his mouth, bit down on his bottom lip. Her hands were on the back of his neck and her nails dug painfully into his flesh. It was a mixture of pain and unbelievable pleasure that only spurred him on further. All the adrenaline and anger of the last seventeen hours flooding out of them both as he pounded into her. Sweat dripped down his back and beaded on his forehead at the force of his movements. She was whimpering and panting against him, her hands slipping down to his shoulders, clinging to him.

He wasn't going to last long. His main fear, as it always was, was that he would reach completion before her. So he slowed his thrusts. Making them slow and deep as he pulled back to look into her eyes and than reached between them to rub her clit it smooth circles.

She cried out, her eyes closing once again as she tilted her head back against the mirror behind her. He bent down and his teeth grazed against the hallow of her throat. That sent her over the edge and she screamed his name as a powerful orgasm ripped through her body. She convulsed around him. The tightening and clenching of her inner muscles bringing on his own climax. Her name a harsh, ragged groan that escaped his lips as he buried his face in her shoulder.

Sam held him tightly as his body shuddered against hers. Feeling his heart pounding against her and the sweat from his forehead against her cheek. She ran her hands along his shoulders and his back, giving him the time to gather and compose himself.

Flack pulled away from her. Using his forearm to wipe perspiration from his forehead. "I am telling you right now, Sam," he said, panting. "If that didn't make a baby, I don't know what will."

She giggled and held his face in her hands as she kissed him. "Something is wrong with us, you know."

"How you mean?"

"Ever since we first got together, we have these major, nasty blow outs and than we have sex after. That can't be normal."

"Who cares if it's normal?" he asked. "It's fucking awesome sex. And if I told you once, I will tell you again. Make up sex is the best."

"I am certainly not complaining," she said. "But now I need to go and lie down and put my legs in the air."

He frowned. "Say what?" he asked, as she pushed him away from her and his now limp cock slipped out of her.

"Doctor said lying on your back with your legs in the air aides conception," Sam informed him, jumping down from the sink ledge and squeezing her legs together tightly as she headed into the bedroom. "Helps the sperm get to where it's going."

"Your doctor is mental," Flack said, as he cleaned himself, and the bathroom up. "And so are you."

"At this point in time, I will take whatever assistance I can get," Sam said.

He finished tidying up and shed the rest of his clothes. Carrying everything into the bedroom, he tossed them in a heap in the chair by the window and grabbed a pair of clean boxers to slip into it. He couldn't help but laugh at the sight of his wife on her back in the middle of their bed, a pillow propping her hips slightly, legs up, toes pointed to the ceiling.

"Laugh all you want," she said. "It just might work."

"I'll keep my finger crossed," Flack told her, drawing back the blankets and sliding into bed.

"Tell me when five minutes is up," she said.

He checked his watch. "Okay…starting now?"

Sam nodded. "After this I should go and clean that mess in the kitchen up."

"You can do that later. Let's have a nap."

"There's that broken jar and all that sauce and some of my blood all over the kitchen counter and floor," she reminded him.

"Later," he said and yawned. "The baby's not here so we can do whatever the hell we want until he comes back."

She looked over at him and grinned. "Anything?"

He moved closer to her and kissed her softly. "Anything," he said.

"Something tells me I'll be holding my legs up in the air more than once tonight."

He laughed. "Whatever you think works, babe."

She was silent for a while. "Do you think we work, Donnie?" she asked.

He rolled onto his side and reached out to smooth her hair away from her face and stroke her forehead. "I know we work," he replied.

"Sometimes it seems like you hate me."

"Christ, Samantha," he kissed her cheek softly. "Never, baby. Never. Just 'cause we fight doesn't mean I don't love you. Do you hate me?"

"Of course not."

"We're just a lot alike," he told her. "Too much sometimes. I'm the gasoline and you're the match. Isn't that what your mom says?"

She nodded.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "I love you. Always. Regardless of what we say when we're angry."

She turned her head sideways and rested her forehead against his. "I love you, too," she said. "Time?"

He looked at his watch. "Time," he concurred.

"That's harder than it looks," she declared, lowering her legs and yanking her pillow out from under her.

She got out of bed long enough to shed her t-shirt and grab a pair of pyjama bottoms and an old academy sweatshirt of his. Than she lifted the blankets and climbed back in and cuddled up close. Lying on her side, face buried in his neck as his arms embraced her tightly.

"Think we beat five minutes?" he asked. "Was that longer or shorter? You know, considering you tossed that wise ass comment out earlier."

She laughed against him. "It was your comment…and I think you lasted a bit longer than five."

"You know, you can be a real raging bitch when you want to be," he told her.

"But you love me and wouldn't give me up for anything in the world."

He smiled and held her close.

"You're right," he said.

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and everyone of you! Even the lurkers! Don't forget to review please! Makes my day!**

**Thanks to:**

**Hope4sall  
****Brttmclv  
****Laurzz  
****laplandgurl  
****Marialisa  
****wolfeylady  
****muchmadness  
****ImaSupernaturalCSI  
****Madison Bellows  
****GregRox  
****Hardylover7477  
****Forest Angel  
****Bluehaven4220  
****Soccer-bitch**


	22. Four sleeps aka the more the merrier

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHAFLACK AND BABY KIERAN AND ANYONE ELSE YOU DON'T RECOGNIZE IN THIS CHAPTER.**

**Four sleeps (aka The more the merrier)**

"Do you remember me?  
I sat upon your knee  
I wrote to you  
With childhood fantasies  
Well, I'm all grown up now  
And still need help somehow  
I'm not a child  
But my heart still can dream."  
-Grown up Christmas List, Amy Grant

* * *

She was no Betty Crocker or Martha Stewart.

While her skills for meal making had expanded beyond frozen entrees, minute rice, pasta and hot dogs, she hadn't had the time, or much of an opportunity to delve into the baking aspect of culinary magic. A week ago, she had mentioned to her husband in passing, as he delved into homemade baklava Stella had created and brought over during a social visit, that she wouldn't mind learning how to bake something. Anything.

He'd taken her a little too seriously apparently. Because three mornings later, a recipe book for Christmas desserts had magically appeared beside her pillow. Along with a white apron and oven mitts adorned with embroidered candy canes.

"Are you trying to drop a hint?" she'd asked, dropping said early Christmas presents in her husband's lap as he sat at the kitchen table. Sipping his morning coffee and keeping an eye on his son that was in his high chair having babbling, nonsense conversations with his sippy cup and pieces of Eggo waffle.

Flack had looked at her with that perfected sheepish, boyish grin that dimpled his cheeks and gently, and innocently, reminded her of the comment she had made over the baklava. And how his mother used to bake all the time at Christmas. It was one of the things that made holiday hell with his old man bearable.

"So get your mother to bake you shit and bring it over," Sam had snapped. Not liking the insinuation that his mother was a better all around homemaker than she was.

No woman liked to be compared to their mother in laws or made to feel as if they didn't quite add up to mommy dearest. What her husband failed to remember, and what Sam had made a point to remind him about, was that his mother was more than happy to stay home and do nothing but clean and cook and bake and slave to an ungrateful and abusive husband and two lazy as shit sons.

"Well Stella manages to do all of that stuff and work," Flack had said casually.

"Than you should have hooked up with Stella when you were still single!" Sam had snapped back. "She also doesn't have a mini Osama Bin Laden running around the house causing sheer and utter hell!"

"He's not that bad," Flack told her.

"How would you know? You're not around him long enough to get a feel for what he's really like."

What had started out innocent and playful had turned into a blow out right in the middle of the kitchen over his demanding work schedule and the zero time he spent as a husband or a father and Sam's ability to accept his career just happened to have to come first sometimes. It was the same complete and utter bullshit they always fought over. The main instigator of their conflicts being that they were both stubborn as all hell and never wanted to be the one to back down or sacrifice.

They had a lot of growing up to do still. Both recognized and acknowledged that and both had promised to make a conscious effort to curb their often possessive, jealous and insecure personalities.

She had softened on her opinions on being a homemaker. Not that she had any plans on quitting her job and staying home full time. Hell would have to freeze over **and **pigs fly before that ever happened. But she had agreed to take some of her holiday pay at Christmas time. It was first come first serve for vacation time within the lab, and putting forth a request a mere ten minutes before Carmen had secured Sam from December 20-January 2 off. It had felt so damn good to be able to stay up the night before getting the house tidied up and some baking done and some presents wrapped before her parents arrival, and know that she didn't have to worry about a middle of the night call out or a pre-dawn wake up call.

She had returned to the kitchen once Kieran was tucked away in bed and sleeping soundly. Thank God for eight pm bedtimes. Her parents' flight was set to arrive at La Guardia at nine. Her mother had pitched a near fit early that day when she'd called to announce they were on their way to Skyview Airport in Phoenix and to please have either herself, or Don, there to pick them up at the insanity that was La Guardia. Sam had politely informed her mother that there was a change of plans. Don had to work a longer shift and wouldn't get in the house until close to midnight. And she didn't feel comfortable with waking a sleeping baby and putting him in a car seat and driving to the Flushing with the amount of snow on the ground and the slippery conditions of the roads. That last part had actually been Flack's main reason for telling his wife that under no certain conditions was she going to take herself and the baby out to the airport. And that he'd shell out the money for an air taxi to pick them up and drop them off.

Thankfully, a call coming through on the second line had given Sam the luxury of cutting her mother off mid rant. It was Reed Garrett. Lessing's release had been put off twice because of adverse reactions to his meds that had caused him to become violent with other patients and staff. Another release date was tentatively scheduled for mid January, so she and Reed, after cancelling his interview two times, had decided to chat sometime after Christmas. He'd called to set up a time and date for the twenty-ninth. Sam had stayed on the line with him longer than was necessary. Asking him questions about questions about his job and his family and his plans for Christmas. All to avoid returning to her mother who was still on hold.

The sneaky plan had worked. By the time Reed insisted - for the fourth time- that he really had to hang up, Sam's mother had given up and disconnected the call.

It was almost the best Christmas present her mother could ever give her. The ultimate would have been a phone call saying that her parents had changed their mind and weren't coming to New York City. But that would have been a modern day miracle short of another episode of immaculate conception. Although there were times Sam considered visits and calls from her mother the coming of the Anti-Christ.

For now, she put her feelings of dread and anxiety that would no doubt descend on the house over her parents stay, on hold and concentrated on the task in front of her. Her plans for that night were coconut peanut butter balls. The easiest of the recipes she'd attacked so far. Last night had been maraschino cherry bars and dream squares. She'd made enough for an army and both the fridge and freezer were stocked full of Tupperware containers holding the treats. She also planned on making some Christmas drop cookies and short bread. Although she was sure that once her mother got there, she'd tell her daughter that she wasn't making things properly and promptly take over. And that her mother also had up her sleeve, insults about her inability to keep a pristine house and cook a decent meal. Same shit, different day.

Thoughts of her mother and her criticisms were enough to give Sam anxiety pains. Her mother had become an old, naggy and bitchy old woman in the best couple of years. She'd once been sweet and loving and demure. Sarge had transformed her into a stand up wife and mother after the disaster that was Sam and Adam's birth father. But even Sarge had been calling to complain as of late that Lynne had transformed into herself into a raging bitch just shy of Leona Helmsley.

Sam reached for the glass of red wine sitting on the kitchen counter and took a long sip before forcing all negativity from her thoughts. Christmas only came once a year. And it was her son's first holiday and she wasn't going to let someone like her mother put a damper on the magic and wonder.

No matter how hard the old woman tried.

* * *

It was quarter after eleven when the telephone rang. Three short, shrill tones that indicated someone was ringing up from the downstairs lobby. Sam had finished her baking for the night and had sealed an outrageous amount of peanut butter balls in plastic containers that she'd place in the freezer, fridge, and in the cupboard. She hadn't had time to change out of her simple black leggings and one of Don's old t-shirts that had holes along the hem and under the arms.

And as she fought off panic after buzzing her parents into the building, she rushed into the master bedroom and threw on a clean shirt and brushed her teeth and removed her hair from its messy bun and combed it out before putting it back up in a neater looking high pony tail. Her mother was big on personal appearance. The type that dressed to the nines when grocery shopping or entertaining over tea and coffee. And the last thing she needed to have, especially after three glasses of wine that would no doubt cause her to be loose lipped, was her mother getting on her case.

Her parents were already at the door and knocking when she hurried through the living room and into the small foyer. Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, she undid the dead bolt and the chain and pulled open the door to face her agony.

Hugs and kisses were exchanged. Her parents were tired from the flight and the trip from Flushing into lower Manhattan that was made twice as long because of all the heavy snow on the ground and the light trickle that continued to fall. Sarge was his usual boisterous, happy self, but her mother looked pissed and irritated as Sam hung up their coats in the front hall and than took the wet boots and turned them upside down and placed them on a rack that sat over the heating vent next to the front door.

"Well isn't that very…rustic," Lynne said, with a frown on her face.

"Better than having someone track their wet shoes all over my floor," Sam told her. "Last thing I want to be doing is cleaning hardwood. It's all through the place save for the linoleum in the kitchen."

"Damn cold out there," Sarge commented, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them.

"You are way too used to eighty five degree Christmases," Sam teased, smiling as her step-father drew her into another warm, strong hug. "I missed you, daddy," she said, as he kissed her cheek.

"Missed you too, ladybug," he said. "You look good. Doesn't she look good, Lynne? After having a baby not too long ago?"

Her mother eyed her from head to toe, a clearly unimpressed look on her face. "You couldn't have at least attempted to dress up a bit?"

Sam bit back an off handed remark about her mother over doing it with the designer clothes and four inch heels on her black leather boots. Instead, she smiled and shrugged. "I was doing stuff," she said.

"Stuff?" Lynne asked.

"For Christmas," Sam explained, taking a hold of her mother's carry on and motioning for her parents to follow her into the living room.

The Christmas tree lights sparkled and danced, as did the multicoloured ones outside that lined the top railing off the balcony. Her recent splurge had been a mahogany wood electric fireplace that sat on the smallest wall diagonally from the couch. Flack had complained about it. How tacky the thought of a fake fireplace seemed. But she'd said to think about the ambiance. The romance. And besides, she was getting it for their apartment whether he liked it or not.

"Nice place," Sarge nodded appreciatively as he sat the large suitcases on the ground.

"We like it," Sam said, a proud smile on her face, her hands on her slender hips. "It's not as big as we'd like it to be or need it to be now that Kieran is all over the place, but we're going to stay here until we buy a house or add to our family. Whichever comes first."

"Don't you think it's a little soon?" Lynne asked. "Another baby when the first one isn't even out of diapers yet?"

"Kieran is almost a year, mom," Sam reminded her. "And it takes nine months to have another one. He'll most likely be potty trained by than. Or close to it."

Her mother snorted. "I had a boy, remember? Boys are notoriously slow at learning things. Your brother didn't walk until fifteen months or get out of diapers until he was close to three."

"Well that's Adam," Sam said. "And now he's smarter than anyone I know so he more than made up for his short comings as a toddler. And Kieran's smart, mom. He's almost walking completely on his own and he's learning to climb. He's already off a bottle and managed to give up a soother all on his own. And most mornings he wakes up with a dry diaper. He's really, really smart."

"Like his mother," Sarge declared proudly.

"Well thank God for small miracles," Lynne said. "It's one category we wouldn't want the boy to take after his father in."

"And what's that suppose to mean?" Sam asked, sounding a little more harsh than she had planned to.

Lynne smiled. "Well let's face it, sweetheart. He's not exactly an Ivy league graduate. He's not even a community college graduate."

"And?" Sam inquired. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing," Sarge spoke up. "Don's a fine young man. Hard working, dependable, strong…"

"He's just not that bright," Lynne finished.

"Don't talk about my husband like that," Sam snapped. "You've been here for all of ten minutes and you're already insulting him? If that's the way you're going to be mother, than turn back around and get the hell out of my house."

"No one is insulting anyone," Sarge said, shooting his wife a cold glare as he attempted to diffuse the situation.

"And I'll have you know, mom, that he did graduate," Sam informed her, still feeling defensive. "From the school of hard knocks. Real life. He may not be book smart like Adam and I, but he's street smart and in his job, that's the difference between life and death. So just back off of him. Okay?"

"There's no reason to get upset, ladybug," Sarge said, reaching out to rub his daughter's back.

"Yes, there is dad. Don's a good person and he tries really hard to balance his job and our marriage and Kieran and she doesn't have the right to criticize him and make fun of him like that. My real father was no damn prize so she's the last person who should be talking shit."

Sam took a deep breath to get her temper in check.

"Would you guys like coffee or tea? I've got some desserts and stuff I've made that maybe you'd like to try."

"Sounds wonderful," Sarge said, as his wife took a tour of the living room. "Where should I put the bags?"

"Master bedroom is fine. You and mom can have mine and Don's bed and we'll sleep on the couch. It's a pull out."

"Are you sure?" Sarge asked. "This is your house and your mom and I hate to put the two of you out of your own bed."

"I insist," Sam replied.

She hadn't told Flack that he'd be sleeping on the uncomfortable, rickety pull out for over a week. She'd already thought about and brought all of their bath supplies and personal items into the smaller bedroom and hung some clothes for him in Kieran's closet. And she could imagine the reaction she was going to get upon breaking the news.

"I know how bad mom's back is and we have that memory foam stuff so it should be good for her," Sam stifled a yawn. "Sorry, it's been a long day."

Her mother, spying something out of the ordinary on the inside of her daughter's left wrist, grabbed a hold of Sam's hand and turned her arm around to get a look at what turned out to be four small black numbers tattooed on her pale skin.

"8571?" Lynne read out loud. "What's the suppose to mean?"

"That's Don's badge number," Sam explained. "I got it a few months ago."

"Why?" Lynne asked.

"Because I wanted to. Just a little something of him to take with me wherever I go."

"You always were a little different," her mother sighed.

"I prefer eccentric, mom. Wild, if you will. And you should see the tattoos Don got. I'll let him show you tomorrow. The one is something else."

"How many did he get?" Sarge asked.

"Just two," Sam replied. "But the one will blow you away. It's awesome."

Her mother snorted. "Where's Kieran?" she asked. Looking around the living room once more as if expecting to see her first born grandchild up at that time of night.

"He's asleep," Sam replied.

"Would have been nice to have him greet us," Lynne huffed.

"It's nearly midnight!" Sam exclaimed. "He's eleven months old. He's in bed by eight, eight thirty at the most. And you're here for almost two weeks. Why do you need to see him as soon as you get here?"

"We haven't seen him in a long time," her mother reasoned. "Since the two of you came down for Fourth of July."

"And you can see him when he's wide awake and ready to cause hell at seven in the morning," Sam said.

"Well I'd like to see him now."

Sam sighed. Knowing it wasn't worth getting into an argument over and even if it was, she'd never win. So after her parents dropped their luggage off in the master bedroom, Sam quietly opened the door to Kieran's moonlit room and tiptoed to the crib, her parents following silently behind. Kieran, in a pair of polar fleece Pikachu pyjamas, was on his stomach, arms out , his hands balled up in fists, his face turned towards them. Long, dark eyelashes fell on his chubby pale cheeks. His mouth was open slightly and his lips a soft pink. The only sound in the room his soft, even breathing.

"He's getting big," Sarge whispered, as he reached into the crib and ran a gentle hand over his grandson's silky, nearly black hair. "A lot bigger since the Fourth of July."

"He just keeps getting bigger," Sam said, grabbing the Cars blanket that her son had kicked off sometime during his sleep and lightly draping it over him. "Mostly taller, though. He's going to be big and tall and strong like his daddy."

"He's beautiful," Lynne breathed, in a tone that Sam had never before associated with her mother. She reached into the crib as well and traced a finger tip along her grandson's eyebrows and down his tiny, freckle splattered nose.

Kieran stirred. He gave a tiny cry followed by a long, content sigh. His hands opened and relaxed and he rolled over onto his side, facing the wall.

Sam had to fix the blanket yet again. "We should go," she whispered to her parents. "He wakes up and he's up for at least a couple of hours. And Don will freak if Kieran is up when he gets in and he's dog tired."

"He's so precious, Samantha," Lynne gushed as they headed for the door. "And he looks just like his father. I'm so proud of you. For what you've created."

She smiled. "He's my life, mom. Both him and Don are my whole life."

Lynne embraced her daughter warmly. "You did a wonderful job, sweetie."

Sam felt tears well in her eyes as she hugged her mother in return. "That means a lot to hear you say that mom," she said.

More than you could ever know, she thought.

* * *

It was nearly quarter to one in the morning when Flack finally dragged himself through the front door. He was tired and irritable and his back was aching. He'd aggravated old injuries chasing and tackling a perp a couple of months ago. The guy was stronger than he looked and put up a hell of a fight which resulted in Flack fucking up the sacroiliac joint in the small of his back. Some days he could barely get out of bed or pull on his own socks and clothes the pain was so intense. Unlike the stubborn bastard he'd been over not taking the Percs for the residual pain from the bombing, he'd quickly taken his doctor up on the offer of a 'script for Oxy-contin. Every time he popped one of them little pills in his mouth and swallowed it down, he thought of hillbilly heroin and Carter England. His favourite all time junkie.

Tonight the only thing he was thinking of was standing in the shower with hot water pulsating on the sore area just above his ass that spread all the way to each hip and unfortunately, to more tender areas in the front.

Pain shot through him as he attempted to bend over and undo his shoes. He drew in a sharp, shaky breath and squeezed his eyes shut and willed the burning sensation away. When it finally began to pass, he let the breath out slowly and stood up. Opting instead to just toe his shoes off and kick them towards the heating vent. He hung his jacket in the hall closet and locked the dead bolt and set the chain on the door. He walked slowly and gingerly into the kitchen, depositing his keys on the microwave.

"Hi!" Sam chirped from the kitchen table, startling him. He'd been expecting her to be in bed, not wide awake, a glass of red wine in front of her and a small Tupperware container of some kind of sweet.

"Hey," he said in return.

"How was work?" she asked cheerfully.

"Long and tiring. But what else is new?" he unclipped his badge and holster from his pants and sat both on the kitchen counter. "What are you doing?"

"Drinking," she said, stating the obvious as she held up her wine glass. "And eating peanut butter balls. All these calories are going to go straight to my hips and my ass."

"More cushion for the pushin'," he teased and leaned over her chair as she turned her face up for a kiss. He kissed her softly and languidly. When he went to pull away, she grabbed his chin with one hand and popped a peanut butter ball in his mouth with the other.

"Good?" she asked, letting his chin go and licking her fingers clean.

"Very good," he replied around a mouthful of chilled peanut butter.

He chewed and swallowed the delicious treat and than kissed her again. Laughing and having to clap a hand on the back of her chair to stop himself from tumbling into her lap when she grabbed him by the tie and yanked him closer to her. Her tongue pushing greedily into his mouth.

"Very, very good," he mumbled against her lips, tasting peanut butter and red wine. "So we gonna make out right here in the kitchen?" he asked when she finally released him. "'Cause your parents are right out in the living room on the pull out."

"No…" she shook her head vigorously. "They're not in there."

"What? They decided to stay in a hotel?" he asked hopefully.

"Uh-uh," she said, guzzling her wine.

"They decided to stay home?" he sounded even more hopeful.

She finished the glass of with a large gulp. "They are sleeping in our bedroom."

"In our bed?"

She nodded.

"Why?"

"Because my mother has a bad back and needs to use the memory foam."

"So do I," he argued. "I feel like I'm ninety. So she not only gets my bed she gets my foam, too? Where are we suppose to sleep?"

"The pull out," Sam answered. "Obviously."

"Did you at least remember to change the sheets before letting them sleep in there?"

She grinned devilishly and popped another peanut butter ball in her mouth.

"That's goddamn gross, Samantha. You're letting your parents sleep in our bed where we expended our bodily fluids this morning?"

She giggled. "You're so poetic, Donald. Just say it. In our bed where we fucked this morning. Don't be shy."

He grinned. "You've had too many glasses of wine," he said, shedding his suit jacket and tossing it over one of the empty chairs.

"Just a bit," she agreed, as he went to the fridge and took out a jug of white milk, another of chocolate and mixed the two in a large plastic tumbler he snagged from the cupboard above the sink.

He put the containers back in the fridge and grabbed two maraschino cherry squares from their package and than closed the fridge and sat down across from her.

"So?" he asked, biting into the square. "What kind of foul mood was your mother in when she arrived?"

Sam snorted and placed her feet in his lap.

"That good, huh? I'll move on to something else than. What was Kieran's day like?"

"Okay….he ate two full Eggos with butter and syrup this morning, a cup of juice and an entire banana. He's got your appetite, apparently."

"Like father, like son," Flack declared, and leaned forward to grab the bottle of wine, filling her glass to the brim.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" she asked, taking a sip. "So you can take advantage of me later? Score some bathroom action for a second time in a week?"

"I was thinking right here in the kitchen. Just bend you over the table and have my way with you. Seeing as you gave our bed away."

"What was I suppose to do? Let my arthritic mother sleep on the pullout?"

"No. You were suppose to send their asses to a hotel and offer to pay for it. Never mind offering. You should have just came right out and said Don and I don't want you here so we'll pay for you to stay somewhere. Because Don and I are trying to have a baby and I, meaning you, find it impossible to stay even remotely quiet during sex."

"I am capable of shutting my mouth," Sam informed him.

He arched an eyebrow. "Really? You haven't done it since the day I met you."

"Bite me," she said, wine glass to her lips, digging her foot into his crotch.

"You would so love that," he declared, finished the squares and helped himself to some of the peanut butter balls. "Watch your foot there. You want a baby don't you? Don't do damage to the boys."

"The boys?" she laughed, nearly spitting her wine across the table. "You have a nickname for your package?"

"I have a nickname for yours too," he told her and winked playfully at her.

"I don't think I want to know what it is," Sam said.

"No," he chuckled. "You don't. Besides, that's just between me and the boys. What else did you and Kieran do today other than eat?"

"We sat on the kitchen floor and finger painted. Built block towers and watched some Baby Einstein. You know, all the exciting shit that takes place in the average day in the life of a baby. And we took the longest, sweetest nap I have had in a long time."

"I had a nap, too, Not as fulfilling as yours, mind you. But I caught an hour in on a cot in the one of the holding cells."

"Eww!" Sam exclaimed and grimaced. "I can just imagine what's on those cots. And you have the nerve to come home carrying God knows what. You need to hit the showers before you come any closer to me my dear."

"How can I come any closer to you? Your parents are in our bed. And that pull out makes way too much goddamn noise to have sex on it."

"That's what the floor is for, Donnie," Sam told him, removing his foot from his lap before pushing her chair away from the table and polishing off her wine. She stopped up, swaying a little.

He grinned at the sight of her flushed cheeks and wide, sparkling eyes. "You good?" he asked.

"I'm good," she replied, giving him a thumbs up and than belching loudly.

He snickered. "Nice to know my wife is such a demure, polite, feminine thing."

"Please," she giggled as she stumbled slightly as she rounded the table and plopped herself in his lap. She wrapped her arm around his neck and nuzzled and kissed his cheek. "You didn't marry me for my cuteness."

"I didn't?"

She shook her head. "You know why you married me?"

"Why? Humour me."

"You married me because…" she licked the outline of his ear, felt him shiver against her. "…I'm a damn good lay and I give really good head."

"Yep," he agreed. "That's exactly it."

"I knew it," she said and giggled once again.

"You are so drunk, Sam," Flack sighed, rubbing her back softly.

"Just a teeny, tiny bit," she assured her and stood up.

He watched her as she weaved her way to the door.

She laughed hysterically when she banged hard into the door frame. "Excuse me," she said, patting the wood comfortingly.

Jesus Christ, Flack thought with a smirk. "Where you going, Samantha?" he called after her.

"I am going to take a shower. Are you coming?"

He was on his feet in a shot. Downing the rest of his milk in one swallow before hurrying after her, ignoring the throbbing in his back.

A man had to do what a man had to do.

* * *

An hour and a half later, Flack lay in the middle of the pullout in a pair of navy and white plaid pyjama pants his wife had made him buy at Eddie Bauer after announcing three weeks ago her parents were coming to visit. Despite ninety percent of his street clothes -other than work attire- coming from the store, he was not a pyjama type guy. But Sam was pretty certain her mother wouldn't feel too comfortable about her son in law walking around in boxers. Too bad, Flack had said. It's my place. He'd suggested a wife beater and a pair of pants, but Sam had vetoed the idea. For some reason known only to her, seeing him in a wife beater made her want to lock themselves in the bedroom and attack him.

So pyjama bottoms it was. With a t-shirt when the old folks were around. Right now however, he was shirtless and on his stomach, his arms under his chin as his wife sat on the back of his thighs, her thumbs pressing into the tender area on either side of his tailbone. Their hair still damp from a marathon shower. Exhausted and happy but not completely sated.

"How am I ever going to survive that department Christmas party tomorrow…or today…whatever day it is now. A party with all those people and your parents? Insane asylum time. Call and book me a room. Or just shoot me and put me out of my misery with my back."

"You really should go and see a chiropractor," Sam told him, digging her thumbs into his flesh and rubbing in hard, firm circles.

"I don't need a chiropractor," he said. "I need a…FUCK!" he spread his arms out over his head and had to bury his face in the mattress to muffle the scream as she hit an extra sensitive spot.

"You need a fuck?" Sam giggled. "Baby, I am the woman for you."

"That hurt, Samantha! Shit!" tears burned his eyes. He banged his forehead in aggravation and agony against the mattress.

"Well I'm sorry, baby. But we go through this same routine every night. You ask me to do this and than you wimp out on me half way through."

"I am not wimping out. It just hurts…really, really, really bad."

"Sorry," she said, and bent down to press a kiss to his back before sitting back up again. "Did you go in and get your pills?"

"I can't," he grunted as she continued applying pressure to his aching back. "Your parents are in there."

"They're sleeping. Want me to go and get them?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "I do."

She climbed off of him and off the pull out and headed down the hallway to their bedroom. Pausing at the door to listen for signs of life before entering. When she didn't hear anything, she twisted the handle and pushed the door open and slipped inside and hurried for the bathroom. Closing the door behind her before switching on the lights. She slid open the medicine cabinet and snagged the prescription bottle of oxy-contin before turning the lights back out and stepping into the bedroom.

Her eyes fell on the sight of her parents in the middle of the bed. Sarge was naked from the waist up and her mother was snuggled up to him in a flimsy satin nightie. Both had content smiles on their face. She bit back a laugh and hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her before racing back to the living room and reclaiming her place on the back of her husband's legs. She buried her face in his shoulder and burst out into hysterical laughter.

"What's so funny?" Flack asked. "Seeing me laid up like a cripple?"

"No. You…you won't believe what I just saw."

"You weren't playing that stupid Bloody Mary game in the bathroom mirror were you? Every time you get drunk you do it and get so spooked you can't sleep for a week."

"No…it wasn't that…it's..oh my God…" she laughed so hard she made a snorting noise. Which only caused her to roar even louder and Flack to laugh out loud. "My parents….they're….I can't…I think my parents were having sex in our bed!"

"Fuck!" Flack exclaimed in disgust. "You saw it?"

"No…my mom…my dad….Sarge has no shirt on and my mom…she's in this little negligee thing and….I can't take it…"

"We are getting a new mattress once they leave," Flack declared. "'Cause I don't want to be doing you in the same bed your parents were doing the nasty in."

"Oh my God," she gasped and sat up, wiping tears off her cheeks. "There's a sight you don't want to see on a regular basis."

"Just because you had to tell me I'm going to be traumatized for the rest of my life."

"I'm sorry," she said, and commenced rubbing the small of his back again. "That was just plain disturbing. Seeing my mom like that," she shivered at the thought.

"What's worse you think?" Flack asked. "Us seeing them doing the nasty or them seeing us?"

"Definitely us seeing them. I mean, we're young. We're expected to have sex. But my parents…God…I don't even want to think about it You ever think about your parents?"

"Having sex? Hell no. As far as I'm concerned, they had sex twice. Once with me and once with Chris."

"You are so delusional. They are probably like rabbits if you're dad is anything like you."

Flack grimaced. "Sam…please…no discussions like that about my parents. You know what I was thinking about when you were gone?"

"What's that?"

"That first night we were together. I mean, really together. In the shower at my old apartment. Remember that?"

She smiled. "How could I forget? The night you went all mean and aggressive and cop on me."

"You asked me too," he reminded her.

"I did," she agreed.

He sighed. "That was a fucking amazing night."

"And none of the other nights since have been amazing?" she asked curiously, running her hands up his back to his shoulders, leaning over him, pressing kisses along his back.

"Of course. Every time with you is amazing. It's just that night…I don't know…it was our first night and it was like we couldn't get enough of it…it was just different, that's all."

"We still act like we can't get enough of it," she laughed, her hands trailing down his arms.

Over the massive black and grey tattoo that stretched from just below his right shoulder to an inch above the elbow. A protection cross. The traditional Celtic knot work elaborately and intricately designed. Kieran's initials: KSDF in the middle, along with the date of his birth and his weight and height. The piece had taken two visits and nearly twelve hours to complete and cost an outrageous amount of money. On the inside of his left forearm, were four numbers: 9118. Her badge number. Done in black ink, each number was just under an inch in length.

"You're a nympho," Flack declared.

"Maybe," she said, trailing her fingers over the outline of the cross. "But that tattoo makes you look all big and bad and mean. Can I help it that I find it totally sexy and it turns me on?"

"Yeah..but you're really easy to please most days," Flack said. His eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of her hands softly trailing over his skin and her hair tickling his back as she moved down his body once again. He jumped slightly and than shuddered at the sensation of her tongue drifting across the small of his back.

"And you say I'm easy to please," she said as she moistened the small of his back with her tongue and than blew on the area.

He shivered, Unable to control himself.

She smiled, pleased with herself and the reaction she was getting. She ran her hands up his back to his shoulders, then bent down, her hair swaying against his skin as she trailed the tip of her tongue all the way from the small of his back to the base of his neck.

"Okay," Flack attempted to sit up. "Time to get off of me now, Sam."

"Why?" she asked, pushing him down by the shoulders and proceeding to kiss and lick and lightly suck at the sensitive back of his neck.

"Because….you can't be doing stuff like that to me."

"Why?"

"Because…you're driving me crazy here."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"Not normally."

Her lips and tongue travelled to the muscle between his neck and shoulder.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "You gotta stop, Samantha."

"You don't want me to stop," she stated.

"No..I don't…but…"

"No buts," she told him, suckling at the side of his neck.

"Shit, Sam. Come on. This isn't good. Not with my back the way it is and your parents in the next room."

"Donnie?" her lips were by his ear.

"What?"

"I'm really, really, really horny."

Fuck, he thought. "When aren't you?" he asked. "And we just spent over an hour in the shower."

"That was just foreplay," she told him.

"You still got off. Three times to get exact. What was in that wine?"

"I slipped some E into my own drink," she joked. "I'm serious. I am. And I know you are too."

"I am. I am practically dying here."

"So what's the problem?" she asked, kissing his neck and shoulder.

"The problem is I can barely move with my back all screwed up and your parents are in the next room."

"So?"

"So we both know, from experience, how bad this pull out squeaks and rattles. And that you are incapable of keeping quiet during sex. Especially when you come."

"You just have that effect on me," she said. "And who cares if they can hear? They know we have sex."

"I know…but the thought of, you know, making love to my wife and having one of her parents walk out…that's freaking me out just a bit."

"We'll hear them come out of the bedroom."

"Shit, Sam. By that time I won't be able to stop. And I don't feel like giving your parents a free show. Especially your dad."

"Maybe you can give him pointers," she giggled, turning her attention to the back of his neck again.

"And my back…."

"So you just lie here and let me do the work. You've always liked that before. Letting me take charge once in a while."

"I love it. I do. And there's nothing more I want to do than let you just fuck my brains out…"

"Than roll over and let me."

"Samantha…this isn't going to happen. We can't just…" he shut up at the feeling of her tongue in his ear. As soon as that happened, it was game over for him.

"Donnie?" she said into his ear.

"What?" he asked.

"Just shut up and roll over."

"Yes, m'am," he said, carefully flipping over onto his back as she lifted herself off of him momentarily,

"Don't worry," her grin was devilish as she slid down his body, her hands hooking in the waist of his pyjama pants. "I promise I will be very, very, very good to you."

"Your parents, Sam…." he argued feebly as she effortlessly peeled the pants off of him and tossed them by his head. "Your parents…"

"Forget about them," she said, and slid out of her own satin bottoms. Leaving her button down top on, she climbed astride him once more, taking his aching, hard cock in her hands and guiding him into her. She sighed and bit her lip at the pleasure coursing through her as she took him in as deep as she could, her hands running up his chest. Her nails digging in his shoulders.

He groaned at the sensation of her body closing around his erection like a tight, wet fist. He reached up and unbuttoned her top, giving him access to fondle her breasts and fondle her nipples as she rode him at a slow, easy pace.

It took less than thirty seconds for him to forget that anything, or anyone else, existed outside of them.

* * *

Flack woke up dull grey light filtering through the living room windows. Down the hall he could hear Kieran babbling cheerfully in the nursery. He raised his right arm and glanced at his watch. Five minutes to nine. Much later than the baby's usual rise and shine time, but not something alarming or unwelcome. Although he knew that he should probably get up and start the kid's breakfast before Kieran started bellowing and pitching a fit, he instead closed his eyes once more and rolled over onto his side -grateful the pain in his back seemed to have died down to where it was remotely bearable- and wrapped an arm around Samantha's sleeping form. She was on her stomach beside him, hair hiding her face, her back rising and falling with each deep, steady breath she took. He peeked under the blanket to make sure they had managed to get their respective clothes back on when all the activities were said and done, and that the buttons on her shirt were done up. Just in case his in laws decided to make an appearance.

He reached out and brushed her hair away from her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead before drawing her tight into him, Mornings like these were rare. Where you could just lie comfortably for a few moments in peace and quiet. Sam stirred and rolled over onto her side and wrapped an arm around him and snuggled in close.

That bliss didn't last long as he heard the door to one of the bedrooms click open and his mother in law mumbling about goddamn lazy people and how it wasn't up to her to take care of someone elses kid when the parents were both capable enough to do it. He wanted to yell down to her to fuck off and that there were no dire panic to get to Kieran right away. The baby had developed a morning routine that involved waking and than playing with the toys in his crib and talking away for a good half an hour. When he was hungry, Kieran let you damn well know it and quick.

"Ignore her," Sam mumbled against his shoulder and tightened her hold on him.

"It's almost nine in the morning," he told her.

"And your point?" she asked, yawning noisily.

"The point is Kieran slept in late and he's awake and your mother has gone in there to get him and she has no clue about the kid's breakfast routines or anything. So our luck, she's going to come out here and start ranting and bitching at us to get off our asses."

"Tell her to fuck off," Sam said.

"Oh I'm sure I will at least once this visit. Seriously though, babe. He's probably starving."

"Yeah?" she yawned once more and drew away from him and planted a long, soft kiss on his lips. "Than I guess you better get on that," she said, and turned over onto her other side and drew the covers up and over her head.

He sighed. "And what do I wear? All my clothes are in our room or Kieran's."

"There's a t-shirt for you on the back of the door of the small bathroom," she told him, voice muffled under the blankets.

"Why can't you get him?" Flack complained, tossing the covers back and slowly slipping out of bed in case his back decided to rebel. The last thing he wanted was to be in a crumpled heap on his own living room floor, writhing in pain. "Shit!" he hissed. "The floor is freezing. Come on, Sam. Can't you get him?"

"He's your son too," she retorted.

"Well could you at least find a way out of bed and into the kitchen and make me a coffee?"

"I'll think about it," she responded, waving him away dismissively.

"You are such a witch," he said, yanking back the covers to unearth her head, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Go away!" she cried, capturing the covers and burying herself under them once more.

Down the hall, Kieran let out an ear piercing, ferociously angry scream and than began bawling at the top of his lungs. So hard and so powerful that he gagged and coughed and sputtered.

"I think she's killing him," Sam commented, popping her head out from under the covers.

Muttering profanities under his breath, Flack headed from the living room and down the hall to the nursery. He didn't bother going for a shirt to put on. If his mother in law found it offensive that he was walking around his own place without a shirt on, than that was her goddamn problem.

His mother in law was bent over the crib, the side railing down, trying her best to comfort and control Kieran as he screamed and carried on and fought off an attempted diaper change. He was crying for mommy and daddy over and over again between his sobs and his gasps for air. His face bright red and hot tears streaming down his face.

"It's because he doesn't recognize you," Flack informed her, stepping up to the crib and taking over. "He doesn't see you enough."

Kieran stopped wailing at the sound of the familiar voice. He opened his eyes and sputtered dah-dee several times in between drawing air into his heaving lungs.

"Good morning to you too, Donald," Lynne said in return, as her son in law stepped past her to snag a handful of Kleenexes from a box on top of Kieran's dresser.

He cringed when she called him by his full name. She'd been told, politely, on numerous occasions not to call him that. And she still insisted on doing it. He didn't react Instead he concentrated on wiping tears and snot off of his son's face and continuing on with the diaper change now that Kieran had settled down.

"You know," she said, handing him a fresh diaper. "It's not my fault he doesn't remember me. It's because we all live so far apart. I'd get to see him more and spend time with him and help my daughter off if we were closer. Arizona is a lot cheaper place to live and there's lovely, reasonable homes nearby us. And the Phoenix PD is always looking to hire good people."

He smirked. This conversation had come up more than once since Kieran's birth. "I already told you, Lynne, Sam and I don't want to leave New York City. We're happy here. We've both got good careers we're advancing in and all of our friends are here. And so are my mom and dad and my brother and his family."

"But Samantha's family is in Phoenix," she pointed out.

"Adam's here in New York, too," Flack reminded her, securing Kieran's diaper and putting his pyjamas back on. "And Sam wouldn't leave Adam for love or money. Both you and Clint are retired, why don't you guys move here?"

That shut her up right quick. He knew how his mother in law felt about the city despite the fact she was born and raised there. It was too dirty and busy and above all, dangerous. Not to mention outrageously expensive.

"Come here, big guy," Flack said, to Kieran, scooping his son out of the crib and showering the baby's tear streaked face with kisses before settling him on his right hip.

"It's not good when they go to just mommy and daddy," Lynne said a matter of factly.

"It's a stage," Flack told her. "And he's usually fine with everyone else. So maybe he's just a good judge of character."

Lynne's eyes widened. Flack couldn't believe what had just slipped out of his mouth. He had promised Sam that he'd be as friendly and polite as possible. Just like he was when her mother called there to talk. But sometimes the woman just grated on his nerves and he couldn't take it. This was one of those times. And now, as he stood there, rubbing his son's back and bouncing him lightly on his hip, he could feel his mother in law's eyes studying both the massive tattoo on his arm and the scars on the left side of his body. Even after all this time, he was still self-conscious about it.

"Ask if you want to," Flack said.

Lynne blinked, her eyes breaking contact with the scars. "Pardon?"

"The scars. I know you want to ask about them. Go ahead. Ask."

"Are they from the bombing?"

He nodded. "Sam's told you all about it I'm sure."

"Bits and pieces," his mother in law confirmed. "It's a miracle that you even survived."

"Either that or it was just pure luck of the Irish," he said light heartedly.

She cracked a smile. "I was actually more focused on the art work on your arm there," she said, making air quotes around the words art work.

"I got it just after Kieran was born," he told her, "Took over twelve hours and two sessions to get it done. I won't lie and say it didn't hurt. Each kid we have, if we have more, I'm going to add their initials and what not to it."

"You have another one?"

He held out his left arm to show her the numbers. "Sam's badge number. She went and had mine done on her wrist so I figured, make it something between us and get hers."

"I've never quite seen the fascination people have with doing that to their bodies," Lynne said. "When she came home from visiting her brother here when he was in college and she had that ladybug on her foot….I damn near killed her. And than she goes out and gets that huge, God awful thing on her back."

Flack shrugged. "I don't know…it's really well done. Cost her a fortune and she said it took the guy forever to do it. It's beautiful. Not to mention it makes her incredibly sexy."

A knock came to the bedroom door.

"Everything okay in there?" Sam's voice asked from out in the hall.

"Mom-meee?" Kieran looked around the room for her. Pouting when he didn't find her.

"It's all good," Flack replied to his wife's question.

"Okay…well there's fresh coffee for everyone and I made Kieran some toast and oatmeal. So whenever you guys are ready."

"Thanks, babe," Flack said, than heard her soft footsteps travelling back down the hall. "You know," Flack said to his mother in law as he shifted Kieran onto his other hip. "Your daughter tries really, really hard. She works full time and takes care of Kieran and keeps this place and our marriage in order. She's not perfect but she tries damn hard to be. And it would mean a lot to me if you showed her once in a while that she's doing a good job. Complimented her on things instead of dragging her down."

Lynne didn't respond.

"She's my wife," Flack continued. "And I know you're her mother and she really wanted you guys here for Christmas. But to be honest, I dont give a rats ass if you're here or not. You want to see her and Kieran, that's fine, but if you're main goal being here is to make her feel like shit, you might as well leave. Because I won't tolerate you treating my wife like that. I'm telling you right now, first time you try it or get her into a state and I come home and she's in tears or she calls me at work all upset, I will personally pack your shit and ship you back to Phoenix. Understand me?"

She nodded. Too stunned by his honesty to say anything.

"Good," Flack said cheerfully and headed for the door.

"She is my daughter," she reminded him.

"Than show her some respect. She deserves that after the hell you let her go through as a kid."

Lynne sighed heavily and glared at him.

"Isn't this going to be the best damn Christmas ever?" he asked sarcastically, than slipped out of the room, chuckling all the way down the hall.

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I know there's lots of you who are reading this and I would just like to know whether you guys like this or not!! Please leave a review!! Even a quick one is better than nothing! Much appreciated!**

**Thanks to:**

**Hope4sall  
****Brttmclv  
****ImaSupernaturalCSI  
****laplandgurl  
****Laurzz  
****Marialisa  
****GregRox  
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****Soccer-bitch**


	23. Deck the motherf! halls

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK, BABY KIERAN AND WHATEVER ELSE YOU DON'T RECOGNIZE**

**A/N: AS PER A SUGGESTION FROM MY PAL LAURZZ, I AM ISSUING A WARNING BEFORE THIS CHAP. IF YOU CARE FOR YOUR MONITORS, DO NOT EAT OR DRINK DURING SOME PARTS OF THIS CHAPTER. AS LAUGHTER MAY CAUSE INVOLUNTARY SPEWING OF MOUTH CONTENTS.**

**A/N 2: A VERY SPECIAL HELLO AND WELCOME TO TWO NEW FACES! SHOPAHOLIC20 AND BUTTERCUPPIE**

**A/N: 3 THERE WAS MORE TO THE TITLE BUT YOU CAN'T GET SYMBOLS IN HERE. SO I THINK YOU GUYS KNOW WHAT THE REST IS SUPPOSE TO MEAN.**

**Deck the motherf#! halls**

"Twelve-pack of Bud  
Eleven Wrastling tickets  
Ten o' Copenhagen  
Nine years probation  
Eight table dancers  
Seven packs of Redman  
Six cans of Spam  
Five flannel shirts  
Four big mud tires  
Three shotgun shells  
Two hunting dogs...  
And some parts to a Mustang GT

_Man, this ain't normal Christmas presents!  
_No, they're redneck gifts!  
_Redneck gifts?  
_Yea, you know, like if you buy your wife earrings that double as fishing lures.  
Or, if you can burp the entire chorus of "Jingle Bells"  
Perhaps if you think "The Nutcracker" is something you did off a high-dive.  
Or, if you've ever misspelled something in Christmas lights.  
Or, if you leave cold beer and pickled eggs for Santa Claus.

_What's wrong with that?  
_I didn't say anything wrong with it...It's hard to beat…"  
-Redneck 12 Days of Christmas, Jeff Foxworthy

* * *

With a current work force of over forty thousand strong, it was impossible for the New York City Police Department to hold one Christmas party for every single employee. Short of Shea Stadium or the abomination that was the new Yankee Stadium, there was no facility in the entire state let alone the city that could hold all those people and their respective families. There was no limit on guests that you could bring and everything, including wrapped gifts for anyone under eighteen, was donated by sponsors or paid for by the department. It took the entire month of December and most of November to fit a party in for everyone. Some precincts balked and had their own celebrations, but most still attended the department hosted family events. The commissioners office and a host of volunteers spent hours upon hours arranging schedules of what department or what precinct attended what and where. It was quite the ordeal and by the time the final party rolled around, those in charge were no doubt drunk on rum and eggnog, thanking Christ the holiday only came once a year.

The twelfth precinct had been partnered up that year with the 133 in Staten Island, the Crime Lab and the Medical Examiners Office. It was the last celebration of the season and Flack was thanking the powers that be for at least putting his precinct with people he knew. Last year, although Sam had been too pregnant to attend and all of their thoughts at been on their upcoming wedding, the twelve had been hooked up with ESU and Narco. Flack had been glad that he'd been able to bail on that one. He wasn't one for dispensing the Christmas cheer. He was more bah-humbug most days than deck the halls. And being separated from the lab had meant he'd have to suffer the fate of attending two parties.

Sam was the deck the halls type as he had learned the year before. She was all for hundreds upon hundreds of lights plastered all over the house and stringing popcorn to put on the tree and spending hours and hours wrapping gifts and adorning them with bows and ribbons and individually signed gift tags. Why bother? Flack had asked her the year before, when she handed him what seemed like the umpteenth gift addressed to him and signed by her. There's no one else living here. I know it's from you. She'd looked at him like he'd mortally insulted her. And this year, watching her sign from mommy and daddy or from Santa on tags meant for presents to a baby who couldn't even read it had nearly drove him mad. But he'd bit his tongue and let her carry on. It made her happy and when she was happy, so was he.

It wasn't just the signing of names on cards for an illiterate baby that annoyed the hell out of him. It was the number of gifts that now took up residence in the walk in closet, under the bed and in the small storage closet down the hall. An outrageous amount of money had been spent on a kid that would get greater joy out of playing with the discarded wrapping paper or the empty boxes. He was all for spoiling his son. Within reason. A word that his wife did not count as part of her vocabulary. But what really burned his ass was the hiding of presents when the kid didn't even know what Christmas was or who in the hell Santa was. He did not see the point. Sam was like a little kid that looked out the window all night on Christmas Eve hoping to catch a glimpse of the jolly old man and his eight tiny reindeer.

It's just tradition Don, she'd said when he'd griped to her about how ridiculous it seemed to be going to such great lengths for an eleven month old. I want his first Christmas to be memorable. Maybe not for him but for us. It only happens once and I want to do whatever I can to make it the best Christmas ever for all of us.

He'd softened a little at those words. At the childlike exuberance with which she spoke and the way her eyes sparkled and danced in awe when he'd taken her and Kieran to see the lights in Rockefeller and the displays at F.A.O Schwartz. She'd seen it the year before and many times over growing up in the city. Yet each time they'd gone together, she'd lit up brighter than the lights themselves and she'd seemed so happy and innocent and pure that his heart had damn near melted.

Now, as he stood in the closet and tried to pull a shirt off a hanger only to find said attempt thwarted by mounds of presents that threatened to topple over, he was damn near ready to throttle her.

"You in here?" Sam's voice came from the doorway of their room. Her parents had managed to vacate it long enough to let her and Flack use the shower and get dressed.

"In here," he called. "Trying to avoid causing an avalanche."

She popped her head into the closet. "What'cha doin'?" she asked curiously. Eyeballing him in his loose fitting dark grey jeans and a wife beater.

"Getting dressed. Or at least attempting to. Do all these presents really have to be in here, Samantha? I can't even move in here. Can't you just put them under the tree already? There's only four more days left."

"If I put them under the tree it ruins things," she said.

"What things?" he asked, finally managing to grab a hold of the button down, long sleeved shirt he'd wanted. Midnight blue with dark and light grey and light blue stripes.

"The whole Santa puts the presents under the tree thing," she replied.

"He doesn't even know who Santa is, babe. He doesn't know what day you put presents under the tree."

"But I know," Sam argued.

Flack gave up. Arguing with her didn't solve anything. And if following these traditions she clung so tightly to her made her happy, than who was he to shit all over her for it?

"Does this look okay?" she asked, motioning down at her apparel as she squeezed her way into the closet.

He glanced over at her as he slipped into his shirt. She was dressed conservatively in a black and grey tweed pencil skirt that just skimmed the knees and a simple black long sleeve square neck top. Black leotards and brand new knee high black boots with a small heel completed her ensemble. Light makeup graced her features and her hair was lose and tumbling down her back. Small sections pulled back on each side of her face and secured in the back by a hair clip.

"You look nice," he told her, doing up the buttons on his shirt.

She frowned. "I'll change."

"Why?" he asked, tucking his shirt into the waist of his pants. "I just told you that you look nice."

"You didn't exactly sound too thrilled about it," she complained.

"What to you want me to say? You look hot? It's not like you're in a skirt that barely covers your ass or a top that barely covers your girls. I think that's the most clothing I've seen you wear at one time. Even when you were pregnant."

"It's a family Christmas party," she reminded him, and began flipping through the hangers of clothes on her side of the closet. "I can't go in there dressed like a hooker."

"Doesn't mean you have to go in dressing like you're on your way to teach Sunday school either. Look, I said you look nice. Isn't that enough?"

"Something more…flattering would have been nice," she muttered, searching for, and failing to, find something better to wear. "Something like you look beautiful or you look hot or even you make me want to screw you right here, right now. Not a simple, boring, you look nice. You're so romantic, Don."

"You PMSing or something?" he asked. "You're awfully crabby this afternoon."

"Am I not just entitled to be a raging bitch sometimes?" she inquired. "There's nothing here to wear! Other than stuff I wear to work all the time and a few dresses that are either too formal or too inappropriate to wear to a family party! Or maternity clothes! What the hell! I seriously need to go and buy myself some new clothes. I've got the outfit I have on now and the one I put to go out with the girls tomorrow night."

"You mean the naughty Catholic school girl skirt?" he asked with a grin. "You should wear that today. Give all the guys heart attacks. And you've got three quarters of this closet taken up with your stuff. There's got to be clothes you like. I always think you look nice."

"I mean, seriously, Don," she said, for the most part ignoring him as she shoved hangers out of the way and looked at outfits with sheer disgust on her face. "Look at this shit! There's not one thing in here that's half decent!"

"Than go and buy yourself some stuff you like," he told her. "Or what until after Christmas. Never know what Santa might bring you."

"I wish he'd buy me a two week vacation somewhere warm and exotic and far away from my crazy family. She's been here less than twenty four hours, Don! Less than a whole day and she's driving me fucking mental. You know what she told me while you were in the shower? She told me that for Christmas she was going to buy me a mop and broom and all kinds of cleaning supplies because I so obviously am in desperate need of them."

"Don't let her get to you, Sam. Just because she has nothing better to do with her life other than clean twenty-four hours a day doesn't mean you have to be just like her. She's retired and does fuck all else all day long. You work and have a baby to take care of. And it's not like this place is dirty. It's clean. It's just goddamn cluttered. And what do you expect with a kid that has more crap than both of us put together? Just ignore her. It's Christmas. You're always going on to me about being happy because it's Christmas."

"It's hard to be happy when the incarnation of the anti-Christ is trying to take over my life!" she snapped, vigorously shoving hangers from side to side, the loud screeching noise of metal on metal near ear splitting in the confined space.

"How'd we go from talking about your mom to talking about Kieran?" Flack joked, attempting to lighten her mood.

"I can't find anything else to wear. So why don't you just take my parents and Kieran to the party and I'll stay home."

"If you think I'm going to spend an entire day alone with your mom and dad and Kieran, you're out of your mind."

"Than just take Kieran and I'll stay home with my parents. I don't care. Whatever works. But I'm not going dressed like this and I can't find anything else so make up your mind what you want to do!"

"You know what?" he spoke softly and patiently as he turned around and stepped behind her and reached over her to lay his hands on hers, stopping the clatter of clothing and hangers. "Just calm down. Okay? You look beautiful in what you're wearing and there's no need to change. Alright? You're just freaking out a little over this shit with your mom. So just take a deep breath and take it easy."

"This is exactly why I am glad we live so far from her," Sam said, blinking back tears of frustration and stress. "And why half the time I screen the calls coming into here. So I don't have to listen to her shit."

He kissed the top of her head and ran his hands over hers and up her arms to her shoulders. "Just take it easy, baby. She's like a bully on the playground. The more tears you shed and the more you show how badly it hurts, the more they torment you."

"Yeah?" she gave a small laugh and leaned back against him. "Were you the bully or the kid that got picked on all the time?"

"It went both ways all through school. I dished it out and I got it handed right back," he said, rubbing her shoulders softly. "You just need to learn to either let it roll off your shoulders or stand up for yourself. Either ignore it or stop letting her walk all over you. I mean, you can handle dangerous perps but you can't handle your own mother?"

"You didn't have to grow up with her," Sam told him. "She still thinks I'm a little girl she can boss around and control."

"And you have to let her know you're not or just suck it up and take it."

Sam snorted.

"Sorry," he leaned down to kiss her cheek. "That came out harsh. I didn't mean for it to sound like that. But I can't fight your battles for you, Samantha. I'm your husband but you're a grown woman and a mother and there's things I can't fix for you. That only you can deal with."

"So much for the whole protect and honour thing," she said with a dry laugh and pulled away from him. "I need to go and check on Kieran. Make sure he's not tearing the place apart. And don't be too pissed when you see what he's wearing."

"Why? I liked that outfit you bought for him last week."

"My mom didn't. And she bought him an outfit she liked and decided it was more suitable for a Christmas event. So I better go and…"

"Kieran's fine," Flack told her, reaching out and shutting the closet door before she could step out of it. Holding it closed to prevent her from going anywhere. "If there's a problem, your mom or dad will come looking for you."

"So what are we going to do? Hide out in our closet until it's time to leave?"

"Why do you think I've been in here for so long? I've been avoiding the in laws as much as possible."

"That's nice," she said with a laugh. "Leave me alone to deal with them and entertain them. I'll remember that on Christmas Day when we're at your parents' house."

"You would never be so cruel as to leave me alone with my mom and dad for too long."

"Don't tempt me, Don. Now can we go? Before I get all claustrophobic? It's hot in here."

"For the record," he said, taking his hand off of the door and than squeezing between the door and her, blocking her exit. "There's not a time I'm not thinking how beautiful or hot you are or how badly I want to fuck you. And it doesn't matter what you're wearing. You could be wearing a garbage bag and I'd still think those things."

"This is like a bad middle school party," she told him. "Locking yourself in a closet with a guy and playing seven minutes in heaven or whatever the hell it was called."

"I wouldn't know. I was a pure and innocent Catholic boy."

"Right," she laughed. "You were probably the one out to corrupt sweet little things like me."

"Maybe…but seven minutes? Only? Don't insult me."

"I thought you once said you could get us both off in less than five if you put your mind to it," she teased.

"I did. But it took longer than I thought. Wanna put that to the test? See how far we can get in five minutes?"

"We are not having sex in our closet while my parents are out in the living room watching our son. That's just plain dirty."

"So was the bar bathroom and the back seat of my SUV and a couple of other places I don't need to bring up. You never argued any of those times. What's the deal with it now?"

"Because it's just not right," she reasoned. "My parents and our son are just right out in the living room and…"

* * *

He grabbed her by the tops of her arms and pushed her away from the door and towards the back of the closet, pinning her up against the small slice of available wall. His lips crushing against hers in a hungry, demanding kiss. She resisted at first, her lips and teeth refusing access to his tongue as she fought vainly to keep the upper hand and the cooler head. It wasn't a good idea to be in there engrossed in a sophomoric make out session with her parents watching Kieran in the next room.

He abandoned the grip on her arms in favour yanking up the bottom of her shirt and slipping his hands under the fabric and than running them along the bare skin of her sides. Climbing upwards until his hands cupped her breasts along the under wire of her bra. Her resolved vanished when his thumbs teased her nipples through the soft lace. She kissed him back with all the anger and frustration still simmering in her body. Catching him off guard with her aggression and allowing her to turn the tables and push him across the closet and back against the door.

The kiss broke. They stared at each other, both grinning devilishly and panting. She took the initiative to get the ball rolling by reaching for his belt buckle.

"Doesn't work that way," he informed her, grabbing her by the hips and pushing her back to where they had been moments before at the rear of the closet.

He wasn't too fond of losing control over a situation. Even when it came to love making or anything associated with it. Last night he'd come way too close to being the submissive one. And it wasn't going to happen again. His wife had a strong, assertive personality when the need or want arose. And it was up to him to put a quick end to it. Her fingers raked through his hair and her nails dug into his scalp as his lips descended on her neck and one hand pulled up the bottom of her skirt and slipped up the smooth fabric of her leggings.

"You have way too many clothes on," he said against her neck, as his fingers hooked in the waist band of the leggings and attempted, feebly, to slip down the tight material.

"Well I wasn't exactly planning on getting into a make out session in the closet with you," Sam responded.

"Gotta always be prepared, Sam," he teased. "Can you take these damn things off for a minute or two?"

"You'll have to make do. It would take me too long to take the boots off and than the leggings."

"Fine," he said with a sigh. "You don't believe in making things easy for me."

He abandoned trying to get his hand down the front of the leggings and instead pressed his palm flat against her mound and began rubbing her aggressively through the material. His lips once the side of her neck once more. She sighed as he caressed her and closed her eyes and buried her fingers in his hair once more.

The closet door suddenly clicked open. Startling both of them and bringing a shrieking halt to the raw, intense intimacy. Flack glanced over his shoulder and saw his mother in law standing in the doorway, a mixture of horror and disgust on her face and Kieran on her hip. He bit his lip to hold back the laughter that threatened to erupt and felt Sam's arms curl around his bicep as she buried her head in his arm. The shaking of her body giving away the fact that she wasn't as good as holding back the giggles as he was.

"Something you want, Lynne?" Flack asked calmly. "'Cause last time I checked this wasn't your closet."

"Kieran needs his ear drops," she answered and held the baby out.

"Dah-dee!" Kieran cried excitedly and stretched out his arms.

Flack stepped away from his wife and took his son from his embarrassed, and furious, mother in law. Who simply gave them one last disgusted glare before shutting the door as she left. He looked over at Sam. Tears spilling down her cheeks, lower lip wobbling, body shaking.

"She's traumatized for life," Flack declared.

Samantha couldn't hold in it any longer. She cracked and burst into a hysterical fit of laughter and collapsed onto the floor on her ass.

Kieran was looking down at her as if he didn't know whether to laugh or cry at her outburst. "Mom-mee?" he inquired in a hesitant voice.

"And speaking of traumatized.." Flack said, holding Kieran out at arm's length and taking in the baby's ensemble.

He couldn't believe his eyes. His kid had gone from Baby Gap and Baby Old Navy to Baby Nerd in a matter of an hour. Instead of the overalls and rugby style shirt and Baby Lugz his mother had purchased for him, Kieran was decked out in a pair of crisp black dress pants, white dress shirt, a red, blue and green argyle sweater vest and a black velour jacket. Shiny black patent leather shoes on his feet. And argyle socks that matched the sweater vest.

"Oh hell no," he said, vigorously shaking his head. "This is not my son."

Sam was too busy hiccuping on the floor of the closet to offer up a comment.

"Do you like looking like a geek?" Flack asked his son.

Kieran answered with a noisy raspberry.

"Exactly what I thought," Flack muttered, and carried his son out of the closet.

"Look's like a mini Bill Gates," Sam called after him.

"That would be if you had kids with Danny Messer, my dear," Flack responded before disappearing from the room.

Sam took a deep breath and willed the hiccups away. Letting the air out of her lungs slowly, she brushed the tears off her cheeks with the sleeves of her top and leaned back against the wall of the closet.

So much for a normal, sane Christmas, she thought.

* * *

The Jacob K. Javitz Convention Centre was located on 11th avenue between 34th and 35th street on the lower west side of Manhattan. Flack had been to the massive, space age structure once before when he and Danny had attended a sports memorabilia show just months before Sam had come on to the scene.

It should have only been a twenty minute drive at the most. But the roads were slick from layers of black ice below hard, packed snow that the plows had been struggling to keep off the streets. And the snow just continued to fall. The wind had finally died down, but the white stuff came down at a steady pace.

As Flack drove, listening to the weather reports on the radio and Kieran babbling away in his car seat, Sam found herself in the back. The car seat wedged in between her and her mother who hadn't uttered a damn peep since Flack had walked out of Kieran's bedroom shortly before they were scheduled to leave with the baby in the outfit that Sam had originally picked out for him. Sam was thankful for the reprieve from her mother's off handed, harmful comments, and hoped that maybe, just maybe, Flack's equally as offhanded and sometimes mean personality had gotten her to smarten the hell up.

Kieran let out a ear piercing shriek of pure delight as a snow plow pulled up alongside them, its blue lights flashing on the roof. The kid had a fascination with anything with four wheels. Fire trucks and police cars being his favorite because of the loud sirens and flashing lights. But he was also fond of dump trucks, transit buses, and apparently, snow plows. He kicked his legs frantically and bounced happily against the restraints holding him in and pointed a mitt out the window before going into a long winded conversation that no one outside of himself could understand. In a voice that was far louder than it needed to be.

"Talks a lot, doesn't he," Sarge commented to his son in law.

"Like his mother," Flack said. "Never shuts up."

"You'd miss my voice if you never heard it again," Sam declared, leaning forward in her seat and painfully flicking his ear lobe. She fanned herself with her hand and unbuttoned the top of her heavy wool, light pink pea coat and pulled off her hat. "Turn the heat down, Donnie," she requested. "It's sweltering in here."

"You going through menopause or something?" he asked teasingly and reached for the buttons on the dashboard. "Every night for a month now you've been kicking off the blankets and complaining about the heat when everyone else is freezing because you need a window open."

"Be quiet or I'll give you a wet willy," she said in response.

"A wet what?" Sarge asked.

"A wet willy," Sam clarified. "You've never heard of it?"

Sarge shook his head.

"Don't even think about it, Samantha," Flack warned.

"I would never do something so immature and childish," she said innocently. Than pulled off her mitts and waited for the first red light they encountered. And when her husband was least expecting it, licked her index finger, leaned forward, and stuck said finger in the hole of his right ear.

He jumped. "You f…." he bit off the rest of the word before it could escape his mouth. "You witch!" he bellowed instead. "I swear to God woman, when we get out of this car, I am dumping you ass first in the deepest, yellow coloured snow bank I can find."

She stuck her tongue out at him and settled back in her seat, giggling. That musical giggle filled the car and made both Flack and Sarge smile and than start chuckling themselves. Lynne sat staring at her daughter with the utmost contempt and disapproval in her eyes. As if she was thinking, this can't possibly be something I gave birth to. And it was not lost on Samantha, who seized the opportunity to egg her mother on even further. The Lorezepam tablets she had taken before they left to ward off anxiety had kicked in and she felt relaxed for the first time in a long time.

"Mom!" she exclaimed. "You're sitting in the baby seat!"

Lynne frowned. "The what?"

"The baby seat! It's good luck if you sit there. We call it the baby seat because Kieran was conceived in that exact spot!"

Sarge coughed noisily in the front seat and put a fist to his mouth to hold back the laughter.

Lynne's eyes widened and she lifted her ass slightly to check out the cleaniness and state of the upholstery beneath her.

"Don't worry, mom," Sam said. "Don's very clean. He doesn't make a mess."

"Jesus, Sam!" Flack shot her an annoyed, 'shut your damn mouth' look over his shoulder.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, than put her index finger and middle finger up to her eyes and than pointed at him and than out the windshield. A la Robert DeNiro in Meet the Parents. "Trying to get us killed? Eyes on the road!"

He sighed and turned his attention back to the traffic in front of him. "Was she like this growing up?" he asked his father in law. "I mean I know you never got her until she was sixteen. But was she always like this once you took her on?"

"Worse," Sarge told him.

"Christ. Are you serious?"

The older man nodded.

"You poor man. Is that why you're snow white?"

"Absolutely," Sarge declared. "But I wouldn't give back all these white hairs for anything in the world. It was a wild ride but well worth it."

Flack glanced through the rear view window at his wife, who was now holding an apple juice drinking box she'd stowed in Kieran's back pack to their son's lips. Patiently attempting to teach the baby how to sip from a straw. A gentle, reassuraning tone in her voice as she encouraged him and didn't care that he dribbled most of the juice down his chin and onto his winter jacket. Instead she simply praised him for being a good boy and trying so hard, and tenderly wiped his chin with her fingers.

His wife was his entire world. And no matter what craziness and unpredictable insanity she brought into his life, it was nowhere near the love and serenity he experienced being with her.

It was a hell of ride. One he woudn't think twice about taking all over again.

* * *

The enormous banquet hall on the second floor of the convention centre was a winter wonderland. Several giant, brightly lit and decorated trees were arranged around the room. Each table for guests was set with red and green plaid tablecloths and Christmas themed dishes. Large arrangements of fresh poinsettias sat in the middle of each table along with a complimentary box of Godiva chocolates for each guest. Massive glittering snowflakes dangled from the ceiling and elaborate wreaths adorned the walls.

At the front of the room Santa Claus entertained kids of all ages on his lap. Alongside of him were tables where families could pick a gift according to the age of their little one. On the one side wall were craft tables. Parents or caregivers could assist a child in making ornaments of gingerbread men. A DJ was set up at the back of the room and was spinning both Christmas music and both classic pop and what was huge on the radio in 2009. The music in tough competition to be heard over the hustle and bustle of the sea of guests and children that chased each other and shrieked and carried on at the top of their lungs.

"Aren't you just in heaven," Sam commented to her husband, as he had to sidestep yet another group of hyperactive children that zoomed past them as they checked their coats.

"Goddamn brats," he muttered, as he sat Kieran on the coat check desk and pulled off the baby's hat and mitts and unzipped his coat. Stuffing the hat and mitts in one of his own jacket pockets.

"And you want more than one?" Sam laughed as she handed their jackets to the clerk and received three claim tickets.

"Our kids will never be like that," Flack declared, setting Kieran down on his feet on the ground. The baby plopped down onto his ass, got into a crawling position and proceeded to push himself back up onto his feet.

"Good boy, Kieran!" Sam praised.

"Why does he do that?" Flack asked. "You put him on his feet and he sits down only to get back up again. Why?"

"He likes to do it himself I guess," Sam replied, slinging the Bob the Builder back pack over her shoulder. "It's his way or the highway. He gets that from you."

"He only gets the best stuff from me, Sam," he teased. "How many times to we have to go through this?"

"Maybe until you're not so full of s-h-i-t," she responded, holding her hand out to her son who was pondering his next move.

His favourite thing in the world was to stand and attempt to get around on his own. Only his walking abilities still left a lot of be desired and his coordination, both from immaturity and the fluid in his ears, was somewhat 'off'.

He looked at her hand, furrowed his tiny brow in concentration and took three toddling steps towards her before missing his mother's hand all together and tumbling face first into her legs. He stayed on his feet and didn't pat an eyelash at his near accident. Instead he turned himself around, used her thighs for balance as he made his way to her side, and reached for her hand.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked her son, curling her fingers around her tiny hand and finding herself pulled in the opposite direction of where they should have been heading. "You're going the wrong way, Kieran," she told him, and gently re-directed him.

"Nice to see whose the boss in your family," Danny commented as he pushed his way through the crowd, Addison on his hip.

The baby's fine auburn hair and rosy cheeks were on full display in a winter white wool jacket with zebra patterned cuffs and collar and matching bucket style hat. Lacy white leotards and black patent leather dress shoes on her legs and feet. Her tiny arms clutching her Uncle Danny's jacket.

"You run off with Speedle's family?" Flack asked, as Carmen, looking frazzled, managed to squeeze through the sea of partygoers to join her friends.

"Tim had to work," Carmen told him, as she shed her jacket and got Addison out of her own coat and hat and checked their items. "Danny was gracious enough to be my date."

"I'm a sucker for beautiful women," Danny said, pressing a kiss to Addie's temple. "And Erica couldn't make it so…"

Neither Sam or Flack said anything at that piece of information. It seemed that the incidences of seeing Danny and Erica together were fewer and far between now. Which was odd, considering Erica had taken a home pregnancy test just a week before and it had come out positive. So apparently, they were spending enough time together to get certain things down.

"So it's just me and the little princess here," Danny said, running a hand over Addie's hair.

The little girl was ignoring him now. Because Uncle Donnie was there and Uncle Donnie was her favourite, even at that young age. She gave a heart warming giggling and a huge smile that lit up her green eyes and reached for Flack.

"Traitor," Danny sighed, and passed the baby over. "Come here, Osama," he said to Kieran, dropping to a knee and holding out his arms. "Come and see your Uncle Danny."

Kieran looked sceptical at first. Eyeing Danny with a both his eyebrows arched and his chin tucked to his chest and his blue eyes serious.

"Check him out," Danny laughed. "Got his dad's facial expressions already. What do you do, Flack? Sit him down and teach him these things?"

"Like I've told my wife time and time again, he gets all his best qualities from me," the detective replied, as he carried Addie and their small group headed into the ballroom. Danny following at a snail's pace behind them, holding Kieran's hand and his back aching as he lowered himself far down enough so the baby could walk on his own.

"Please!" Carmen laughed. "He gets all his temper tantrums and whiny-ness from you. Where's the in-laws? You guys kill them already?"

"I've considered it a few times," Flack said. "But no…they're already off finding a table with Adam and Gus. She's the monster in law's pride and joy, you know. Gus can do no wrong. Because she's a doctor and managed to graduate from grade eight. Isn't that what she said when she met Gus for the first time, Sam?"

"She said Gus could string a proper sentence together," Sam said. "And she doesn't consider beer and Chinese food fine cuisine. Or some shit like that."

"She hates me," Flack said to Carmen. "The monster in law. She despises me. She wishes I was dead. She liked me at first, until someone with a great education and a non-cop job came along and stole her heart."

"Sounds like you guys are going to have a very Merry Christmas," Carmen snorted, as they headed in the direction of the table that Gus and Adam and the in-laws at secured. Next to Hawkes and Angell and Mac and Stella.

"I plan on spiking all of Sam's drinks from now until her parents go home with crushed up lorezepam tablets," Flack said. "Enough to knock out a horse. Because the last thing I want is my wife in tears constantly when she's suppose to be enjoying her time off."

"And doping her up is going to help?" Carmen asked.

"Also makes it easier for me to take advantage of her," Flack chided. "You know, get a leg up on this baby making thing. Get as much time in as possible."

"Are you kidding?" Carmen laughed. "It's your guys' favourite rainy day activity."

Flack smirked. "It ain't gotta be raining, Devine, trust me. Rain, sleet, snow, bright sunshine. I am always ready, willing and able. We just don't have any results from all of our hard work yet."

"It'll come, Don," she assured him. "Maybe you guys have been trying too hard. You're two uptight about it. Christ, baby making should be fun. Not stressful. The sooner you guys stop thinking about the end result, the sooner she'll be nice and relaxed. That happens and she'll be pregnant in no time."

"Think so?" he asked.

"Look how quickly Kieran came along. You guys weren't planning on him and it happened, " Carmen said, casting a glance over her shoulder to where Danny was proudly showing off Kieran to a gaggle of curious women. "I think Messer is pawning your son off as his to get girls."

"Get real, Carmen. How is it even remotely possible that someone that looks like Messer can father a kid that looks like that?"

"That's cause he looks like his mother and has my eyes and my brains," Danny shot back, overhearing the comment.

"You wouldn't surive fifteen minutes with Sam, Danny," Flack told him. "She'd have you on your knees begging for mercy."

"That's the best part," Danny said.

Flack snorted and shook his head.

"Don't get so down about the baby thing," Carmen told him. "When it's your guys time to have another one, it will happen. Just have a little faith, Don."

He managed a smile. Sometimes, faith in himself was what was seriously lacking.

* * *

He was the only dad at thetable. Not that that was a horrible thing. He didn't mind the fact that in the mothers' eyes he was somewhat of a saint for having both the patience, and guts to be the only guy brave enough to sit down at a craft table surrounded by kids. He was somewhat flattered by the compliments on how well he handled his son. At how he seemed a real natural and was probably the type to get up in the middle of the night for diaper changes and feedings while their husbands either bitched about how tired they were and just kept snoring.

And it wasn't the fact that he now, after eating lunch, found his ass shoved in a child's sized chair with a squirmy soon to be eleven month old on his knees as they attempted the decorate three gingerbread men. He didn't balk at the icing and edible sparkles that were smeared up to his elbows or on his pants or the fact that he was doing more of the work than Kieran was. Kieran was more interested in trying to eat everything. He'd even tried to eat the clay at the table beside him. Where they'd made a 'present' for mommy. Kieran's tiny hand print emboldened in a bed of grey clay and accompanied by the date it was made on and a poem that read:

**_MY HAND_**

**_Sometimes you get discouraged  
_****_Because I am so small  
_****_And always leave my fingerprints  
_****_On furniture and walls  
_****_But everyday I'm growing up  
_****_And soon I'll be so tall  
_****_That all those little hand prints  
_****_Will be difficult to recall  
_****_So here's a current hand print  
_****_That you can put away  
_**_**Then you'll know how my hand looked  
****This year, on this day.**_

Flack had found himself unusually choked up when he read those simple words. Because the truth of the matter was, Kieran was growing up. He wasn't that seven and a half pound infant that relied on them for everything. He was learning to talk and walk and was already craving a bit of independence. And Flack missed those baby days when things seemed so much easier. Because he knew, somewhere not far down the road, was his son's first day of school and his first lost tooth and his first girlfriend and his first broken heart. And he was just not mentally ready to deal with stuff like that. In all honesty, he didn't want his baby growing up.

What was irritating Flack now however, was the fact that Max had dumped Daria off on him with nothing more than a 'Here, stay with your uncle Blue' while she chased off after Rick Santucci. Max had developed a crush on the younger, handsome uniform officer. Rick, a sign language interpreter, was a hell of a nice guy that did not need that kind of drama in his life.

And Flack did not need being stuck with a demanding four year that could not take no for an answer. She pestered him for his full attention and assistance despite the fact that he'd told her, time and time again, that he needed to concentrate on Kieran. Kieran was his son and his responsibility. Not her. And when Daria all but pushed Kieran off of his lap with a 'Dumb baby!' it had taken all of Flack's willpower to not put the kid over his lap and smack her ass.

Kieran took care of the situation. He grabbed a hold of Daria's left hand and sank his teeth into the top of it with enough power behind him to make her scream in agony and leave a rather impressive set of teeth impressions in her skin. Kieran seemed rather pleased with his handiwork and went back to his gingerbread cookie as utter chaos reigned at the table. Flack was torn between scolding him and congratulating him.

Sarge came and saved the day. Bribing Daria with the promise of ice cream and than scooping her up and carrying her to her mother and dropping the still crying child in Max's arms with a 'My son in law has his hands full, watch your own damn kid'.

Flack gave Kieran a stern lecture on how it wasn't nice to hurt other kids. That he wouldn't like it if someone bit him and was mean to him. Than when no one was paying attention, he'd cuddled Kieran close to his chest and kissed his son's head and whispered in his ear what a good little boy he was for sticking up for himself. For not taking anybodies shit.

And than, with the insanity over, they went back to making gingerbread men. Flack wasn't known for his artistic talents. Although he'd done a damn good job painting the baby's room light blue, and adding, free hand at that, fluffy white clouds to the walls and a sun and moon on the ceiling. He'd put up glow in the dark stars for the sheer hell of it. But cookie making? That was Sam's area of somewhat expertise. She'd become a little homemaker lately and it was both a startling, and a welcome thing. But when she'd turned those golden eyes on him and asked him if he wouldn't mind doing things with Kieran so she could hang out with her friends for a change, he just couldn't argue.

He was just assisting his son with affixing Smarties for buttons on the blue icing coat the 'daddy' gingerbread man was wearing when he became aware of a female figure standing above them. He smelt expensive perfume and saw the sky high black pumps and the skinny jeans. But he didn't tear his attention away from the task at hand, or the attempts to keep candy out of his son's mouth.

The woman before him knelt down in front of them. Reached out with a hand boasting perfectly manicured nails and touched Kieran's hair softly.

Flack finally looked up to see who this woman was touching his kid. His stomach constricted. His heart pounded. Oh God, why me? He thought.

"I see you're a spitting image of your handsome daddy," the young woman drawled in a perfectly perfected sex kitten style voice.

Flack blinked. It had been more than a year since he'd seen her last. And out of the blue she showed up at a department Christmas party?

What in the hell have I done in my life to deserve this moment of sheer hell, he wondered.

"Hello, Don," she said with a soft smile.

He swallowed noisily.

"Devon," he managed.

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing!! Even a thank you to the lurkers! I know there's lots of you. Please review! The more the merrier! Makes my day!**

**Thanks to:**

**Laurzz  
****Brrtmclv  
****Hope4sall  
****Marialisa  
****muchmadness  
****Truluv  
****Forest angel  
****wolfeylady  
****ImaSupernaturalCSI  
****Soccer-bitch  
****Bluehaven4220  
****Shopaholic20  
****GregRox**


	24. Never judge the present by the wrapping

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN**

**Never judge the present by the wrapping**

"The season is upon us now  
A time for gifts and giving  
And as the year draws to its close I think about my living  
The Christmas time when I was young,  
The magic and the wonder,  
But colors dull and candles dim,  
And dark my standing under  
O little baby, shining light  
You've set my soul to dreaming  
You've given back my joy in life  
And filled me with new meaning."  
-A Baby Just Like You, John Denver

* * *

Neither of them spoke. Or moved. They stared at each other unblinking. That sly smile curving her lips and a feeling of utmost dread coursing through his entire body. It was the last thing that Flack needed, or wanted. A run-in with the crazy ex-girlfriend that would just explode into something catastrophic when his wife happened upon the scene and saw who he was conversing with. Because his wife would eventually show up. It was inevitable. She would wonder just where in the hell he and the baby had gotten to for the last hour and come looking for them.

And the end result for Devon would not be a pretty one.

"So…" Devon said, breaking the proverbial ice.

"So…" Flack echoed for the lack of anything better to say.

"This is your son." It was more a statement than a question.

He nodded.

"The baby that your girlfriend or fiancee or whatever was pregnant with at the nine eleven event last year?"

"His name's Kieran," Flack told her. "He's almost a year old now."

"Time flies," Devon said, almost sadly. "He's beautiful. He looks just like you, you know."

"I know," he told her, pressing a kiss to the top of his son's head. "We hear it all the time."

"We?" she asked, reaching over to pull an empty child's chair towards her before standing up and settling into it. "Meaning you and your son?"

"Meaning me and my wife," Flack replied. Barely making eye contact with her as he went back to helping Kieran with the cookies in front of him.

She nodded slowly. She caught sight of the thick white gold band on his left ring finger. "You're married now, too."

It was another statement.

"A year on Christmas Eve," Flack told her.

"Same girl?" Devon inquired. "Tiny, fiery brunette with the killer curves and the vicious red head of a body guard?"

Flack smiled. "Samantha," he responded. "And yeah…that's my wife. You weren't expecting me to be with her anymore?"

"I wasn't expecting to see you as family man," his ex responded. "You know, considering your aversion to commitment."

"I was never against committing," Flack told her. "I had just never met someone I would consider committing myself too. What we had Devon…it was a joke. Plain and simple. You were just slumming and I was just…I don't know…bored."

"You always were a firm believer in honesty," she said with a sigh, flipping her wavy strawberry blond hair over her shoulder. "But I was never slumming, Don. I was with you because I genuinely liked you. You were handsome and charming and you didn't act like a pompous jerk that was only with me because I had money. You didn't treat me like some damn trophy to parade around. You treated me like a normal girl. We did normal things together. You weren't impressed by my social class or my friends. You were just…I don't know…I guess you were just you."

He shrugged. "I'm not the type of guy to pretend I'm something I'm not, Devon. And it's not that I didn't like you. I mean, I was attracted to you. No red blooded male could resist being attracted to you. But I wanted something more than that. And I hated being your trophy."

She gave a small smile. "I'm sorry. That you felt that way. I was just proud of you. I liked showing you off."

"Well I felt like a complete ass. And I wasn't selling myself out for you. Or anyone else. It never would have worked between us, Devon. We're just too different. It was fun while it lasted. Didn't last long but it's not like our time together was horrific or anything. And I probably should have dealt with things between you and I better. In a more mature way."

"I think we both handled it pretty badly," she told him. "It wasn't all your fault. You weren't happy. I could see it. And I wasn't going to force you to stay in something you were uncomfortable with. I saw you sitting here, with your baby on your lap and I couldn't resist coming over. You just look so happy, Don."

He smiled and combed his fingers through his son's hair. "I am," he told Devon. "Happier than I've ever been. I have an amazing wife and a great kid. Things aren't perfect but we love each other and our tiny family."

"That's good," Devon said. "You're a great guy, Don. You deserve to be happy. Mind you, I never once pictured seeing you making gingerbread and covered in sprinkles and icing."

He laughed. "Neither did I. It's amazing what we won't do for our kids."

The cookies finished , Flack wrapped them in the wax paper the ladies in charge of the craft table had given him and packed them in a small cardboard box on top of the hand print they had made earlier. He struggled however, to balance a cranky Kieran on his lap while bending down to scoop the Bob the Builder knapsack up off of the floor. The baby was pissed off that his attempts to eat everything in sight had been thwarted and whiny because it was past his afternoon snack and nap. All Flack wanted to do was get out the wipes to clean the sticky mess off of himself and his son, and was having a hell of a time doing it.

"Here," Devon said and held out her hands. "I'll take him."

Flack eyed her sceptically.

"I won't drop him." she promised. "And I love kids."

"Since when?" he asked, passing his son over and praying to God Kieran didn't decide it was an opportune time to throw up all over Devon's designer sweater and jeans or pitch a massive temper tantrum. He felt relief when Kieran took to the red head easily and comfortably. He stopped whining and reached out to play with the expensive looking diamond circle pendant around her neck.

"He's just adorable," Devon gushed, holding Kieran by his hips as she stood him up on her thighs and bounced him playfully. "You are just the cutest thing in the whole wide world," she informed the baby in a high pitched, childish voice. "Yes you are. You're just so handsome with your big blue eyes. You look just like your daddy. Yes you do."

Flack smirked. He never thought he'd see the day when the girl who panicked when she chipped a nail or the toes of her Jimmy Choo's became scuffed handle a child with such ease and confidence. He was actually impressed at her apparent natural mothering skills.

He unzipped the bag and took out the travel package of wipes and used a handful to clean off his hands and sleeves of his shirt and his lap and Kieran's equally as messy hands and face.

"So what are you doing here, Devon?" he asked, standing up and tossing the used wipes in the trash can by the end of the table. He slung the bag over his shoulder and picked up the box of cookies and the clay hand print and motioned for her to pass Kieran to him.

"I can manage him," she said, rising to her feet.

"I don't doubt it. But I kinda need to get him back to his mother before she thinks we've dropped off the face of the earth. Not to mention he needs something to eat and drink. And if she sees you with him…"

"She'll pitch a fit," Devon concluded with a knowing nod. She passed the baby back to his father, watching as Flack expertly and carefully embraced his son with one arm, tucking Kieran tightly to his side, his hand under the child's diapered bum. "You're a natural," she praised. "Were you always this good or is it something you grew into?"

"Fatherhood came easily to me," he admitted. "What are you doing here, Devon?" he repeated. "At an NYPD Christmas party. For families."

"I'm here with my fiance," she replied, and held out her left hand for Flack so he could get a look at the sparkling, decent sized pear shaped diamond on her finger.

He was surprised to say the least. "Congratulations," he said. "Finally found the one, huh?"

She nodded and studied the ring proudly. "He works out of the 133. Major crime."

"A detective?" Flack asked. "Can't stay away from us gumshoes, huh?"

"I do seem to have a weakness. Tony DiCenzo. Do you know him?"

"Doesn't ring a bell, Dev. But the detective bureau employs a lot of people. So why are you two here? Among all these crazy, wild children?"

She pointed in the direction of a table by Santa Claus. Where two young women sat laughing and gossiping as they people watched. Young, pretty things with flowing blond hair. The youngest confined to a wheelchair.

"That's Tony's girls," she told Flack. "Gracie is the oldest. She's fourteen. Smart as hell. And a fantastic ballet dancer. The one in the chair…that's Lyla. She's eleven. Severe CP. Her mother took off when she was six and couldn't deal with the pressures of having a child that wasn't normal." She made air quotes around the word normal.

Flack wasn't sure what surprised him the most. The fact that Devon and him were having a mature conversation and that she'd gotten herself engaged, or the fact she was settling down with a man that was obviously much older than her and who came with a lot of baggage. Or maybe what shocked him was the peace and compassion and utter love and pride that was on her face as she studied the two young girls across the room.

Devon had grown up. It was nice to see. And he realized than and there that he'd grown up too.

"You want to come and meet my wife?" he asked. "I mean, really meet her? Not like the nasty incident last year."

Devon smiled brightly. "I'd really like that, Don," she replied.

* * *

It was nice to just sit back and relax with friends. To talk and laugh and have virtually no other cares in the world at that moment. Conversations steering clear of shop talk and focusing on the holidays and plans with family and memories of Christmases past. Danny had everyone in stitches over his tale of Santa Claus rebellion when he was seven. He and his brothers had always been real handfuls. Hellions, was his exact word. His mother was constantly telling them, from the time he was old enough to remember, that if they didn't smarten up, Santa Claus wasn't bringing them anything and they were going to be damn sorry when they woke up to nothing under the tree.

And that was exactly what happened. On Christmas morning, the Messer kids had run down the stairs in their drafty old house in Staten Island, boisterous and excited about what awaited them under the Christmas tree. Only to find there wasn't a present to be had. And their stockings stuffed with nothing but lumps of BBQ charcoal.

The younger kids who'd still believed it Santa had been absolutely devastated. Until, after hearing their crying and ranting and raving, their old man had come downstairs with two massive garbage bags full of wrapped gifts and a warning from Ol' Saint Nick. He wasn't putting up with any more shit and disrespect and had asked Mr and Mrs Messer to keep the presents back to teach their kids a lesson.

"And did it?" Sam asked curiously.

"You kidding?" Danny laughed. 'Louie was back to beating the crap out of me two hours later and three days later we were all back to mouthing off to our mom and breaking windows all over the neighbourhood with snowballs. And that New Years Eve," he shook his head and snickered at the memory. "Louie and I and a few of his older buddies went down to this old lady's house at the end of our street. She was a nut job through and through and we knew she was out with one of her other nut job friends for the evening. So we grabbed some shovels and she had one of those old fashioned boxes by her side door, you know, where you could open it from the inside and either the postie could leave mail in it or the guy who delivered milk could drop of their goods?"

Everyone nodded.

"Us guys, we stuffed as much snow as we could into this box and into her house. She came home the next morning and the snow had melted and she had a river flowing down her basement steps."

The team laughed. More at the childlike exuberance in Danny's voice and the playfulness sparkling in his eyes than at the story itself. Lately, with the stresses of home life hanging over him like a looming dark cloud, it was rare to see Danny laugh or hear him share a funny story or offer up some kind of smart ass comment that had you in stitches for hours. And for a guy that had just found out he was going to be a father, he should have bee a hell of a lot more upbeat.

"I remember this one time when I was five and Sammie was ten," Adam spoke up, excitement in his own voice. "It's my favourite Christmas memory from growing up. All the rest are more nightmare than anything. Because our dad, well he was always drunk or stoned on something and usually Christmas to him was spending whatever money was left over on booze and passing out on the couch while we ate fried baloney sandwiches."

Sam cleared her throat and sipped the china cup of tea in front of her. She wondered how much Adam had had to drink to get him going about their real father. She felt uncomfortable. And saw, by the looks on their faces, that her mother and Sarge felt the same way.

"It's a good memory," Adam assured everyone.

"Go ahead, Peanut," Sam said gently. "No one is stopping you from telling it."

He smiled at her. His sister's approval meant more to him than anything else in the world. And he wouldn't have continued had she been dead set against it.

"Like I said, I was five and Sammie was ten," Adam went on. "And it was this really, really, really horrible blizzard outside. The wind was so bad it rattled the windows and we kept getting these rolling black outs. I was terrified by this time so Sammie and I pulled all the blankets off of her bed and went and hid in the closet. That was our hiding place, when things went bad. Anyway, we were lying in there whispering and giggling with our flashlights and that's when we heard it. Footsteps above our head. Loud footsteps and than the faint jingling of bells."

The way Adam told the story, with wonder and awe in his voice, made the entire table smile at the warmth and magic he created.

"Santa, right? We knew it was Santa right away stomping on the roof. And the bells were coming from his reindeer. We were pretty damn stoked because most years, Santa skipped right by our house. So Sammie and I, we jump up and go tearing out of the closet and we run to the window and throw it open and lean out as far as we can and look up towards the roof in hopes of seeing him. We must have stayed there for half an hour and nothing. We were pretty bummed about it but still all psyched from hearing Santa, you know? We went back to bed and couldn't sleep for the rest of the night. In the morning, I swear to God, we couldn't see the living room floor for presents."

The entire table smiled.

"You remember that, Sammie?" Adam asked. "You must remember that."

She nodded. It was the only good memory she had of her birth father. The ones that remained embedded in her mind were the horrific ones. Of suffering beating after beating and trying to protect her baby brother and clean up his bloody noses and split lips. Or enduring torment after torment and the cruel, vicious words that were tossed their way. And of the near nightly trips her father would make into her bedroom from the night she turned six years old until she hit ten.

She forced those thoughts out of her mind. She'd never told anyone save for her husband what had gone on in that bedroom And that's the way it was going to stay. For her own sanity.

"Turns out it was just our dad," Adam said in conclusion. "Getting the presents our mom had bought from money she'd won at Bingo. It was a lot of small stuff, but to us, it was like hitting the jackpot."

"And it gave you something wonderful to remember," Gus added, reaching out to comb her fingers through her fiance's unruly hair and then leaning forward in her seat to press a kiss to his cheek.

"What about you, Mac?" Danny asked, sipping black coffee. "What's your favourite Christmas memory?"

"I have a few," their boss replied with a slow nod. "Mostly from when I was younger and my parents were both alive. I remember going to my grandparents, on my father's side, and having these huge feasts and seeing relatives I hadn't seen for an entire year since the holiday before. It was never about presents. The memories I cherish most are the times spent with family."

"You're lucky to have had that kind of thing with your folks, Mac," Danny said. "Not many of us at this table can say the same thing."

Samantha and Adam nodded in agreement.

"And this Christmas…" Mac said, and smiled lovingly at Stella and picked up her hand and kissed it gently. His free hand resting on her slightly protruding stomach. "…will no doubt be the best yet. A beautiful wife, baby on the way. There's not much more I could ask for."

The couple kissed softly while the others at the table smiled warmly.

"I remember the massive blizzard of the Christmas Eve of eighty-two," Angell said. "I was seven. My older brother Ray came running in to me room to tell me that it was nothing but snow as far as the eye could see. Said it was up to his knees almost. God, it had to be close to midnight and I remember my mom letting us all put our snowsuits on over our pyjamas and bundling us up good and warm and watching from the living room window as we had a ball in the front yard. Making snowmen and snow angels. That's definitely the room I remember most."

"Only good memory I have of my foster father was him putting wet footprints leading from the fireplace to the Christmas tree and back again," Stella joined in the story telling. "Man, that made me a true believer in Santa Claus. What about you, Hawkes?"

"I'm a lot like Mac," the soft spoken ME turned CSI said. "Moments with my family I treasure most. Carmen?"

"When my brother was still around, Christmas at home with my family was a lot of fun," the red head said. "As soon as he died…parts of my parents went with him and nothing was ever the same again. So I guess, as an adult, I can say that my best Christmas memory was last year. Sam and Flack getting married on Christmas Eve and going to Rockefeller Centre afterwards and than to Tavern On the Green. Just spending that night with the people that matter most to me."

"Sam?" Stella asked. "What about you?"

"I only have the one good memory of my childhood," she said. "But as an adult…last year was by far the best Christmas I ever had. For obvious reasons. And this year…well hopefully with it being Kieran's first one, it won't be as stressful and painful as I'm imagining it's going to be."

* * *

No sooner did those words escape her mouth, Samantha's eyes widened as they, and her brain, feasted on a sight she hadn't expected to see in a million years. Except for maybe in those crazy ass dreams she had from time to time that involved finding out her husband was having an affair with an ex-girlfriend. And now, it seemed at least those dreams were coming true in some sort of context as she watched her husband and Devon Maxford approaching the table together. Laughing and talking as if they were the best of friends.

Stella was the first to notice the utter look of dread that passed over the petite brunette's face. And as she glanced over her shoulder, she heard Carmen's angry voice mutter "What the hell is that bitch doing here?"

"Excuse me," Samantha said, not knowing if it was anger or sheer curiosity that had her getting to her feet and intercepting Flack and Devon before they could reach the group.

"Oh here we go," Danny mumbled, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the entire confrontation unfold. "Ten bucks says Brooklyn knocks rich girl on her ass in less than five minutes."

"You're giving it that long?" Carmen snorted. "Mood Sam's been in, Devon will be lucky if she lasts one minute."

"Mom-mee," Kieran gushed and reached out his tiny arms when he saw her.

"Come here, sweet pea," Sam said to her son, letting him curl his arms around her neck before Flack passed him over the rest of the way.

She had to clasp her hands underneath Kieran's ass and let his weight rest on her forearms he was getting that heavy to lug around. And the fact that he just wouldn't sit still and insisted on yanking on her earrings or the chain around her neck or grabbing a hold of her hair and popping it into his mouth to chew and suck on made it even harder to control him.

She couldn't hide the utter disdain in her eyes she held for the svelte strawberry blond in front of her. A little over a year ago, Devon was calling both her and Flack non stop and trying every trick in the book to get back an ex-boyfriend that had made it painfully clear over and over again that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with her.

And now here they were laughing like old friends? What the hell was that shit?

Flack stepped beside his wife and laid a hand on the small of her back and pressed a light kiss to her temple. "Devon, this is my wife, Samantha…Sam…this is Devon Maxford. You remember Devon, don't you?"

How could I fucking forget? Sam thought. She put on a pleasant smile despite the fact she wanted to throttle the other woman. Or her husband. She wasn't sure exactly who was on the top of her list.

"Nice to meet you," Devon said, offering a hand. "At least in a friendly, proper way."

Sam looked at the perfectly manicured hand extended her way and wanted nothing more than to just turn her back and walk away. It's Christmas, she reminded herself. Peace and good will to all men. And unfortunately, that included spoiled, brattish, filthy rich daddies girls. She shook Devon's hand in favour or smacking the girl out.

"So what are you doing here?" Sam asked, hoping to God she at least sounded pleasant. "Just hanging around the NYPD Christmas party hoping to meet an eligible bachelor or do you just like clinging to other women's husbands?"

"Samantha," Flack said with an agitated tone. "Be nice, okay?"

"I'm here with my fiance," Devon explained. "He's a detective with major crime out of Staten Island. He's got two daughters so we're here as a family."

"That's nice," Samantha said. "Congratulations."

"Wedding's in the spring," Devon told her, than proceeded to all but shove her left hand under Sam's nose so the other woman could get a good close up of her diamond ring.

"It's lovely," Sam told her. "And I have one, too!"

Juggling Kieran on one hand, she forced her own left hand into Devon's face. So that stuck up, self-centered bitch could get a look at her much bigger and far more expensive rock. Sam wasn't normally like that. She wasn't the type to care too much about materialistic things. But Devon just seemed to bring out her evil bitch side.

"Whoa…" Devon grabbed a hold of the hand in front of her and eyed the rings on Sam's finger appreciatively. "Very, very nice, Donnie. When it was time, you just went all out. Tiffany's right?"

Sam nodded.

"They have a look and sparkle all their own," Devon gushed. "You're a lucky girl. You must have been very good."

"Best damn sex he's ever had!" Sam declared. "I earned every last cent he spent on it."

Devon smirked. Unsure of what to say in response to the brazen woman in front of her.

"Sweetheart," a tall, athletically built gentleman with thick, curly jet black hair and mysterious grey eyes suddenly appeared at Devon's side. Curling an arm around her slender waist and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "I wondered where you'd gotten to. Gracie said you were over here talking to some friends."

"This is Detective Don Flack and his wife Stephanie," Devon introduced. "And this is my fiance, Tony."

"Her name's Samantha," Flack corrected his ex, although he highly doubted it was an innocent mistake.

"I've heard a lot about you," Tony said to Flack as he shook both of their hands. "Devon's talked about you on more than one occasion. Homicide, right? Out of the twelfth precinct? Caught you in the papers last year when you hijacked a yellow cab to chase down Batman and Robin."

"They were these spy types," Devon gushed. "And it was so incredible. The whole thing was just exhilarating from start to finish. I mean, I would have much preferred to just be able to finish off the activities taking place before Donnie just went rushing on out after them…"

"On that happy note," Sam interrupted Devon before she could continue. "Don, we really need to get Kieran home. Has he had his milk and his snack yet?"

"He didn't want anything," Flack told her.

"Yeah…leave it to me," Sam said snottily. "It was nice meeting you, Tony. Good seeing you again, Devon. I hope the two of you are very happy together. Can we go soon, Don? Like after he has his drink and something to eat? Because he'll be massively bitchy if he doesn't nap and end up falling asleep at supper time and than be up all damn night."

"I'll just go and have a smoke and grab our coats and we can leave," he told her, following her as she carried Kieran back to the table and sat down with him on her lap. 'Please be nice," he said, setting the cardboard box down on the table top before unzipping the knapsack and pulling out a sippy cup of milk and a small container of dry frosted cheerios.

"She's sticking around?" Sam sounded mortified as she handed the cup to Kieran and snapped open the container of treats. "Don't leave me alone with her."

"You'll be fine," Flack assured her, leaning over to kiss her.

"You are so dead later," Sam muttered against his lips.

* * *

Flack had no sooner slipped out the front entrance of the convention center and lit up his cigarette when Tony DiCenzo stepped out into the frigid temperatures, nodding at the younger detective in greeting and sidling up to him.

"You wouldn't have one I could bum off of you, do you?" Tony asked, clasping his hands together and blowing on them to keep them warm. "Left my pack in my coat in the ballroom."

Flack held out the pack clutched in his free hand.

Tony took it, shook a cigarette out and placed it between his lips. Using the lighter tucked inside the pack to light his smoke. He took a long drag and exhaled slowly. "Thanks," he said, passing the half empty pack back to the younger man. "So how old's your boy?" he asked curiously.

"He'll be one next month," Flack replied.

"Just got the one?"

The homicide detective nodded. "So far."

"Hoping to have another already? That's brave."

"We want a couple more. Nice and close together. So they have each other to play with and what not. Family is pretty important to us. We're just hoping to raise them better than we both were."

"Your old man's Donald Flack Sr?"

Flack smirked. "The one and only," he said dryly.

"Hell of a legend. Never met him myself but I've heard stories. Amazing career. Great cop."

"Shit ass of a human being," Flack said. "But you'd have to grow up with the man to realize just how bad. You got two girls?"

Tony nodded. "Gracie and Lyla. My baby girls. Devon's been amazing with them. She's a natural mother. And wife. I know it's not official yet but we've been living together for five months so she's as close to a wife you can get without signing anything."

"It's okay," Flack assured him. "I called Sam my wife from the time I proposed. We lived together too before hand. I didn't need a licence to tell me she was my wife. Know what I mean?"

"Absolutely," Tony said. "How long you been married?"

"Almost a year. She was pregnant when we got married. Things were a little…what's the word? Unique. Between us."

"Nothing wrong with that"

"So how'd you and Devon meet?" Flack asked.

"Charity football game. NYPD versus Jersey PD."

Flack coughed noisily to hold back a snicker. Hearing that just proved his long time theory that Devon trolled those kinds of events just looking for a cop to sink her nails into. "And you guys are getting married in the spring? Big thing, little thing?"

"Medium size. Mostly my friends and family. Colleagues. Seeing as her folks disowned her and cut off access to all her money when she announced she was marrying a guy almost twenty years older than her and who had two kids. To be honest though, I think me being a cop pissed them off the most.

Flack smirked. "Why does that not surprise me? I think being away from the high brow types she's used to has done her some good. She seems different now. I mean, she's actually, I don't know….nice."

Tony laughed at that. "She's changed a lot since we first met. Your wife a stay at home mom? Career girl?"

"She works for the NYPD. Crime scene investigator."

"That must be rough. Working with your spouse."

"It has it's moments," Flack said. "Good and bad. It's a major adjustment to go through, but we managed."

"You guys have a big wedding?"

"Six guests. Christmas Eve. In a judge's chambers."

"Smart man. Trust me, planning a wedding is hell on earth."

"I don't doubt it," Flack said. "My wife helped her best friend plan hers. It was a lot of hard work," he finished his cigarette and butted it out on the wall next to him and tossed it into the snow. "Look, I gotta get going. Get the little guy home. It was nice meeting you."

"You, too," Tony said, shaking the hand offered to him.

"I hope you and Devon are very happy together," Flack said, and headed for the door.

"You being sincere about that, Detective?" Tony asked.

Flack doubled back. "Come again?" he responded.

"I just want to make sure that there's nothing for me to worry about. The way she ran off to say hello to you and catch up on told times. Seemed a little…seemed like maybe there was still something simmering underneath if you know what I mean."

Flack smirked. "I'm a married man. You've seen my wife. No offence, but do you really think I'd screw up my entire life with someone like that with someone like Devon. Thanks but no thanks. She's all yours. I'm not interested."

"Doesn't bother you that she seems still mildly interested in you?"

Flack shrugged. "That's her problem. And if that's true, she can keep dreaming. Because I'm not into her in any way shape or form. I've got my own life. A wife and a kid. I'm not messing all that up for Devon. Or anyone. I'm sure the two of you will have a great marriage and a family and everything else that comes with."

"So there's nothing for me to worry about? I don't need to be concerned about her running around with you?"

"Okay," Flack gave a small chuckle. "Let's go over this one more time because apparently you're a bit hard of understanding. I'm married. I love my wife. We have a son together and for the most part a happy life. I'm not interested in Devon. At all. She's a nice girl but me and her are way too different. It's the reason things didn't work the first time. So go and marry her and have a wonderful life together. With no worries. I'm not going to be on your doorstep waiting to poach your girl."

Tony nodded slowly. "That's good to hear."

"Now other men…" Flack shrugged as he headed for the door once again. "…that's what you really have to worry about."

"And what's that suppose to mean?" Tony called after him.

"Exactly what it sounded like," Flack responded, and disappeared inside.

* * *

The two women sat next to one another. Neither spoke. Samantha ran her fingers through Kieran's hair and softly stroked his forehead as he leaned back against her and guzzled his milk. He was cranky and tired and the simple act of having either his forehead or bridge of his nose stroked was enough to completely relax him, and every so often, send him off to sleep.

"He's beautiful," Devon commented, reaching out to run a fingertip down Kieran's cheek.

"Thank you," Sam said in response. "We're proud of him. I think we'll keep him."

"Looks just like his daddy. I bet you hear that all the time."

Sam nodded.

"I never thought of Donnie as a family man," Devon said. "I never thought that one woman could make him happy. Not that he cheated on me or anything. But when he was with me, he wasn't all with me. If that makes any sense."

"I guess he just wasn't that into you," Sam concluded. "Or you'd be the one with the wedding band on your finger and the baby on your lap."

Devon sighed. "I guess I deserve that. Considering the slight grief I put you guys through last September."

"You were going the obsessive stalker route with all those phone calls," Sam told her. "But I've been with guys that I wasn't able to let go of that easily either and I did the whole harassing the new girlfriend thing a couple times. So I'm not going to sit here and shit all over you for it."

The red head gave a small smile. "It's nice to know you're not as perfect as you look."

"Me? Perfect?" Sam couldn't help but laugh. "Honey, I am far from it. What would ever make you think that?"

"Look at you. This petite little thing with killer curves. All that beautiful hair and those golden eyes. Men just look at you wherever you go I bet."

Sam shook her head. "I'm just the plain Jane girl next door. You're the vibrant red head that personifies walking sex."

"You seriously underestimate yourself, girl," Devon said. "Either you don't look in the mirror or you haven't been complimented near enough. You're the girl that guys bring home to mom and want to marry and have babies with. I'm the one they want to cheat on their wives with. I mean, you got the guy, didn't you? The one that seemed impossible to nail down?"

"I guess I just arrived at the right time in his life," Sam reasoned. "He was looking for someone to settle down with and there I was. And you don't look like you're doing too bad yourself. Your fiance is a very attractive man and he seems really nice. And he seems like he cares for you a hell of a lot."

Devon smiled and looked down at the ring on her finger. "He's everything to me. Him and his girls. I've lost everything that ever mattered to me just because I want to be with him."

"That's what being in love with someone is all about I guess," Sam said. "Sacrificing. And that goes both ways. It's not a one way street."

"Do your parents like Donnie?"

"My mom hates him. She always will. She doesn't think he's good enough for me because he only has a grade twelve and he's a blue collar kind of guy. My step-father…well things were a little strained at first to say the least. But he came around and him and Don get along great now. Kieran's birth really helped bringing them closer together. My step-dad is possibly the proudest, most sickening grandfather on earth."

"Well he's a beautiful baby," Devon told her again. "He's going to be breaking a lot of hearts one day. And Donnie seems really, really happy. That's why I couldn't resist going over and talking to him when I saw him. Mind you, I never thought I'd see the day he had his ass parked in a kid's chair. He's not the smallest guy. And than to be covered in icing and candle sprinkles? Priceless."

Sam laughed. "There's not much he wouldn't do for his son."

"Or for you," Devon said. "I can just tell by looking at him that he's totally and helplessly in love with you. It's written all over his face."

Sam smiled and nodded slowly. "I'm really lucky. I found him at a time in my life that I needed someone the most. He's helped me through a lot. More than any guy should have to deal with. But he never complained or made me feel that I wasn't worth it."

"Hold onto that than," Devon told her. "Him. Hold on to him. Because not many find that these days. And trust me, you'd regret it if you let him slip away."

Sam was tempted to ask if Devon was regretting it herself but was interrupted by the sippy cup slipping from her son's hands and bouncing off her knee and onto the floor. He gave a small whimper and his thumb popped into his mouth and his head flopped forward.

"Wish I could fall asleep that easily," Devon laughed, and retrieved the sippy cup.

"It would be nice," Sam agreed, lifting her son up under his arms and turning him around so that his head rested on her shoulder and his chest and stomach were tight against her.

"I should get back to the girls," Devon said, standing up. "It was really nice talking to you, Samantha. Especially under friendly circumstances."

The brunette smiled. "It was nice taking to you, too, Devon. And I'm sorry things were so nasty between us. I was just trying to protect what I had. I had just gotten engaged and found out I was pregnant and I was desperate to hold onto Don. And I felt threatened. Big time."

"Back than you had a reason to be," Devon admitted. "I was after him and determined to get him. But he loves you and you have nothing to worry about. On either of our parts. Look, I was thinking," she snapped open her purse and rummaged around before coming up with a small cream coloured business card. "If you ever just want to hang out or grab a coffee or go shopping or something, give me a call."

Sam accepted the card and looked down at it. Devon Maxford. Bridal consultant. "You actually work?" she asked playfully.

"Shocking, I know," Devon laughed. "I just started there a couple of months ago. I went back to school when my folks kicked me to the curb. Took a wedding planner course through night classes. It's not bad work. Could be better. But I was just thinking, maybe we could attempt to be friends. Seeing as we have so much in common now."

"I'll keep that in mind," Sam told her. "Congratulations. On your engagement."

"Thank you. If you give me a call, maybe I can get your address and you and Donnie could come to the wedding."

"Maybe," Sam said.

"And congratulations to you. On getting married and this adorable little guy here."

Sam smiled and watched the slinky strawberry blond head off.

"So?" Danny asked, taking the opportunity to slip into the chair that Devon had vacated. "How painful was that?"

"It was relatively painless," Sam replied. "I guess she wants us to be friends."

"Why?" Danny asked.

"She apparently thinks we have a lot in common now that she's engaged to marry a cop."

"Engaged? Little Miss Rich Bitch is engaged? You kidding me?"

"She seems very happy," Sam said, pressing a kiss to the side of Kieran's head.

"Just 'cause she's marrying a cop doesn't mean you two have a lot in common. Only thing you have in common with her is the fact that you both have fucked Flack."

Sam frowned. "Be nice, Messer," she scolded.

* * *

By the grace of God, the in laws had decided to head home from the party with Gus and Adam and had announced that they were quite possibly staying overnight. So they could get in their visiting with both children. Flack had wanted to hug his mother in law for giving him the best possible Christmas gift she could ever toss his way. Peace and quiet and serenity, And his own bed back. Although he suspected that either Gus or Adam, sensing the tension in the air between Samantha and her mother, had been the ones to put the plan into action.

First thing he did when he got home, other than carefully peel his sleeping son out of his snow suit and boots and place him in his crib for the rest of his nap, was take full advantage of having his bed back. He stripped off the sheets and pillowcases and put all fresh ones on. The second thing he did was strip his wife and himself down and get some decent baby making time in. Without having to worry about her parents being in the next room or having alcohol in her system, Sam was able to fully relax and enjoy herself. Even if she did find herself face stomach down on the bed and had to bury her face in the pillows to hold back the ear splitting noises that threatened to erupt from her.

Afterwards they dozed. Completely naked in each other's arms, buried underneath the thick comforter. Samantha was the first to wake up. Her eyes slowly opening as her ears, and brain, registered the sounds of Kieran babbling happily in his crib and shaking the bars noisily.

She yawned noisily and managed to roll over onto her back despite the heavy arm draped over her. She rubbed her tired, weary eyes and turned her head sideways to look at her husband. Fast asleep, his dark eyelashes falling on his pale skin and a soft smile curving his lips. She reached out and ran a gentle hand alongside of his face and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his mouth. Giggling when he wrapped both arms around her slender frame and deepend the kiss and rolled over onto his back, taking her with him so she ended up on his stomach and chest.

"You were faking," she scolded, running the knuckles of both hands along his jaw line.

He smiled and nodded but didn't open his eyes. "Were you?" he asked.

"I never fake," she responded and kissed him deeply.

"Baby's awake," Flack told her.

"I know. I was just on my way to get him. He's probably hungry. It's a little later than usual for him to be eating supper."

Flack cracked open an eye and checked the bedside clock. "Almost quarter to six," he observed.

"That's late for him. I should go out and make him something to eat and than get him."

She attempted to climb off her husband's prone body, only to have him tighten his grip on her.

"I'm not finished with you yet," he told her.

"Well unfortunately, for both of us, it's time to retire our 'let's fuck like wild animals hats' and put on our mommy and daddy ones."

He sighed heavily. "You just know how to ruin a good thing, don't you," he stated.

"I'm surprised you can even function after our little activities earlier," she said, pressing kisses along the hallow of his throat and on the underside of his chin.

"I'm like a fine wine, baby. Older I get,the more I improve."

"I'll remember that when we're in our forties and I'm at my sexual prime," she said, kissing him long and hard and deep one final time before climbing off of him.

"You mean you'll be hornier and even more willing than you are now?" he asked curiously.

"Mm-hm," she responded, as she found a pair of joggers and a t-shirt to slip into.

"Thank the Lord. I must have been a very, very good boy in my previous life to deserve someone like you."

"Yes," she agreed, pulling her hair out of the back of her t-shirt as she headed for the door. "You must have been."

He frowned and sat up and grabbed a hold of one of the pillows and tossed it at her. "You just do wonders for my ego, you know that?"

"Trust me, baby. There's nothing wrong with your ego," she bent down to pick up the pillow and threw it back onto his bed. "I mean, how many times did I need to call you God to make you feel good about yourself?"

He just smiled.

"Do you want me to start anything for supper?" she asked as she opened the door. "Or should we order in or…"

"We'll order in. Chinese sounds good. That okay?"

She nodded.

"Actually," Flack said, as he lay back down and stared at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. "Sushi sounds good to."

Sam made a gagging noise. "You hate sushi," she said. "We both do."

"Yeah…but I heard of this place that does naked sushi. And I figure, you can just lie there and I'll eat you."

"Didn't you just do that an hour ago?" she asked teasingly. "Or did you forget that part?"

"You're pretty unforgettable, baby," he said with a broad grin. "You and everything that goes with you. I just think that would be kind of erotic. Put food all over your naked body and eat it off of you. That just does something for me."

"Don, these days, a stiff breeze does it for you."

"Maybe I'm hitting my sexual prime," he said.

"If so, I'll be trading you in for two twenty year olds when you hit forty."

"Baby, they would not know what to do with you."

"Precisely. The best part is teaching them everything they need to know."

"Yeah?" he asked, rolling over onto his side. "Well I'm a big fan of instructions. So why don't you come back to bed and show me exactly what it is you need me to do?"

"Why don't you take a cold shower," she replied, and slipped from the room.

* * *

She was preparing a Gerber Graduates entrée for Kieran when Flack joined them in the kitchen. The instructions on the package said to feed the macaroni and cheese and fresh veggies meal to kids older than twelve months and showed they could chew food properly. Well the latter was true for their son so she'd gone ahead two weeks before and bought every available flavour they had. And Kieran was entirely grateful for the change.

"What's on the menu tonight?" Flack asked, as he turned the kettle on to make himself an instant coffee and grabbed the take out menus from a drawer by the fridge.

"Mac and cheese," Sam replied, squirting ketchup onto the meal in front of her. Kieran loved ketchup. His first foray into it being at grandma and grandpa's house in Queens and grandpa introducing him to chopped up wieners mixed with white rice and ketchup. A delicacy as far as Kieran was concerned.

"Lucky kid. Getting out of that crappy tasting jarred shit he was subjected to for nearly six months."

"I didn't see him starving," Sam said, as she stirred the red condiment into the mac and cheese and than pulled one of the chairs over to the high chair where Kieran impatiently waited for his meal. "He's like you'll. He'll eat just about anything."

"I remember when he was still on nothing but milk," Flack commented, as he fixed his coffee and made her a cup of tea that he left on the counter while he took a seat at the kitchen table. "And you were still doing nothing but breastfeeding him. Now those were fun nights. Getting up and bringing him to you every three hours. Every two when he first got home. Remember that?"

"How could I forget?" she asked, spooning macaroni into her son's mouth. "I almost fell asleep feeding him so many times. Good thing we were on the bed. It wouldn't have hurt him if I'd dropped him."

"You were an amazing mother, Sam. You still are."

She smiled at her husband over her shoulder. "That's it. Kiss up to me some more for leaving me alone with your crazy ex girlfriend."

"Hey, you even said yourself she wasn't that bad this time."

"She wasn't. She's just a little…I don't know. Flighty. But for the most part she's harmless and she seems really, really happy with this guy. And he seems very nice."

"He came across as decent," Flack said. "She's changed. I was pretty shocked to hear she'd gotten engaged. Especially to someone that much older than her and with kids. And one of them with special needs at that. Devon never came across as too compassionate."

"Never judge a book by it's cover," Sam reminded him. "Or, to stick with the season, a present by it's wrapping."

"I guess," Flack said and sipped his coffee. "What's all this?" he asked, taking a look at the various store advertisements scattered across the table. All featuring toys. Girls toys at that. "Are you trying to tell me something by shopping for a girl? Are we having a daughter I don't know about?"

"No. I was just browsing."

"At dolls?"

"Cabbage Patch Kids, actually," she told him.

He frowned. "I remember those things coming out in the mid-eighties or somewhere around there. They were huge. Than someone brought out those Garbage Pail Kids collecting cards."

"And let me guess," Sam grinned. "You had every one in the series."

"I was the hockey card collector. Chris was into those things. He was always spending his allowance on them. So why are you looking at these Cabbage Patch Dolls?"

She shrugged. "I've always had a soft spot for them."

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "And I was thinking about going and getting myself one."

He stared at her. "Get outta town."

"I know. I know. I'm almost thirty-three and that's the stupidest thing you've ever heard."

"I never said that. I'm just…I don't know. Surprised. You just don't strike me as the doll type."

"I always wanted one," she explained. "I used to beg and plead for one when they came out on the market. I wanted nothing more three Christmases in a row. But I never got one. First it was my mom telling me it was because she couldn't find one anywhere because of how popular they are. Than the next two years she was telling me they couldn't afford to get me or Adam anything. But I always wanted it and I saw a little girl at the day care with one the other day when I dropped Kieran off and…well, it made me want one all over again."

Flack just nodded and stared down at the cherubic looking dolls in the ad. Than looked up and across the kitchen at his wife. "You were actually going to get one for yourself?" he asked.

"Just something that crossed my mind. A little something to keep for my daughter if we ever have one. I just thought of how sentimental it could be."

"I don't really think it's something you should go and buy yourself, Sam," he said.

She sighed. "I know. Totally immature for someone my age. It was just a silly little wish, really."

He didn't respond. Instead he reached for a pen sitting on top of the mail to his left and jotted down the number for Toys R Us that was on the bottom of the flyer.

Her wish was his command.

Everyone needed a little surprise. Even at her age.

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! Even thanks to the lurkers for their support! Please review people! If you like it, please, please, please review. It would make my day!**

**Thanks to:**

**Hope4sall  
****Brttmclv  
****Forest Angel  
****Laurzz  
****Marialisa  
****Wolfeylady  
****ImaSupernaturalCSI  
****Laplandgurl  
****TruLuv  
****GregRox  
****Shopaholic20  
****bluehaven4220**


	25. Christmas Eve Eve

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN**

**WARNING: RATED M FOR ADULT SITUATIONS NEAR THE END. JUST TWO HEALTHY, NORMAL PEOPLE FOLKS. **

**Christmas Eve Eve**

"I'm the kinda brotha  
Movin doin it my way  
Gettin my way for years  
In my career  
And every lover  
In and out my life  
I hid love and left the tears  
Without a care  
Until I met this girl who turned the tables around  
She caught me by surprise  
I never thought I'd be the one breaking down  
I can't figure it out why I'm so  
Caught up  
Got me feelin' it  
Caught up  
I don't know what it is  
But it seems she got me twisted  
I'm so  
Caught Up  
Got me feelin' it  
Caught up  
I'm losin' control  
This girl's got a hold on me."

-Caught up, Usher

* * *

"Stella, I need you."

She had never expected to hear those words tumbling from his mouth. A tall, dark and handsome man years younger than herself. Someone that was lusted after by many women. The confident way in which he carried himself and the way his blue eyes sparkled and danced when he smiled or were dark and intense when anger and frustration set in. He could have any woman he wanted but was satisfied with just one. Yet her he was, breezing into her office. All business.

After all, they were both married. Happily. He had a beautiful, vibrant little boy and she was expecting her first child. Anything between them was inexcusable. They were colleagues and friends. Nothing more and nothing less. There would never be anything romantic between them and that was something that was mutually understood and accepted.

So why was now in front of her professing his need for her? It was alarming and startling and she glanced up from her paper work in confusion and apprehension to find him at the side of her desk, his mouth set in a grim line, a plastic bag from J and S Antiques on East 87th clutched in one hand, a roll of sparkling silver and gold wrapping paper and a package of bows in the other.

"Okay…." she said, and sat back in her chair, pushing her glasses up onto the top of her head. "Because..?"

"Because I suck," he answered.

"What are you talking about, Flack?"

"Presents," he told her, setting the bag down on top of her desk. "Or should I say wrapping them. I can't do it. I just can't. And I need this wrapped before I go home. I know there's still tomorrow, but I'm afraid I won't get the chance to run this over to get it gift wrapped somewhere."

"What are you and Sam buying this kid now?" Stella inquired, as she pushed her chair away from her desk and stood up. She opened the bag and peered into it. Than looked up at Flack, a puzzled look on her face.

"A doll?" she asked.

"It's not just a doll," Flack informed her. "It's a Cabbage Patch Kid. I went to every possible store that carries these things in Manhattan. I even went to places in Queens and Long Island City and than called toy stores in the other bureaus. Sold out. Apparently, these things have made a resurgence. Not as big as they were in the mid eighties when the release of these things near mass hysteria, but big enough that it was damn near impossible to find one."

"And where did you find it? You're carrying it around in a bag from an antique store? Why?"

"Because the antique store was my last resort. Lady at the Toys R Us in Times Square said I might be able to get one, circa 1985, there. And as luck would have it, there was one there. A girl with dark hair and dark eyes. Only instead of it costing me forty bucks for a new one, I ended up paying…."

Stella pulled the box out of the bag and her eyes widened at the sight of the cost printed on the price tag. "A hundred and ten dollars?!" she exclaimed in disbelief.

"This is from the eighties, Stel. In it's original box. It's the only one I could find. I didn't have a choice but spend that kind of money."

"A hundred and ten dollars on a doll that Kieran's going to rip apart in ten seconds flat? And why are you buying him a doll? I thought you have that whole, my son must be male thing going on?"

"It's not for Kieran," Flack looked offended. "Are you insane? I'd never buy him a doll. It's for Sam."

"Sam wants a Cabbage Patch Kid?" Stella asked. "Why?"

"It's a long story. I'll just say that she always wanted a one as a kid and never got one. And she had a shitty childhood, Stel. And I just want to give her a little piece of a decent childhood. If that makes any sense."

Stella smiled. "You're a man after my own heart, Don Flack."

He gave that boyish grin that dimpled his cheeks. "I am so going to nail it with that gift," he said.

"You're just hoping this gift helps you nail something else," Stella commented dryly.

Flack laughed. "I can not believe that just came out of your mouth. Are you going all perv on us now that you're pregnant? Baby doing that to you?"

"How do you know I haven't always been like this?" she asked, giving a sly smile.

"Well if you are normally like this, Mac Taylor is a damn lucky man," Flack declared. "So you can work some magic for me, Stel?"

"What time are you off?"

"'Suppose to be four thirty."

"I'll have it done in about an hour. Two at the most."

"Nice," he said with an appreciative nod, and stepping around the desk, laid a hand on the small of her back and pecked her cheek. "You're the best, Stel. You're saving my ass big time here. I suck at the whole wrapping presents thing."

"It's a girl thing for the most part," she said. "Unless you're Mac. He's incredible at it."

"Is there anything that Mac doesn't know or isn't good at?" Flack asked.

Stella considered it. "He sucks at housekeeping. The man is a massive slob. And he can't cook anything outside of cheeseburgers. But you didn't hear that from me."

"You're secret is safe with me," he chuckled. "I appreciate this, Stel."

"Don't ever say I never do anything for you," she said jokingly as he headed for the door.

"I am telling ya, Stella. If I wasn't married, me and you would so be hooking up."

"You are way too young for me, Don," she informed him.

He winked playfully and disappeared from her office.

"Flirt," she muttered and stood with her hands on her hips, looking down at the doll staring up at her with wide brown eyes. "Looks like it's just you and me, kid," she said.

* * *

They sat across the kitchen table from one another. Kieran had just gone down for a nap and Sam's parents had retreated to the living room to watch television and give the two some much needed privacy. A mug of fresh coffee sat in front of Reed, the steam spiralling upwards as he tapped his pen on the notepad flipped open in front of him. The interview had been scheduled for after Christmas, but he had called late in the morning and asked if maybe he could drop by. Mac had mentioned she was on holidays and Reed desperately wanted to get a leg up on the story.

"I really don't know what you want me to say, Reed," Sam said, running the palms of her hands along the sides of her mug of tea. "I wasn't even with Don when he was in the bombing."

"But you're with him now. And the man responsible for that bombing is getting out in the new year. The man that nearly killed your husband. Think about it Sam. If he had have succeeded that day, none of this would be here. You're life wouldn't be what it is now. You never would have met Detective Flack and you wouldn't be married or have your son."

Sam sighed. "I never thought about it that way."

"That's why I'm the journalist," Reed said lightly. "They pay us to think that way."

She smiled. "Did you always want to be a journalist?" she asked curiously.

"Writing was always a passion of mine," he replied, reaching across the table to snag a sugar cookie from the plate of goodies they were sharing. "When I was a little kid…I guess I was about seven or eight, I started writing stories. About anything and everything. I would just sit on my bed and write and write about whatever popped into my head. I had lists upon lists of characters and scenarios and all these elaborate story lines. I just lost myself in writing. I think at one time, I had two drawers of my dresser taken up with all these note books with stories in them."

"So why not publish a book?" Sam inquired. "Why journalism?"

Reed shrugged. "I got into high school and there wasn't much to study creative writing wise. So I went with the next best thing and joined the school paper. And now…well, here I am."

"Do you ever write creatively now? Or is it just solely for work?"

"I've lost my creative bug somewhat," Reed said. "I guess when the realistic stuff took the spotlight, everything else got shoved to the back burner. I think about it from time to time. About writing a book. Or short stories to have published in magazines. But who has the time when you have to bring in a paycheque to pay the bills?"

She gave a small laugh and sipped her tea. "I know that feeling all too well."

"Did you always want to be a cop?" Reed asked, reaching out to press record on the small tape recorder sitting on the table top.

"Not always. I had other dreams and aspirations. I mean, there was always a small part of me that wanted to be a police officer. But when I was a kid I think I changed career choices at least every second day. Kids are like that. I had the fantasy type things in mind. When I was four, I wanted to be a princess. I wanted to live in some exotic kingdom and have a knight in shining armour come and save me from the fire breathing dragon. And I thought about being a vet and a doctor and a nurse and about a hundred other things by the time I hit ten."

"Typical kid," Reed said with a smile. "So why a cop?"

"I wanted to help people. Kids mostly. That really needed it. Like me and my brother."

The young man arched a quizzical eyebrow.

"My younger brother Adam and I were abused," Sam explained. "Pretty badly. And I always used to tell him that when I was older I was going to become a cop so that kids like us never got hurt again and guys like our dad ended up in jail where they belonged."

"That must have been rough," Reed commented, as he jotted stuff down on his notepad.

She shrugged. "It's a long time ago. We survived. And we're both better people for it. You're not going to use all of that, are you? Stuff about my dad?"

"I was just going to use some of it to give you a little background in the article," Reed explained, than paused in his writing. "You don't want me using stuff like that?"

"It's not that….I just…I don't know…I don't see why you need to have stuff like that in a story about my husband and the bombing."

"This is a human interest piece" he explained gently. "It's more about your husband and how your family is coping with the after affects and with Lessing's pending release. And for people to feel for you, I need to put in some background. Make you seem more human. If you see what I am getting at."

She sighed and nodded. "I just…I'm not entirely comfortable talking about my dad."

"It's okay," Reed assured her, and reached across the table to lay his free hand over one of hers. A comforting gesture. "That's all I need to know. You don't have to say anything else."

* * *

She glanced down at the hand covering her own. Reed's touch was soft and warm. And while she was sure he meant nothing by it other than a well meaning gesture, she suddenly felt totally uncomfortable. She calmly slipped her hand out from under his as to not hurt his feelings with a sudden jerking movement and picked her mug up and took a long sip of tea.

She'd never been a touchy-feely type of person. And it wasn't that she hated the idea of anyone touching her. She just wasn't entirely comfortable with any man, save her husband and brother and step-father, touching her. Even if she did trust them explicitly. And she trusted Reed Garrett enough to allow him into her home, to be around her child and to ask her questions about her family.

"You're originally from New York City?" Reed asked, returning to his notes.

Sam nodded. "Brooklyn."

"But you were out of the city between 1991 and 2008?"

"When I was sixteen my mom married my step-dad and we all moved to Arizona. I lived there until I went to university and than after I completed my masters, I moved back to Phoenix and joined the PD there."

"What brought you back to New York?"

There was no way she was getting into the horror that was Zack. It was behind her now. The healing was an ongoing process, one that would be hampered if she even let herself think or speak of her ex.

"My brother was here," she answered Reed's question. "I wanted a change of scenery and he was here in New York and he put in a word for me with Mac. That's how I ended up with the crime lab."

Reed nodded and jotted everything down. "How did you meet your husband?" he asked.

"I met him outside of the crime lab. I was there to meet with Mac and be introduced to the team. He had hired me over the phone and he arranged this meet and greet of sorts."

"What was your first impression of your husband when you met him?"

"Well, I'm a red blooded female so when I first saw this tall, dark and handsome guy in a suit and tie and the most beautiful blue eyes I'd ever seen, I was impressed. I thought he was incredibly attractive. And he was a gentleman. Holding open doors for me and what not. And the more I got to know him, I found out he was dependable and strong and loyal. And that underneath a relatively gruff exterior, he had a huge heart."

"In your words, what's your husband like as a cop?" Reed asked.

"He's tenacious. Trustworthy. You can count on him to have your back in an interrogation room or going through the door on a raid or out on the street chasing down a perp. He's tough as nails when he needs to be. He's street smart. And despite his sarcasm and his occasional arrogance, he really cares about each and every victim. He has a lot of compassion and empathy. Not many people get to see that side of him."

"And as a husband and a father?'

"He's just Don. I can't explain it or describe it. He's funny and you can always count on him to make you laugh even if you've had a really tough, trying day. He's stubborn as all hell. He hates being told what to do. He's stuck a little in the old school mentality that the husband brings home the bacon and it's up to the wife to do the housework and care for the kids. He can be possessive and jealous and hot tempered one minute and than sweet and loving and tender the next. And you know what? I love everything about him and I wouldn't change him for anything in the world."

Reed smiled.

"And he's an amazing father. He loves his son and he spends every spare moment he has with Kieran. And there's not a lot of spare moments in this job. And Don makes the most of them. That's what I love the most about him. He makes sure that me and the baby are first. He lets me know in small, unspoken ways that we're the most important things in his life."

"What's it like?" Reed asked. "Being married to a police officer?"

"It's…" she thought about her answer and sighed. "..challenging…frightening. There's always that fear that when they walk out the door before a shift that they won't be walking back in. That you'll get that one phone call you dread the most. It's stressful and rewarding all at the same time. Because while you're watching him put his life on the line day in and day out, you're also sharing in his triumphs. And behind it all, when the badge and gun come off, you're just trying to be a normal couple raising a family together."

"You ever find that the job causes friction in your marriage?"

"Sure," she admitted, grabbing a cookie and dipping it into her tea before taking a bite out of it. "There's times I feel neglected because my husband seems to put his job first. But I've never felt unloved or unwanted. When I married Don, I accepted that sometimes I'd take a back seat. And our situation is unique with us both being cops. Our main conflict if you want to call it that is us working together. Because he worries constantly."

"How did you first find out about the bombing?" Reed inquired.

"My brother, Adam told me. Than I caught more bits and pieces from work colleagues. And than when I saw the scars for the first time, Don filled in most of the blanks."

"How did you feel? When you heard about it?"

"I was shocked," Sam replied, sipping her now lukewarm tea. "Horrified by what had gone down. And in awe of him."

Reed raised an eyebrow. "In awe?"

"That he'd managed to survive," she explained. "He had a severed artery in his stomach and pieces of the bomb embedded in his chest. He spent months in the hospital and went through aggressive re-hab and physio before he could go back to work."

"How do you feel about Lessing being released?"

"I'm disgusted. That someone could be so malicious and calculated and twisted. He'd convinced himself it was a necessary mission," she rolled her eyes and made air quotes around the last two words. "He wanted to prove that our country wasn't ready for another terrorist attack. He was sending a message. A message! And I don't care how crazy or unbalanced this man is. That's no excuse for what he did. He maimed people. He killed people! And my husband…"

Her voice cracked with emotion, her hands trembled.

"My husband nearly died," she continued with difficulty. "He nearly died and you're right, Reed. I wouldn't be here right now if he hadn't have survived. And most of all, my son wouldn't be here. Don's my husband. He's my baby's father. And when I think about not having him and how I take his presence for granted and I don't appreciate him like I do, I just…"

She couldn't finish the sentence. She put a shaky hand to her forehead as tears spilled down her cheeks.

Reed leaned sideways to grab a handful of Kleenexes from a box resting on the table and held them out to her.

"Thank you," she sniffled and took the tissues and dabbed at her eyes. "I'm sorry. I've never talked about how I feel about the bombing. I'm sorry…"

"It's okay," Reed assured her.

"Are we done now?" Sam asked hopefully. "Do you have what you need? Because I don't think I can talk about this anymore."

Reed nodded, finding himself choked up at her outward display of emotion. He closed his notebook and capped his pen and switched off the tape recorder.

"Will you excuse me for a minute?" Sam asked, pushing her chair away from the table and standing up.

"Of course," Reed replied.

"I just…I need a few minutes…"

"I understand," he told her, and watched as she hurried out of the kitchen. He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair and down the remains of his now cold coffee and listened to the conversation now taking place in the living room.

"Samantha?" Sarge asked, concern evident in his voice. "Are you alright, sweetie?"

"I'm fine, dad. I'm just going out onto the balcony to get some air."

"Whose that boy in there?" Lynne asked, voice dripping with disdain.

"He's not a boy, mom. He's a young man. And I told you. He's Reed Garrett. Mac Taylor's step-son. He works for the Times and is doing a human interest story on Don and I because the man who planted the bomb that Don was caught up in is being released."

"Does Donald know you have male friends?" Lynne asked. "And that you spend time alone with them?"

"For God sakes, mother! We were talking at the kitchen table. Not fucking on it!"

"Samantha…"

"And yes, my husband knows I have male friends. And that I spend time alone with them. It's okay with him. Besides, he likes to watch."

Lynne gasped in shock. Sarge chuckled heartily.

Reed put his face in his hands to stifle the laughter that erupted from his mouth.

"Your daughter has serious problems," Lynne informed her husband.

"Oh shut up, honey," he responded.

* * *

It was quarter after six when Flack finally arrived home. The sky was already pitch black and a steady snow was falling. He'd left the present Stella had so expertly wrapped in the back of the SUV. His wife was notorious for snooping for presents. Valentines Day, birthday, Christmas…it didn't matter. If there was something in the apartment for her, she would go to hell and back to find it.

The smell of lasagna greeted him as he stepped through the front door. Along with the sound of the television playing Thomas the Tank Engine and Kiearn's contagious giggling mixed in with Reed Garrett's hearty laugh. Sam had called earlier to say that Reed was coming over a few days early for the interview. In a way, Flack had known it was her way of asking permission to do it. She knew that he was against it. That his fears of Dean Lessing harassing his family were genuine ones. She had called to get her husband's blessing. She wouldn't go ahead with it if he adamantly refused. And it had been on the tip of his tongue to do just that. But he held back and simply told her to do what she thought was right. That she was a big girl and he trusted her enough to make the right decision for her family.

Obviously, going ahead with talking to Reed was in her mind, the right decision.

But why was the kid still in his house hours later?

Flack shed his shoes and hung both his winter coat and suit jacket in the hall closet and journeyed into the kitchen

"Hi," Sam chirped from where she stood at the counter, tearing apart lettuce for a salad and tossing it into a large plastic bowl. Her hair pulled into a tight, high ponytail and wearing a pair of tattered jeans and a massive sweatshirt pulled from his side of the closet.

"Hey," he kissed her cheek softly and loosened his tie. "Smell's good."

"Wish I could say it's homemade. But I am not your mother so I am afraid you must settle for frozen. How was work?"

He shrugged and opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of vitamin water. "It was work," he replied, snapping off the lid and taking a huge refreshing gulp. "Where's your parents?" he asked, leaning back against the counter beside her.

"They are gone for the night with Gus and Adam. Dinner at Tavern on the Green."

"Of all nights they pick the one that you're going out and getting drunk on," Flack said with a sigh, shaking his head.

"Maybe they will stay overnight at Gussie's," she said, finishing with the lettuce and popping the bowl in the fridge before journeying to the sink to wash her hands. "Then when I get home I'll be wasted and you can enjoy totally uninhibited Sam."

He laughed and sipped the blackberry and pomegranate flavoured water. "And you call me the dirty one. Ask me, it's all you think about."

"Trust me, there's a method to my madness," she dried her hands on the thighs of her pants and stepping in front of him, laid her hands on his sides. "According to that little test thing I bought last week, I am ovulating like crazy today."

He grinned and ran a hand over her hair. From the top of her head to the small of her back and than settling on her ass. "Yeah? In that case, let's go and lock ourselves in the bedroom and Reed can babysit for half an hour. Either that or we kick him out, send Kieran to bed and we just get down and dirty right here over the counter."

"Unfrortunatetely, as fun as that sounds, you're going to have to be patient and wait until I get home tonight," she said, as she toyed with one of the button's on his shirt. "Supper's nearly ready."

He leaned down to kiss her softly, making her giggle when he nuzzled the side of her neck with his nose and lips.

"Stay away from me," she said jokingly, as she pulled away from him to prevent things from heating up any further.

"So how'd that thing go with Reed?" he asked, as she began gathering silverware from the drawer by the fridge and plates and cups from the cupboard next to his head.

"It went good," she replied.

"What kind of questions did he ask?"

"Lots of different stuff."

"Like?" Flack pressed.

"Like stuff you're going to have to read my answers to when the paper prints the article."

"And when's that going to be?"

"I don't know," she answered, closing the cupboard. "Whenever his editor decides it's the right time to run it, I guess."

Flack nodded slowly as he considered her answer.

"Look, if you didn't want me to do it you should have just said so," Sam told him. "You should have just come right and out and told me no. Plain and simple. Instead you skirted around the issue and talked in riddles. All so you could come back in the end and turn it on me if things go bad and say 'well I let you make the decision and obviously that was the wrong thing to do'."

"I would never do that or say that," he informed her, staring down at the plastic bottle in his hands, picking absentmindedly at the label.

"Right," she said with a snort. "That's always what you do. You sit back and let me decide something and when it tanks you hold it over my head for the next six months."

"I don't do that," he argued.

She looked at him and arched an eyebrow.

He glanced up to find her staring at him. "What?" he asked. "When have I ever done that? Tell me when."

"Lots of times," she said, and went to the oven to check on the lasagna.

"Yeah? Name one?"

She didn't answer.

"Exactly," he said and swallowed back the rest of the water. "You can't name one because there isn't one."

"Please….you're probably the most self-righteous, holier than thou person I know."

He smirked and tossed the empty bottle into a bag designated for recycling under the sink. "Other than yourself, you mean," he responded to her insult.

"Don't start, Don. Seriously. Why do you have to come home and start?"

"I'm not starting anything. I came home and I was having a civl conversation with my wife about her day. You're the one that gives me these vague, nonsense crap answers to things."

"They weren't vague answers. I was just telling you that the interview went well and if you want to know what it was about you will have to read the article. That's all I said."

"No thanks," he said. "I don't usually like to read bullshit."

She glared at him. "You're so fucking mature. If you didn't want me doing the interview you should have just come out and said that."

"And what? Have you rant and rave about how old school I am? How I don't have a right to tell you what to do just because I'm your husband? Listen to you go on and on about how you're a grown woman and I treat you like a little kid and all this other bullshit? No thanks. I let you make the decision and you made it."

"And you hate it."

"No. I disagree with it. There's a difference. I don't see why you have to talk about something that happened long before you and I even knew each other. So why are you so concerned about something that has no bearing on your life?"

"No bearing on my life? Are you fucking kidding me? It does have bearing on my life. Because the man who nearly killed my husband is being released. And the last time I checked, that's exactly what you were. My husband. Although sometimes you seem to conveniently forget it. Half the time I swear you think you're still single."

He laughed. "And what have I done that would make you think that? I work and come home. That's it. I don't go anywhere, I don't see anyone other than you and Kieran outside of work, all my spare time is spent doing stuff with, and for, the two of you."

"You're just so fucking hard done by," Sam said.

"I wasn't complaining! Did that sound like I was complaining. I was making a point. Everything I do is for you and Kieran and you know what, that's okay. I accepted that's the way things are sometimes when you get married. I wasn't expecting to still be able to do the same things I did when I was single. So don't stand here and tell me that I act like that."

"Keep your voice down. Reed's out in the living room with Kieran and…."

"Why is he even here? Why did he stick around after the interview?"

"Because I asked him if he wanted to stay for supper. And he was nice enough to watch Kieran while I made something."

Flack smirked. "And I bet he did that out of the goodness of his heart, didn't he."

"What? Now you're going to accuse me of having an affair with Reed Garrett? Grow up, Don. He's my friend. I can have friends you know. Or is that not allowed? You just want me locked in the house all day with Kieran, with no adults to talk to or associate with. Especially men. God forbid a male crosses my path. Because you know me. I can't control myself and I'll be cheating on you left, right and center."

"I never said that."

"You don't have to say it. It's all in that tone you get."

"What tone?"

"The one you get when you doubt what someone is saying. That condescending, arrogant tone you get."

"All I was trying to ask is why Reed Garrett is hanging around my house playing with my kid. That's it."

"Because he's my friend and I like having him around. Okay? Deal with it."

"He's your friend?" Flack laughed. "You're almost thirty-four and he's your friend? How old is he? Twenty?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yeah. It does. You're my wife and you're at least thirteen years older than him and you're hanging out with him? Paging Mrs Robinson."

"Yeah, that's it, Don. He's my much younger lover and I asked him to stick around so that the two of you could get to know each other better. And Stella is how much older than you and you've been carrying around this little school boy crush on her?"

He sighed heavily and looked away from her and shook his head.

"Exactly. So don't stand here accusing me of something when you have your own little secrets and crosses to bear. You think I'm stupid and I don't notice these things? That people don't tell me things. Please. I know all about your little crush and the way you used to flock to her side like a knight in shining armour when she neded something. So spare me you're double standard bullshit."

"Okay…so I had a crush on Stella. So I found her attractive. Big deal. I don't have her hanging around in my house when my wife isn't around."

"By all means, don't let me stop you. You want her, go ahead."

"Don't be fucking stupid. You're my wife. I'm married to you. I have a kid with you. You're the only woman I want to be with. Just because you have all these jealousy issues with any female that comes within a fifteen foot radius of me…"

"I'm the jealous one?" she laughed. "Every guy I know you've insinuated at one point in time that I was having an affair with them. Danny, Hawkes, shit, even Mac. And now Reed Garrett? Get a grip, Donnie. I wouldn't be married to you and sharing a bed with you and have a kid with you and be planning to have more if I didn't love you. I'm not cheating you. Not than, not now and never. Plain and simple. So you need to get over this self-conscious crap and just trust me more."

"I do trust you," Flack said quietly. "It's other guys I don't trust."

"I know how to say no, Don," she informed him. "I'm not out to cheat on my husband. With anyone. And the sooner you realize that I'm not going anywhere, the sooner a lot of our marital issues will get put to bed once and for all. How is someone as confident and arrogant like you are at work so damn insecure and self conscious at home? I don't get that. How is that even possible?"

He shrugged.

"Maybe it's your way of coping with your weaknesses. You let people think you're all big and bad and high on yourself when deep down you've got low self esteem."

He snorted and shook his head "Don't fucking psycho-analyse me, Samantha. My self-esteem and my confidence are just fine, alright? I just don't like the idea of all these guys being around my wife when I'm not around to do anything about it."

"About what? What are they doing? Nothing! They are my friends! That's it! Not every guy in the world is out to get in my pants. You are seriously overestimating me, Donnie. I'm far from being the most sought after, beautiful woman in the world."

"Well to me you are," he said. "Okay? And I don't like the idea of losing you or having to share you. Okay? There. That's my fear. My main weakness is you. I admitted it. Are you happy? Does it make the wannabe psychologist in you feel better to hear that?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, it does. Because at least now it somewhat explains why you are the way you are when it comes to me. But you need to back off, Don. We go so long where you're doing so well and than all of a sudden you start that possessive, jealous crap all over again. I can't deal with you when you get like this. Please, just back off of me and get it through your head that I am not going to fool around behind your back. I love you. Only you. And you need to get a grip on the way you act sometimes."

"So we both have issues we need to work on. Is that what we're agreeing on here? Because I didn't want to come home and fight with you, Samantha."

"We're not fighting. We're discussing."

"We don't discuss things," he argued, unbuttoning his shirt sleeves and rolling them up to his elbows. "We fight. All the time. Something small and stupid sets it off and we snap and freak out and yell at each other."

"Are we yelling? No. We're relatively calm."

"The point is we always fight. About everything. I'm tired of fighting. It needs to stop."

"Maybe we're just the type of couple," she reasoned lightheartedly. "We get off on fighting."

"It needs to stop," he repeated in all seriousness. "It has to stop."

"Okay," she said, and moved from the stove to lean against the counter beside him. "And how do we do that? Because I don't want to fight with you all of the time, Donnie. And we go so long and everything is so good and than we hit this stumbling block and things go wrong. How do we fix that?"

He sighed. "I don't know, Sam," he admitted. "I just don't know. But I want to fix it. Because it's not normal. It's unhealthy and selfish on both our parts. And we say mean shit that two people who love each other should never, ever even think about let alone say."

"So what do we do to change that?" she asked. "Because you're right. It is unhealthy and we do act selfish sometimes. This isn't just a problem one of us brought on. And I don't mean the things I say. You know that."

"We need some time," he told her. "Alone. Me and you. Just the two of us. There's always someone around. My mother is always here because she watches Kieran, now you're parents are here. And when they're not here it's Carmen and Tim or Erica and Danny. And they're our friends and all of that…but I just want them to leave us alone sometimes. We're never alone it seems. Unless we're working a case together and that's not the kind of alone I mean. And I'm not talking about sex here, either."

"I know," she said, and laid her head on his arm.

"I just want some time for us to be alone and relaxed. So we can talk about things other than work and the baby. So we can get to know each other again because since Kieran's come along…I don't know. It seems as if sometimes we've changed so much we don't recognize each other anymore."

"We changed, Donnie. We had to. We became parents. We're not the same as when we were before we had him."

"I don't want us to be the same. I want us to be a couple. Because since he came it seems like there's me and than there's you and him."

She thought about the words that were coming out of her husband's mouth. Heard the seriousness and honesty in them. And saw the same in his eyes. "So you're saying that our main issues are caused by a soon to be one year old," she stated.

"No," he snapped. Than closed his eyes briefly and ran his hands over his face. "What I'm saying is that things are different. We're different. You're different. Not in a bad way. Because you're an amazing mother and every time I see you with him I fall in love with you all over again. It's just that….Christ…this is going to sound so stupid and make me seem like a real asshole."

"No it won't," she assured him, reaching up to rub his shoulder softly.

"Before Kieran you were all about us. Now you're all about him," Flack told her. "And I guess I'm…I'm jealous of my own son. There. I said it. I'm a major fucking prick but it's the truth. Because you and Kieran have this bond and I see it and it makes me feel left out. It's always made me feel that way."

"I'm his mother, Don," she said gently. "I carried him inside of me. Of course there's a bond. Just like there's a bond between you and him that I can't measure up to."

"But where's our bond, Samantha? We need to have one, too. We deserve to have one. And we used to. Only I don't know where it went. And I don't mean a bond sexually. We have that. I mean…fuck, I don't even know what I mean anymore."

She didn't respond. At least not with words. But she stepped in front of him and curled her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest. Relaxing in the warmth of his body and his familiar smell.

"I just want you back," he said, one hand resting on the small of her back while the other stroked her hair. "I just want that bond back that we had. I don't think that's too much to ask. Do you?"

She shook her head.

"I didn't think it would be this way," he told her. "I thought we'd be constantly happy and life would be perfect once we got married and the baby came. I finally had a family and I thought all my problems were solved. But now there's just new problems and sometimes I don't think I'm doing very well dealing with them. Maybe I wasn't mean to be a husband or a father. Maybe I'm too selfish. Maybe I'm just really, really, really screwed up."

"You're not," she said, resting her chin on his chest as she looked up at him. "And you're a good husband and a great father. We're not perfect. We don't pretend to be. And we can work on things. You know that. As long as you want to work on them."

"Of course I do," he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"You're my everything, Don. I know sometimes I don't say it enough or show you enough, but you are. And there's nothing I won't do to fix things. You know that, right?"

He nodded and kissed her softly, his hand tangling in her hair.

Reed Garrett clearing his throat from the doorway interrupted the tender, intimate moment.

"Sorry," he said, clearly embarrassed. "I wouldn't have bothered you guys, but Kieran made a pretty big mess in his diaper."

"I'll be right out to clean him up," Sam told the young man.

"Oh it's okay. I know how to change a diaper. I just don't know where you keep stuff to do it. You know, wipes and a diaper and all of that."

"There's wipes and some extra diapers on the middle shelf in the linen closet," Sam told him. "You don't have to Reed, I'll…"

"It's okay," he assured her. "I got it. No biggie."

"Maybe we should hire him as a babysitter," Flack commented when Reed disappeared from the doorway. "By the sounds of things when I walked in, Kieran really likes him."

"Kieran likes anyone who turns him upside down and tosses him in the air," Sam said, than, tugging playfully on her husband's tie, added: "I wonder who got him started on that."

"I plead the fifth," Flack said with a grin.

"You can't," she told him. "You're the officer of the law. The fifth amendment doesn't apply to you."

His grin broadened when her hand sneaked between him and the cupboards and tugged on the handcuffs attached to one of the back loops on his pants. "Get your mind out of the gutter. I see how your eyes light up every time you touch my cuffs."

"I'm innocent," she declared, and held up both hands.

He kissed her. His lips soft and gentle and undemanding on hers. Wrapping both arms around her slender body, he drew her in close. "I miss you," he whispered into her hair.

"I miss you, too," she said, and held onto his as tight as she could.

* * *

It was nearly nine thirty at night when Samantha finally emerged from the master bedroom. She's spent over an hour taking a bath and primping herself and getting dressed for her long anticipated night out with the girls. Flack had been all for it. He'd even encouraged it. She didn't bitch and moan when he went out to play hockey on Saturday mornings or hung out with Danny, Speed, Hawkes and Adam after a shift every now and than. She did a lot around the house. She cooked and cleaned and took care of Kieran and struggled to hold on to a marriage and a career. If she wanted to go out and unwind, all the power to her.

It was the thought of her going to a strip club that didn't sit too well with Flack. He was the first to admit that while he wasn't a regular customer, there were nights that he and Messer ended up there. He wasn't dropping money on lap dances or stuffing bills down some stranger's g-string. And he most certainly didn't violate the look but don't touch policy that he and his wife had long ago set down. He wanted a lap dance or someone to dance around on a table so he could get his rocks off, he'd go home and have his wife do it for him. She had a body that could rival any of those dancers and he didn't have to worry about her doing favours for other men.

But the idea of her checking out other guys and shoving money down their underwear turned Flack's stomach. Mostly because while he went to those places stone sober, she attended them stone drunk.Sure, he appreciated the fact that she was honest right from the get go. Most women would just lie. Sam came right out and admitted where she was going and what she was planning on doing. But it didn't make him feel any better.

And when she came out of the bedroom while he sat on the living room floor playing video games on the Xbox and he saw what she was wearing, he became even more unnerved.

A red, blue and black tartan mini skirt that was cut dangerously short and accompanied by black fishnet stockings and knee high black leather boots and a black halter neck top that barely reached her midsection. Her hair pulled back in a tight, braided bun and smoky, sultry makeup gracing her face.

Sonofabitch, he thought. And wondered how much coaxing it would take to get her to stay home.

"Hey, look," he said and turned his attention back to the video game. "It's the happy hooker."

She frowned at that comment and stalked over to where he was sitting, but the toe of her right boot against his chest and pushed him onto his back. Holding him in that position with her foot.

"Kinky," Flack said. "Going all dominatrix on me now? Got a whip and dog leash to go with that get up?"

"You wish. I'm going for more naughty Catholic school girl."

"Yeah? Well you're pulling it off," he said. "Although I'm not sure about the fishnets. Take those and your underwear off and that's more my speed."

She smirked and removed her foot from his chest.

"There's no way in hell you are going out wearing that," Flack told her as he sat up.

"Excuse me?"

"No husband would let their wife go out dressed like that."

"Two days ago when I brought this skirt home you said how cute it was," she reminded him.

"Yeah…but that was before I realized it barely covered your ass."

"Thought you liked staring at my ass," she commented, as she lowered herself to her knees before climbing astride his lap, a leg on either side of him.

"I do," he said. "Very much so. It's an amazing ass. I love looking at it and doing things to it and…"

She silenced him with a kiss. A long, steamy toe curling kiss that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Among other things.

"Christ," he groaned, as the kiss ended and her fingers combed through his hair and her lips found the side of his neck and his ear. "Don't do these things to me. Not when you're walking out the door in twenty minutes."

"What a pity," she said, and trailed the tip of her tongue along the outer edge of his ear before delving inside. Feeling his entire body stiffen against her.

"Seriously, Sam..You keep doing that and…"

"And what?" she asked, rubbing her lower body against his rapidly expanding cock.

"And you won't be getting out of this house. 'Cause I will throw you down right here, right now and you won't be going anywhere."

"Hmmm, I guess it's a good thing than."

"What?" he asked, shivering as her fingernails dragged along his scalp and her tongue and lips and teeth grazed the side of his neck. "What's a good thing?"

"That I already called Carmen and let her know I wasn't coming and told her to pass the word on."

"Seriously?" he asked. "Don't be going and getting my hopes up."

"I am serious," she replied, and pulled back to look at him. "Dead serious," she added, and reached behind her neck to yank open the ties holding her shirt together. Letting the smooth black fabric fall to her waist and exposing the simple black satin strapless bra she wore underneath.

"I thought we weren't going to do this anymore," he said, as his hands slipped up her slender sides and came to rest under the bottom edge of her bra.

"Doing what?" she asked.

"The sex thing. That we weren't going to solve everything but having sex."

"We're not," she said, and reached down to yank his t-shirt up. "We're not solving anything. We're going to have some fun. Plain and simple. We aren't allowed to have fun?"

"Of course we are," Flack said, allowing her to pull his shirt up and over his head. "But.."

"How can there be a but, Donnie?" she asked, tossing his shirt aside. "This isn't about us trying to solve anything. This is about us needing each other and wanting each other. And about me needing my husband and wanting my husband to make love to me. Right here and right now. And I don't see anything wrong with that."

He smiled and kissed her. Hard and rough and demanding. His tongue pushing eagerly into her mouth as his hands slipped around to her back to unhook the bra. He tossed it aside and than blazed hot kisses across her face to her cheek and down her slender neck. Across her smooth collar bone and than lower, one hand coming around to firmly cup one of her breasts in his hand as his tongue teased the nipple before drawing it into his mouth and suckling greedily at it.

She moaned and closed her eyes and shoved her fingers in his hair. Than found herself dumped onto her back in the middle of the living room floor.

"Oww," she said with a giggle and rubbed the back of her head where it had smacked the hard wood floor.

"Sorry…but you said right here, right now and I'm just obliging. Do me a favour?" he reached over to switch off the tv and than leaned sideways to grab the cushions from the couch and the wool blanket that rested over the top of the piece of furniture.

"Sure," she said, dispersing herself of her top.

"Take off the boots and the fishnet things. But leave the skirt on. Actually, put the boots back on. So them and the skirt. I want you wearing them."

"You're in a damn kinky mood tonight," she commented, as she stretched out her legs to unzip the boots and yank them off. One foot at a time before reaching under the skirt to peel off the stockings and her bikini style underwear.

"You blame me? Coming out her looking like a dirty little school girl? What? You knew you weren't going out but came out here 'cause you know that's one of my things? For you to dress like that just once?"

She smiled devilishy. "I figured you'd like it," she said, ber tongue flicking out to lick her lower lip in anticipation as he stood and shed his own clothes.

"Stand up, go over to the back of the couch and lean over it. Stomach down."

She seemed sceptical at first, than she scrambled to her feet and did exactly as he said.

"Are you absolutely sure your parents aren't coming home tonight?" he asked. "'Cause I don't want them walking in here and seeing us."

"My dad called. Said they were staying over night."

"Good. Because trust me, it's going to be a good thing they can't see you or hear you."

"Why? Are you planning on punishing me or something?" she asked, watching over her shoulder as he approached her.

"Depends," he replied, standing behind her and running a hand underneath her skirt to fondle her ass gently. His other hand slipping between her body and the couch. "If that's what you want, that's what you'll get."

She shuddered as she felt his lips and tongue drift up her spine and than across her shoulders. Almost crying out when his teeth gently nipped at her soft flesh. Moaning as one of his fingers brushed lightly against the puckered hole while the others on his other hand drifted between her legs.

He grinned when he found her already sopping wet. "You're such a good girl, Samantha," he said, and his lips found the sensitive back of her neck.

She whimpered at the ministrations going on between her legs. Didn't argue when his free hand urged her legs apart and she felt the tip of his erection against her opening. She cried out for real in a mixture of pleasure and pain when his teeth bit down more roughly on her shoulder as he slipped into her. Her eyes closed, her head dropped forward, her hands gripped the back of the couch as he moved inside of, slow and steady at first before finding a stronger, more demanding rhythm.

She could tell by his urgency that he wasn't going to last long. And that was okay. They had all night. And she planned on making damn good use of it. Before she knew it, the finger that was rubbing vigorously and determinedly against her sensitive clitoris was brigning her to a powerful, mind numbing orgasm. She buried her face in the top of the couch, bit down on the fabric to stifle the scream that erupted from her.

His orgasm was mere seconds behind. The clenching of her inner muscles sending him blindly over the edge. His eyes closed as he bit down hard on his lip to keep back the out of control noises that threatened to overcome him. He spurted over and over again deep inside of her. Bathing her womb with his hot semen. His legs shook and threatened to give away on him. He had to place both hands on the back of the couch to keep himself on his feet.

He rested his head on her back as they stood there for an indeterminable amount of time. Panting. Their bodies quaking.

When he composed himself, he raised his head and placed kisses along her back and shoulders once again before leaning over her to capture her lips in a searing kiss.

"There," he said, a triumphant grin on his face. "I know how to take care of you. So don't go leaving me for a younger guy like Reed. 'Cause he won't know what the hell he's doing."

She laughed and elbowed him playfully.

He backed away, pulling out of her slowly. "It was definitely the little skirt," he said, fixing said item so it covered her ass once more.

"You are one dirty boy, Don Flack," she said, her legs wobbling slightly as she pushed away from the couch.

"Where are you going?" he asked, watching as she gathered up the rest of her clothing.

"To the bedroom," she replied, and headed down the hall. "Are you coming?"

"I'm not tired," he told her.

"Who said anything about sleeping?" she inquired.

He smirked. And was quick to follow.

* * *

**So, tonight is the season premiere. I just want to let any new readers know that the Sam Flack in my stories was created long before the Sam Flack that will be appearing on the show. And I want to thank my readers who have supported me since the news of TPTB sheer stupidity regarding Flack's sister broke. Thanks, guys. Much love.**

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers! Although I would love to hear from more of you! Please let me know if you enjoy this! Thanks!**

**Special thanks to my reviewers:**

**Brrtmclv  
****Aphina  
****Hope4sall  
****Laurzz  
****Marialisa  
****Bluehaven4220  
****ImaSupernaturalCSI  
****Laplandgurl  
****Wolfeylady  
****muchmadness  
****Shopaholic20  
****Truluv  
****Greg Rox**


	26. Twas the night before Christmas

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF IT'S CHARACTERS. OR ANY CHARACTERS ASSOCIATED WITH LAW AND ORDER: SVU. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK (REGARDLESS OF WHAT CBS MAY TELL YOU) AND BABY KIERAN. **

**Special thanks to my good pal, laurzz for letting me borrow one of her famous catch phrases**

'**Twas the night before Christmas**

"Don't pretend you're sorry  
I know you're not  
You know you got the power to make me weak inside  
Girl you leave me breathless  
But it's ok  
Cause you are my survival  
Now hear me say...

I can't imagine life without your love  
And even forever don't seem like long enough

'Cause every time I breathe I take you in  
And my heart beats again  
Baby I can't help it  
You keep me drowning in your love  
Every time I try to rise above  
I'm swept away by love  
Baby I can't help it  
You keep me drowning in your love."

-Drowning, Backstreet Boys

* * *

The shift was never going to end.

Flack was sure of it. He and Scagnetti had been called in at quarter to five in the morning to work a double homicide in Far Rockaway. A teenager hopped up on drugs had gone and sliced and diced and carved his parents like a Christmas dinner turkey. All because the mother had caught him attempting to sneak into the house at four in the morning and ratted him out to his old man. Kid had bided his time until his parents had gone back to bed following a reaming out that neighbours said nearly woke the whole block, than snatched up a butcher knife and a meat clever from the kitchen and headed into his parents bedroom. Where he just went to town. Flack had honestly never seen so much blood and gore in one room in all the years he'd been doing the job.

As hard core and seasoned as he considered himself, it had taken all he had to hold back the bile as he stood at the foot of the bed and took in the nasty mess. As if the father's entrails spreading out over the white bedding wasn't enough, the sight of the mother's head hanging on by a mere thread had nearly sent Flack scrambling for the bathroom. Scagnetti, who had ten years on the force up on Flack, as well as being one level higher at Lieutenant, had noticed his partner's slightly green complexion and offered up a chuckle and suggested maybe Flack was getting a little soft and that he needed to leave the room and "pull up his big boy panties" before returning to the task at hand.

It had been a relatively open and shut case. A quick canvas of the neighbourhood by K9 turned up a trail of bloody clothes along a small stretch of sidewalk just two blocks away and the guilty party passed out, face down and as naked as the day he was born, in a snow bank. He was currently handcuffed to a bed at Trinity General recuperating from a slight OD of an unknown controlled substance. The identity of which was still yet to be determined by toxicology tests.

Since than it had been a string of calls. Ranging from mundane to mind boggling. Muggings gone seriously bad, a couple of dead seniors found out front of their residences - Sid had determined that both had suffered massive coronary events, most likely from shovelling the heavy snow- and two car jackings gone awry when the vehicle owners, determined to protect not only their cars but the slew of presents stowed in the trunks, had served out their own brand of justice to the perps. One had thrown a scalding coffee in the guilty party's face and than shoved him out of the moving vehicle and out onto the FDR where he was than hit, and killed, by another vehicle. Another had gone animalistic and taken the steering wheel lock and bashed the perp's brains in.

What had surprised Flack, apart from the violent nature of both acts, was that both of the vehicle owners had been women. In the course of his career, he had seen many a crime committed by members of the female persuasion. But he'd never come across women that were so unremorseful. Who truly believed that protecting their car and their possessions were far more important than their own lives.

Christmas drovepeople nuts. Flack was convinced of that. All the hustle and bustle and trampling each other for the best deals tossed in with the snow that never seemed as if it was going to stop was driving people insane. And mix Christmas in witha city that was already filled with unimaginable wackjobs and you were just asking for trouble.

He stole a glance at the clock above the front entrance. Quarter to seven. Fifteen more minutes and he was suppose to be free and easy. But the paperwork taking up three quarters of his desk was testament to the fact that his two days off were going to be anything but relaxing and joyful.

The bullpen was busy. Other detectives and uniforms were scurrying about and talking noisily. Phones were ringing off the hooks. Computer printers and fax machines were humming. A drunk in one of the holding cells was singing Away in a Manager in a loud, yet surprisingly talented and appealing falsetto. He'd been entertaining everyone in the place for the last hour. He'd been taking requests for the last twenty minutes. One of the detectives had coughed up his empty coffee mug and had sat it on the floor in front of the cell and visitors and cops, including Flack, had dropped enough bills and change in it to ensure the guy had warm meals for the next few days. If he didn't spend it on booze that was.

"Hey, Joey!" Scangetti, immersed in his own paper work at the desk pushed up against Flack's, called out to the whino. "I wanna hear Christmas Don't be Late by The Chipmunks!"

"Jesus Christ," Flack chuckled. "I've heard enough of that song in the past week alone to last me a lifetime."

"I'll dedicate it to my partner here," Scagnetti announced. "He's got a kid at home that's addicted to the shit!"

Flack sighed and put his face in his hands and shook his head as the wino began to belt out the Christmas song at the top of his lungs. In a nearly perfect impersonation of Alvin the Chipmunk. When he hit an impossible high note that caused everyone in the place to both wince and nod in appreciation, Flack dropped his hands from his face and glanced across the desk at his partner who was laughing so hard his face was turning red.

"I don't know about you," Scagnetti said between breaths. "But that last note made my balls ache."

"You still have those Scagnetti?" a familiar female voice asked as it approached the two desks. "I thought your new girlfriend kept those in her purse along with her whip and leg shackles?"

"Anyone ever tell you that you Brooklyn girls are a pain in the ass?" the big man asked, a broad smile on his face.

Samantha nodded in Flack's direction. "He does…at least three times a day."

"Double on weekends when she's asking me to clean the toilet or do the laundry," Flack said, smiling and winking at his wife.

"Which is when he conveniently announces he has a migraine or has come down with some mysterious ailment that only gets worse if he gets near any kind of cleaning product," Sam said.

She held up a carry tray of take out coffee. In her other hand was a large Bloomingdale's bag. "I come bearing early Christmas gifts, gentlemen," she said, sitting the bag in the empty chair alongside of Flack's desk and the two coffees on top of the desk.

"You're a fucking blessing straight from God," Scagnetti declared, and leaned across his desk to snag one of the drinks. "And to answer your question, my wife carries my balls in her purse on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays."

"You and Tammi are back together?" Sam asked, shedding her hat and mitts and shoving both into the pocket of her black ankle length wool jacket.

"It's a Christmas tradition," Scagnetti told her, sipping black coffee. "We always get back together a week before the man in the red suit slides his fat ass down the chimney and than break up again just as baby New Year is soiling his first diaper."

"That is some sad state of affairs," Flack concluded. "Where's the girlfriend when all this is going on?"

"Which one? One, two or three?"

"You are so goddamn full of yourself, Tony," Sam said, unbuttoning her coat and slipping out of it. "I have told you this a million times and I will tell you yet again. Any man who brags that much is because they aren't getting any."

"If I was married to you, Brooklyn girl, I wouldn't be looking anywhere else," he declared, eyeing her up and down in her simple yet elegant red wrap dress, black stockings and knee high black leather boots. Hair loose and flowing, a hint of makeup on her face. "Seriously, come home with me and we be making beautiful babies together."

"Easy, Scagnetti," Flack warned, not looking up from his paper work. "I am right here."

"Poor Tony," Sam pouted dramatically and stood at the side of the big detective's chair and wrapped her arm around his thick neck and pecked his cheek. "If I was about fifteen years older, maybe you'd stand a chance."

"You know what they say about us older guys," Scagnetti said with a grin. "More experience."

"No…what I believe they say for men your age is 'time to hit the pharmacy for some Viagra'."

Flack snickered.

"You wound me," Scagnetti said, laying a hand over his heart. "So what are you doing here?" he asked his partner's wife. "Thought you'd be at home with the rug rat."

"Who?" Sam asked, picking the bag up and sitting down in the chair and setting the bag at her feet. "Sorry, I don't know what rug rat you're talking about. I leave the house for some me time and anything I left behind becomes foreign."

"Which is exactly why I don't have kids," Scagnetti told her. "No me time."

"You don't have kids because God saw fit to spare the world from anyone that looks remotely like you," Flack said.

"You're both smart asses tonight," Scagnetti laughed. "Seriously though, what are you doing out and about on Christmas Eve?" he asked Sam.

"My loving and adoring husband is taking me out for our anniversary," she replied. "Three hundred and sixty five days of wedded bliss is behind us."

"Well here's hoping for another three hundred and sixty five," Scagnetti toasted them both with his coffee cup. "Honestly, I can't believe you've put up with this clown for that long."

"It's a tedious, trying existence but I somehow manage. I also came buy because I was in the mood to play Mrs Claus tonight."

"Complete with a little red outfit with white fur trim?" Scagnetti asked hopefully as he rummaged through the shopping bag.

"Sorry," she said. "That outfit is for my husband's eyes only."

"I so hope you're not joking," Flack sighed as he rolled his chair to the desk behind him, swivelled around and snatched a piece of paper coming from the fax machine on top of the desk.

"For you," Sam said to her husband's partner, presenting him with a scarlet red envelope and a white cardboard box adorned with a glistening gold ribbon. "Don was suppose to take it with him this morning but he could barely get his own fly done up he was so tired let alone remember something like that."

"You're a sweetheart," Scagnetti said and tore into the enveloped and removed the Christmas card inside. "You actually sign this yourself Flack?" he asked his partner.

"What kind of question is that? Of course not. My wife does all of that. Do I look like the Christmas card kind of guy?"

"Thought maybe you were getting in touch with that new softer side you seemed to have taken on."

"Fuck you, Scagnetti," Flack shot back as he rolled his chair back to his desk.

"Your hubby here nearly lost his breakfast, lunch and dinner at a crime scene today," the older man told Sam, as he peeled off the scotch tape holding the sides of the box in place.

"Was that the double up in Far Rockaway?" she asked, pulling a bottle of vitamin water from the bag and snapping the lid off. "Kid went OJ on his parents?"

Scagnetti nodded. "Told him to go take a breather and pull up his big boy panties. Why do you drink that hideous, God forsaken crap?" he asked, wincing as she took a long sip of the pale purple water.

"It's my crack," she replied. "It was Oreo cookies until I got pregnant and ate too many and now the mere thought of Oreos makes me want to spew. And, if you believe The National Enquirer…"

"Which she does," Flack snuck in.

"…Nicole Kidman apparently credits conceiving her child to bathing in, and drinking, vitamin water."

"All that proves is that celebrities have major fucking issues," Scagnetti told her. "What? You guys hitting a proverbial brick wall with the whole baby thing? It's probably all the caffeine Flack drinks. 'Causing him to shoot blanks."

"That's Mountain Dew," Flack told his partner. "Mountain Dew fucks up sperm production. Which is why I haven't touched the crap in over two months."

Scagnetti opened the cardboard box and peered inside. "My favourite Christmas gift of all," he said, nodding in appreciation. "Sweets."

"I made them," Sam announced proudly.

"Betty Crocker now, are we?" Scagnetti asked, helping himself to a dream square.

Sam snorted. "Betty Crocker my ass. I'm Martha Fucking Stewart."

"Well whatever, or whoever you are, you sure know how to bake," the older man told her. "Damn good…this now solves the mystery to why Flack has gotten so fat."

"I am not fat," the detective defended himself. "I am big boned."

"Sorry," Scagnetti said. "Pleasantly plump if you will. You'd think all the booty you're getting would keep you in better shape."

"You know, Lieutenant," Flack said with a sigh. "I would hate for my gun to go off in a very freak, unfortunate work place accident."

"You kidding me?" Scagnetti roared with laughter. "I've seen you on the range. You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. Or water if you fell out of a fucking boat."

"Well at least I can run a block and not be complaining I'm having a heart attack," Flack said. "So the last person who should be talking about someone's weight is you."

"Calm down, Donnie. Don't be so sensitive. I'm just fooling with ya. Don't get your big boy panties in a twist. You got that report yet from the hospital for our mad butcher?"

"Hot of the presses," Flack passed the sheet of paper across the desks. "Looks like our boy has a thing for crazy glue and meth."

"Goddamn junkies," Scagnetti mumbled as he read over the report. "I'm gonna get this signed off by the duty captain and than we can take our asses on out of here. I will leave you two young lovebirds alone. Please, just no major PDAs or anything."

"That's what the janitor's closets are for," Flack told his friend, as the older man pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up. "And the CSI garage at three in the morning."

"Too be young and incessantly horny," Scagnetti said with a heavy sigh and headed off.

* * *

Flack looked at his wife and smiled. "Hi," he said simply.

She returned the smile. "Hi. Long day?"

He nodded and leaned over to give her a quick peck on the lips. "Happy anniversary," he said.

"Not exactly how you wanted to be spending it, huh?"

"I would have much rather stayed home all day and spent time with you and Kieran, but what can you do? Gotta make a living somehow. We're just lucky we were able to get a babysitter. Kieran was okay with Reed when you left?"

"Happier than a pig in shit. Reed was just settling down to give Kieran his supper when I left and apparently, he's planning on giving Kieran a bath."

"Good luck with that. You tell him about Kieran's propensity for using people's various body parts as chew toys?"

"I did. And we really need to do something about that kid's biting problem."

"Get him a muzzle maybe?"

Sam frowned and kicked her husband's shin lightly. "I was thinking of taking him to see a child psychologist."

"What?" Flack laughed. "Why? Because he bites? Kids bite. It's just something they do. And you bite and you don't see me sending you to a psychologist."

"Kieran and I bite for two totally different reasons. I bite when I'm sexually aroused or in the middle of climax. He bites because he's a masochist and thinks it's funny."

"He bites because he's eleven months old and doesn't know he's hurting people and finds the reaction he gets from us hilarious when he sinks his teeth into us. You bite because you're a dirty little girl."

"And you enjoy it," she said and stuck her tongue out. "So there."

"You planning on using that thing later?" he asked with a grin. "Give me a little anniversary present?"

"Maybe," she replied, than grimaced and stroked her stomach.

"You okay?" Flack asked in concern.

"I've been feeling like shit all day. I've been going from hot to cold and I've been dizzy and nauseous since I got up. My dad had to feed Kieran breakfast because I spent half an hour on my knees in front of the toilet. I better not have picked up the flu somewhere."

"You mean like that strange flu you picked up in '08 that never went away for nearly nine months?" he teased. "That kind of flu?"

She grinned. "As much as I'd like to be telling you on our first anniversary that I'm pregnant, I ran out and picked up a test this morning and it came back negative."

"You disappointed?" he asked. Although the look on her face already answered that question.

"A little," she admitted. "It's our second negative result since the beginning of December. And there's still no sign of my period for this month and it's over two weeks late."

"Doctor said that could happen with those anti-depressants and anxiety meds you're taking," he reminded her gently.

"I know…but it doesn't make it any easier to swallow."

He smiled and leaned forward in his chair and reached out to take her hand in his. "Let's look at this way…just means we get to try more."

She managed a laugh. "Somehow I knew you'd say that. Aren't you a little disappointed?"

"A bit," he said. "But no one said just because Kieran happened so easily and quickly that it would be that way the second time around. I can't say I'm surprised that it hasn't happened right away. But we've only been trying since Carmen and Speedle's wedding. Now if it stretches into months and nothing comes up, than I'll be really worried."

"I will so not be impressed if that happens," she sighed. "And so you know, we have the apartment to ourselves again. My parents are going to stay over at Gus' because my dad felt as if Kieran's first Christmas morning should be spent with just the three of us."

"God bless that man," Flack said with a grin.

"I don't really see how he justifies that reasoning, but to be honest, I think it's because he knows that you and my mother hate each other and it's just not a pleasant environment after a while. And I also think he has the infinite desire to keep my mother and me away from each other before someone gets seriously hurt."

"Sam, it is impossible for any place your mother is at to be a positive environment. They still coming to my parents?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Unfortunately."

"Your mother and my mother in the same room should be interesting. Your mom starts in on you and look out. My mom will defend you to the death."

"That's because she loves me," Sam concluded. "And because I saved her favourite son from a life of solitude and misery."

"Don't forget it's because you gave her a grandchild with the son she and my old man thought was gay."

"I just hope and pray that my mother behaves herself in front of your family," Sam sighed. "Especially after our rather unpleasant altercation today."

"Again? When aren't the two of you having an unpleasant altercation? What was it about this time? Letting Kieran actually breathe in the house?"

"We had an argument over the toaster."

Flack arched an eyebrow. "The toaster?"

"More specifically, the fact that I put frozen Eggos and French toast sticks in the toaster."

He frowned. "Isn't that where they're suppose to go?"

"Apparently not. Apparently they're suppose to go in a toaster oven. Because when you put them in a regular toaster, everything melts and drips down into the bottom and can just screw all the mechanisms up. Did you know that?"

"Musta slipped past me in Toaster Etiquette 101," Flack remarked dryly as he sipped his coffee.

"Well she's convinced it's the case and come tomorrow afternoon, we will find ourselves the proud owners of a brand new toaster oven. Merry Christmas. And you thought you weren't getting anything this year."

"You're family is completely and utterly fucking hopeless," Flack declared.

"Aren't you so glad you married into it?" Sam exclaimed. "Isn't it just the wonderful, fairytale life you've always wanted for yourself? You didn't just get a wife a year ago, you inherited a whole three ring circus."

"I tell ya, Sammie," Flack said as he leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. "If you weren't so hot I never would have gotten mixed up with you. You had have just been average and it would have been a few nights of crazy, wild sex and that's it."

"That's it. Admit you have very low standards, Don. You'll sleep with anything that shows remote interest."

"I certainly will not. I'm a happily married man. Before you, sure…anything looked appealing. But a guy will take it where he can get it."

"You're a goddamn pig. Scagnetti is right. How in the hell haveI managed to put up with you this long?"

"Because I'm an amazing lay," he answered, laughing and jerking his leg away from the kick aimed at his shin. "And mostly because you love me."

"Well you make it damn hard sometimes," she pouted, twisting her head away when he went to kiss her.

"Come on, don't be like that. It's our anniversary. And it's Christmas Eve. Be nice to me for a change."

"For a change? What's that suppose to mean? I'm horrible to you all the time?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it. Don't be such a difficult bitch. Why you always have to make me work so hard?"

"I thought you enjoyed a challenge?"

"Sure…I do…when I'm getting a reward in the end for working my ass off."

"Only reward you'll be getting is me letting you sleep in the same bed as me."

"Don't be like that," he said, and capturing both of her wrists in his hands, pinned them to the arms of the chair.

"You're going all cop on me in the middle of the precinct?" she teased, her eyes twinkling playfully. "I'm not exactly into public sex."

"Like I said, that's what the janitor's closet is for," he told her and kissed her softly. Short and sweet. "You look really pretty by the way," he said as he let her go and went back to finishing off his paperwork.

"I figured I couldn't exactly go out to dinner in sweats and a t-shirt. That you might like to see me looking like a girl."

"It's appreciated," he said, and eyed her from head to toe. "Those the same boots as last night?"

"They are."

He grinned broadly. "How long did Reed say he could stick around to? We should go and rent a hotel."

"I wasn't aware New York City had rooms they'd rent by the minute."

He smirked and signed his name off on the last of the forms in front of him. "You're vicious, Sam. You're lucky I know you're joking. Half the time you're bitching and moaning it's too much for you."

"You're right. You are just the greatest thing on this earth. You are just way too much man for one woman to handle."

"Don't you forget that either. So is everything ready for tomorrow morning? There's nothing I need to put together when I get home or anything like that?"

"I need to stuff stockings still and I will put the presents under the tree once you're sleeping. I can't let you see what I bought you."

"I'm thirty years old, Samantha. I think I can contain myself until tomorrow morning. You on the other hand…you're like a little kid. Which is why I've kept everything locked up where you can't find it."

"Damn you. You know how much I like to snoop. And I'm going to need you to write a letter to Kieran from Santa."

"Why?"

"Because Kieran's leaving Santa milk and cookies and I need Santa to write a thank you letter."

"Write it yourself."

"I need a guy's handwriting," she reasoned.

He sighed exasperatedly and shook his head. "You are taking this Christmas thing way too seriously."

"I just want Kieran to have the things neither of us got as kids," she said. "I don't think that's too much to ask."

He smiled. "You're right, it's not. I'm just in a downright, foul, Ebenezer Scrooge type mood because of the day I had. I'm sorry."

"That bad of a day?"

"Just a lot of crazy shit. And paperwork. I got a new detective starting day after New Years so I've been trying to get all his shit in order."

"New detective? Who is it?"

Flack leaned forward and thumbed through the stack of folders. He snatched one out and held it out to her.

"Some guy your age transferring out of SVU," he said.

Sam tookit and flipped it open to read the first page of employee documentation. She recognized the name. It belonged to someone she hadn't seen in years. That she'd spent four years living just doors from in the projects in east Brooklyn. They'd gone to the same elementary and high school and he'd been the first boy she'd ever kissed. Really kissed. And the only one until Evan two years later that she'd gone beyond second base with.

They'd lost track of each other when the Ross family had moved to Phoenix. She'd assumed he'd hung around New York City. Maybe gone into construction and iron work like his family and his ancestors. She had thought many a time about looking him up when she came back to the city. But her life had gone in a different direction and she'd never gotten around to it.

She thought maybe it was sheer coincidence. Nothing more than a shared name. Until she flipped over to the second page and saw the official NYPD photo.

"Chester Lake," she said, looking down at the picture of a handsome, clean cut Native American in his uniform.

"You know him?" Flack asked.

Sam nodded. "His family moved in a few doors down from us when I was eleven. We went to the same primary and high school together. Used to hang out a lot and stuff."

"And stuff?" Flack didn't know if he liked the sound of that.

"He was a really good friend of mine. And his younger brother Michael used to play with Adam all the time. We all used to hang out together. Mostly as his house because my dad wasn't too fond of him because he was Native. Mohawk nation. Very, very proud of his heritage. I always assumed he went into iron work like his ancestors. He used to talk about it all the time when we were young."

"Well apparently he became a cop," Flack said, taking the folder from her and flipping it closed. "Guess he ran into some issues over at Special Victims and brass figured homicide was the place to put him."

"Hmm," Sam nodded slowly. "That should be interesting."

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"It just means that it should be interesting to see him again after all of this time. I haven't seen him since I was sixteen years old. And to be working with him…small world."

"You can say that again," Flack muttered and tossed the folder onto the top of the pile. "So you were friends with this guy or what?"

"Oh don't start," Sam said and stood up. She stood behind his chair and rubbed his shoulders. "I'm going to the washroom to freshen myself up before we leave," she said, and kissed the top of his head.

"Just friends or what?" he asked once again, watching her over his shoulder as she headed for the bathroom.

"He was a really, really nice guy," she replied, than pushed her way through the doubles and disappeared from view.

Flack snorted and glanced at the new detective's employee file on his desk.

"Just what kind of nice?" he mumbled.

* * *

It wasn't quite fine dining or the something romantic and subdued he had wanted for their first anniversary, but leaving making reservations for Christmas Eve until the last minute had proved to be a massive mistake. Tavern on the Green had been booked solid for that night since early October and under no circumstances, NYPD or no NYPD, could they possible fit somebody in. Flack had tried an entire list of fifteen other highly recommended establishments and not one could accept a reservation for December 24th.

Which was why they found themselves at a small table near the kitchen at Olive Garden. Sam had insisted that the place was fine by her. She loved the food and the only thing that mattered was that they were able to get out of the house, alone, in the first place. She didn't care how they celebrated their anniversary. It could have been on stools at a dive bar eating stale peanuts and drinking even staler beer. To her, just being with him and able to say that they had made it, relatively unscathed through their first year as husband and wife, was enough.

Flack was disappointed however. Mostly in himself for not taking the importance of the whole reservation thing more seriously. The restaurant was packed and noisy. There were screaming children and patronizing parents all around them. Had he wanted an atmosphere like that he would have ordered in Italian and ate it by the lights of the Christmas tree for a little romantic feel while listening to his own kid whine and throw temper tantrums.

He wondered, as he watched his wife across the table as she sipped at a glass of ice water, why things just couldn't come easier for them. Why things seemed to be a constant struggle. Why there always seemed to be issues that cropped up to cause them massive grief. Starting at the beginning of their relationship with the insanity that was Zack all the way up until now with the whole Lessing bullshit. There was always something. And now this little revelation that she had known this new detective set to start under his watch in less than two weeks.

He'd seen that little glitter that had come into her eye as she talked about her old 'friend.' Or had he? Sometimes the jealously and possessiveness made him notice things that weren't even there. That were just figments of his imagination. There was probably nothing to her and this guy from her past.

And if there was, why did the thought bother him so much? It was nearly seventeen years ago. That was the distant past and what was going on now was the present and the future. She was his wife. The mother of his child. And he trusted her enough to know that she'd never wander too far from home.

What did it matter if some guy, even if it was an ex, was suddenly back in the picture? There was no reason to be worried or feel threatened. He was her husband and the one she came home to at the end of the day. The one she was planning on having more children with, spend the rest of her life with. It shouldn't have any bearing on their lives or bother him.

Yet it did.

"You're staring at me," Samantha said, breaking him out of the daze he'd found himself trapped in.

"I'm not allowed?" he asked, reaching for his own glass of water.

"It's not that you're not allowed," she replied, setting her glass down and picking up her fork to dig into the enormous serving of shrimp and lobster alfredo in front of her. "It just makes me nervous. Because I always wonder what you're thinking about when you're doing it."

"Lots of things," he said. "I was thinking about how beautiful you are. How much I love you and the son you gave me. About what we were doing at this exact same time a year ago."

"What time is it?" she asked.

He checked his watch. "Twenty to eight."

"I was getting ready and bawling over the letter you had written and stuffed in the card you asked Stella to give me."

He smiled in recollection. "That was one of my finer moments," he said. "My one huge romantic gesture to last me into the next year."

"You've had a few moments since than," Sam told him. "But nothing as amazing as that. It's my personal favourite. I still have that letter. And the card. I put them away for safe keeping. For when I actually get around to putting things into a memory box or a photo album."

"You know what I still have? Tucked away some place safe? All the receipts and what not from those few days we spent doing tourist stuff after you got hurt in that house on the upper west side."

"You kept them?"

"All of them. Put them in an envelope and shoved them where I knew they wouldn't get lost."

"Why did you keep them? You're not exactly the sentimental type, Donnie."

"I never thought about why I kept them. I just did it. Maybe because I've lived here all my life and never did that kind of stuff with anyone. No woman I was ever with was into that type of thing. They were just into me spending as much money on them as possible. You…you're definitely in a league all your own."

"You know that kind of thing doesn't matter to me," she said, popping a piece of shrimp into her mouth. She chewed slowly, savouring the texture and flavour before speaking again. "I mean, I would have been happy sitting at home tonight with pizza and wings, curled up on the couch in a blanket."

"That's a little too cheap and minimalist," he said, digging into his lasagna. "Even for me."

"But it's where we're happiest," she reasoned. "At home. Alone. No one bothering us. What were you doing? A year ago at this exact time?"

"I was on a window ledge on the thirty-fifth floor of the lab contemplating jumping while Messer tried to convince me otherwise," he teased.

She frowned. "I'm serious."

"So am I," he said with a laugh. "Seriously…I was in the bathroom of the precinct getting dressed and trying to keep myself from either fainting or puking. Or both."

"You were scared?"

Flack nodded.

"So was I. Terrified. I don't know what I was more scared of. The thought of being someone's wife or the thought of you not showing up."

"I know I was petrified you were going to stand me up and I was going to go home and find a completely empty apartment and a Dear John Letter. And the thought of being with someone for the rest of my life…that was a little daunting too."

"But it was worth it, wasn't it? To you? I mean, you don't regret it do you?"

"There's nothing I regret when it comes to you, Samantha. Well, wait, that's a lie. I do regret the things I've said out of anger that have hurt you're feelings. And I do regret proposing in the bathroom."

She giggled. "It was something we will never forget. And you more than made it up for it with your re-do."

"Do you regret anything? When it comes to us?"

She contemplated his question. "I regret that the whole Zack thing ever happened because you didn't deserve to get brought into that. And of course I regret the things I've said out of anger and spite that have hurt you. But as far as having a baby and getting married so quickly…I'd do it all over again. Minus all the pregnancy issues of course."

"There were a lot of issues," he agreed. "But look what we got in the end. He's an amazing, beautiful, happy kid. I wouldn't give him back for anything in the world."

She smiled. "You're a great father, Donnie. You know that, right?"

"I'm not around enough to be a great father, Samantha."

"Kieran begs to differ. So do I. Have you seen the way he just lights up when you walk in the room? You're his entire world. No one is as important to him as his daddy. He loves you. And you've always been there for him. And me. No one forced you to do three am feedings even though you just got in from working a triple. You just did them. And you never bitched or moaned about it."

"What was there to bitch and moan about? Kid had to eat right? Least I could do is give him a bottle when you were too exhausted to breastfeed. It's what any father would do."

"No. It's what loving, attentive fathers do. And you'd be surprised how little of them there are."

"Guys don't know what their missing," Flack declared. "You can't get those early days back. Those days when you're just laying down all the ground work for social development and what not."

She grinned. "Have you been watching Doctor Phil?" she asked.

"Actually, I got that little tidbit off of those snippets of information that come with those Huggies coupons you get in the mail every month. Gotta read something while I'm having my morning coffee."

"Well wherever you picked it up from, you and Kieran have a special bond because of the time you spent with him from the get go. And the two of you will always have that."

"Even when he's fifteen and telling me to screw off and smoking pot?"

"Our son will never be like that," she declared.

He laughed. "Wanna bet on that?"

"I'll bet you fifty that when he's fifteen, Kieran will be volunteering for meals on wheels and bringing in straight As."

"Yeah? I'll see you your fifty and raise it to a Benjamin and say that our son, by that age, has been issued at least two citations, spent half a dozen nights in juvylock-up and that he has either piercing or tattoos. Or both."

"You've got him a regular bad ass," she laughed.

"I'm just thinking that having two cops as parents would be disaster. That he'll go the opposite direction and cause all kinds of shit."

She shuddered at the thought. But accepted the bet.

They ate in companionable silence. It wasn't until the waitress had cleared away their plates and served coffee and tea and Sam was browsing through the dessert menu that either of them spoke.

"You know what I was just thinking about?" Flack asked.

She glanced up from the menu. "Please tell me it's not more evil things our son is going to get involved in."

"I was just thinking that this time last year, so many people doubted us. Said that our marriage wouldn't last six months. If we're lucky. And here we are. A year later. We still love each other. For the most part we're still happy. We actually made it, Samantha."

She smiled and reached across the table and laid her hand on his. He entwined his fingers in hers and they stared across the table at one another. With nothing but love and adoration.

"There was never a doubt in my mind," she said.

* * *

They took a stroll through Central Park before heading back to the precinct where they had kept the car in favour of walking to the restaurant. The air was crisp and the black velvet sky was clear. A light, delicate snow fell while thousands of stars twinkled over here. Multi-coloured lights shone in the trees lining the snow covered path. In the distance, Christmas carols played over the sound system set up at the pound which had been converted into outdoor skating rink. Couples and families strolled the paths as well. Mostly tourists taking in the sights and the sounds of Central Park, at night, in the winter.

They walked all the way to the pond and grabbed two hot chocolates before turning back the way they had come. It was nice to just have that time alone together. To think about and talk about anything and everything that didn't involve the job. From the weather to New Year's Eve plans to Kieran's first birthday party. Little stuff that may have seemed insignificant to an outsider, but meant the world to them.

And just as they were about to leave the park, with the Winter Wonderland surrounding them, he suddenly stopped walking and reached into the inside pocket of his winter jacket. It just seemed like the right time. Standing there with the snowflakes in their hair and on their eyelashes and the Christmas lights twinkling in her eyes.

"I was going to wait until we got home," he told her, as he pulled a small blue velvet box from his pocket.

"I thought we agreed we weren't going to buy each other anything because it was so close to Christmas," Sam said. "And than you have flowers delivered to me today and leave me a card and now this?"

"Yeah…well I changed my mind," he reasoned, and held the box out to her. "It's not much. Just something I saw that I thought you'd like."

"Every time you say something isn't that much, it always turns out to be something major," she told him, as she peeled off her mitts and handed them to him while she took the box.

"I'm just full of surprises," he said with a chuckle.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly and opened the lid. Inside, resting on a thin, white gold chain, was an oval shaped white gold locket. A diamond was set in the middle and two smaller garnet stones graced the bottom curve of the pendant.

"Donnie, it's beautiful," she gushed.

"The middle represents you, of course," he said. "Than me and Kieran at the bottom there. It's a mother's locket. Lady who sold it to me said that each time we have a kid, we can bring it into the store and have their stones added on."

"I love it," Sam told him, tears sparkling in her eyes. "It's perfect."

"And on the back," he reached out and flipped the locket over. "Three dates. Date we met, date we got married and the date Kieran was born."

She brushed a tear off of her cheek with the back of her hand. "I swear I will never call you insensitive and unromantic ever again."

"Yeah…you will," he laughed. "But it's nice to hear you tell me I'm not such a bad guy once in a while."

"You're not a bad guy," she said. "Far from it. And I'm sorry that we fight a lot and I take you for granted and I'm not the best wife in the world. I try, I really do. I mean, I want to perfect…"

"Hey," he took her face in his hands. "I don't want you to be perfect. I fell in love with you the way you are I don't need anything else. Well, there's a couple things I wouldn't mind more than you're giving them out lately, but that's something I'd rather be showing you than talking about."

She grinned.

He kissed her. Soft and sweet. Their lips lingering for a long time as the snow trickled down around them. He placed kisses on her chin, her cheeks, her forehead. The tip of her nose. Than drew her into him and held her tightly. Loving the familiar things about her. The way her arms felt warm and snug when they curled around his waist. The way her body moulded so easy into his. The way she smelled. Things he noticed about her every day but didn't always take the time to appreciate.

"Happy anniversary," he said, his lips buried in her hair.

"Happy anniversary," she returned, and squeezed him tightly.

"We should go," he told her, pulling away and pressing a feathery kiss to her forehead. "Before Reed thinks we skipped town."

She closed the necklace box and tucked it into one of the pockets of his coat. "Now I feel so guilty," she complained, as he took her hand and led the way out of the park.

"Why's that?"

"We had agreed to forgo anniversary gifts," she said. "All I got you was a card that you didn't even notice was sitting on the kitchen table this morning."

"Babe, I was called out at four thirty am. I nearly fell back asleep while taking a leak. I'm lucky I didn't get into an accident on my way to the scene for falling asleep at the wheel. Trust me, it wasn't intentional."

"I know. But I never got you anything."

He shrugged. "I don't need anything, Sam. I've got everything I need right here."

"Donald Flack Jr," she giggled. "You can be so goddamn corny."

He laughed and pulled her into his side, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

She slipped her own arm around him, her hand resting on the small of her back.

"You know what I was thinking?"

Sam glanced up at him. "What's that?"

"Every year that we're married we should come back here on Christmas Eve, even if it's with all our kids and…"

"All our kids? And just how many are you planning on us having?"

"I don't know…half a dozen seems about right."

She laughed and pushed him away from her playfully. Bending down, she scooped up a handful of snow and tossed it at him. "You wish! Half a dozen! Are you insane?"

"Big old Catholic family," Flack reasoned.

"You're nuts. And we're not exactly the most strict Catholics with our track record," she reminded him, walking backwards in front of him.

"So…that just means we have to start doing things right. Having six, seven kids is a start."

"Well I'll tell you what. You have your six or seven kids. Just find a second wife to pop out a couple of them so it's not such a burden on me."

"You crazy? One wife is enough for me. I can barely handle the one I have."

"I knew from the get go I'd be too much for you," she teased, stepping back to his side and taking his hand once again. "So you were saying something about coming back here and…"

"Every Christmas Eve we should come back here. With our kids if we want to make it a family thing. Make Central Park and the lights and maybe even some skating our first ever Christmas tradition."

"I like that idea," she concluded.

"You don't want a big family?" he asked. "And by big I mean less than a dozen but more than four."

"How would we ever afford to feed and clothe that many kids?" she inquired.

"That's not what I asked. I asked if you if you didn't want a big family."

"I want as many kids as God is willing to bless us with," she responded.

"That's a damn good answer," he said.

"And as many as our poor bodies can possible be produce," she added.

He laughed. "In that case, you better be prepared to be barefoot and pregnant for the rest of your child bearing days."

"You know," she said, letting go of his hand and hugging his arm to her. "I hope when we're eighty years old, we can still be like this. Holding hands when we're walking. Telling each other we love one another."

"I hope so too," Flack told her. "And it's up to us to make sure that happens."

She smiled and laid her head against his arm as they continued their walk in comfortable silence.

Life never seemed so perfect.

* * *

They had arrived home at ten thirty. The house was dimly lit and they had found Reed Garrett stretched out on the couch with Kieran fast asleep and snuggled into his chest. The television playing the black and white version of A Christmas Carol. Volume off and closed captioning on.

"I didn't have the heart to wake him," Reed had explained, as Flack gently and expertly peeled his son from the young man's chest and carried him down the hall and deposited him into his crib.

But not before Reed had been a good enough sport to pose for a picture because Sam had dubbed the scene just too damn cute for words.

Impressively enough, Reed had lived up to his word and had managed to not only get Kieran bathed, but the baby's hair washed, ear drops but in and a fresh diaper and jammies on without even receiving so much of a scratch or misplaced hair. No bad for a journalist moonlighting as Super Nanny Flack had joked while driving the kid home. It didn't make sense, after the effort Reed had gone to to make sure that Kieran was so well taken care of, to make the young man take a cab or a subway home. Especially in the snow and freezing cold. He'd also coughed up a Benjamin out of sheer appreciation for taking on a baby sitting gig on Christmas Eve. Not the most glamorous way for a twenty four year old single guy to be spending his evening.

Sam was already in her sweats and t-shirt when Flack got back from the twenty minute drive home. She was putting the last minute touches on presents and stuffing the stockings and had already set out a plate of cookies and various other sweets along with a pen and a card that read Merry Christmas to A Special Boy From Santa on the front of it.

The milk and goodies were good. But Flack was stumped on the card.

"What the hell am I suppose to write?" he asked his wife, taking the card out to where she was arranging presents under the tree.

"I don't know. Put the date on the top corner and than write him a letter. About how he's been a good boy all year and that you hope he likes all his toys."

"You mean all the toys that went on daddy's Master Card?" he asked as he plopped down on the couch.

"Please just play along," Sam pleaded.

"Okay…okay…" he sighed and using his best, legible writing, set to work. "How's this sound?" he asked after a few minutes. "Dear Kieran, your mommy and daddy told me that you were a really good boy all year. You ate all your peas and carrots and went to bed without too much of a hassle and save for shitting the crib, you haven't caused too many problems…"

"Donnie…"

"Okay. I will leave the shitting the crib part out. You ate all your peas and carrots and went to bed without too much of a hassle and your mommy and daddy are very proud of you for learning new things so quickly and easily. So, I decided you deserved everything that you're little heart desires. And that your dad could afford on a city salary.."

"Donald Flack…"

"Alright…alright…take it easy…okay…the finished product reads, Dear Kieran, your mommy and daddy told me that you were a really good boy all year. You've been eating all your vegetables and going to bed without too much of a hassle and your mommy and daddy are very proud of you for learning new things so quickly. You're getting bigger and stronger every day and they loveyou very much. So, I decided you deserve everything that your little heart desires. I hope you enjoy all your new toys. Remember, I am always watching you and I know when you're naughty and when you're nice. Same goes for your mother."

Sam reached into one of the stockings, pulled an item out and tossed it at her husband.

Flack caught it effortlessly in one hand and looked at it. "Socks…thanks, babe. just what I wanted…like being twelve years old all over again and the decent presents stopped rolling in. Okay, I left out that last part and finished it off with, I will see you next year. Be a good boy for mommy and daddy, love Santa. Sound good?"

"Perfect," Sam enthused.

"The things you don't make me do, woman," he sighed, and shoved the card into the envelope, sealed it and wrote Kieran's name on the front. "What will we do when he's old enough to know what you do for a living and asks you do to a DNA test on the envelope to see if it's really Santa's saliva? You ready to deal with the massive, crushing disappointment when it comes back to me?"

"I will manage somehow," she said. "Do me a favour and go and put it beside the plate with the cookie crumbs on it and the dirty milk glass and take a picture with your phone?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Please?" she asked. "Or I won't put my little Mrs Claus outfit on."

He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes as he looked at her. "You shitting me? You weren't joking about that earlier?"

"I would not lie, my love."

"In that case," he said and jumped off the couch and hurried into the kitchen.

When he came back, she was sitting on the couch waiting for him, holding out a simple white envelope.

"What's this?" he asked, taking a seat beside her and taking the item from her.

"It was one of your Christmas presents," she replied. "But seeing as you gave me an anniversary present, you might as well consider this your anniversary present."

"What is it?" he asked, turning the envelope over in his hands.

"Open it and find out," she said.

He ripped open the thin paper and reached in to pull out the contents. Two Rangers tickets. For the January 10th game against the rival New York Islanders. "Babe," he said, his eyes widening as he read the information on them. "These are LOGE level seats."

"I know," she said. "Next to box seats they're the best ones you can get."

"These things go at least two twenty five a seat," he told her.

"Two seventy-five, actually," she said. "But that's besides the point. You said you wanted tickets to a Rangers game and well, there's two tickets, one for you and one for Danny."

"I meant I wanted tickets in the cheap seats. Not in the prime seats. Christ, Sam," he shook his head in disbelief. "This is…incredible. I don't know what else to say."

She picked up his right arm and checked his watch. "How about Merry Christmas? It's five minutes after midnight."

"Merry Christmas," he said, leaning sideways and kissing her softly. "And thank you. Best Christmas present ever."

"Actually, Don, I think I can one up Rangers tickets."

"Trust me, Sam, nothing can beat these kinds of seats."

"Don, seriously, I have something better."

He looked at her when she took his hand in both of hers. Saw the way her eyes sparkled and a smile played at the corner of her lips.

"I need you to close your eyes and hold out your hand," she said.

"Sam..what are you…?"

"Trust me," she implored.

He sighed and closed his eyes. Felt her let go of his hand and heard the rustle of clothes as she stood up.

"Hold your hand out," she instructed.

He did as he was told. Than felt cold plastic being pressed into the palm of his hand and heard her sit down once again.

"Open your eyes," she said in a shaky voice. "And look down."

He obeyed. In his hand was a small plastic baggie. In which was a home pregnancy test. A Clear Blue digital get up that clearly read in black letters YOU'RE PREGNANT. His heart pounded at the sight. Tears threatened as he looked at her.

"But you told me…"

He didn't get to finish. She leaned into him and kissed him softly.

"Merry Christmas," she said.

**AN: Detective Chester Lake is a character that appeared on Law and Order: SVU (guest star season 8, starring role season 9) and was played by the phenomenal Adam Beach. The character left the show under darker circumstances, but I havedecided to use some creative licence and tweak his departure from SVU. And to blend him into VFB. He will also be appearing in MOB, but on a one time deal only.**

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! Even all the lurkers! I love to hear from you guys so please, drop me a line if you like this!**

**Thanks to:**

**Laurzz  
****Brrtmclv  
****Hope4sall  
****Bluehaven4220  
****laplandgurl  
****muchmadness  
****ImaSupernaturalCSI  
****Shopaholic20  
****Forest Angel  
****Soccer-Bitch  
****GregRox**


	27. Merry Christmas, Good morning

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN.**

**Merry Christmas, Good morning**

"And right now where I'm right where I wanna be  
I've never felt so loved, so peaceful and so free  
Hey there ain't no doubt that God's been good to me'  
Cause he put me smack dab in the middle of Paradise  
In the heart of the city where my dreams have come alive  
And everything I have, and everything I see  
Is just another reminder that God's been good to me  
This golden road's been long  
And sometimes I've lost my way  
I've been down some darkened detours  
Leanin' heavy on my faith  
But where the devil had me chained  
Lord your love done set me free."  
-God's Been Good to Me, Keith Urban

* * *

He sat and stared at the simple piece of plastic in his trembling hands for what seemed like an eternity. Tears of both shock and happiness stinging his eyes. Neither of them spoke. He was scarcely aware that his wife was even sitting beside him, her one arm around him and her other hand resting on his thigh as her head lay on his shoulder. She was looking at him. Waiting for some kind of response. Whether it be with words or with actions. And he couldn't seemed to conjure up a damn decent thing to say.

He glanced at her. There was apprehension in her eyes. Maybe even some concern and fear as to why he wasn't reacting right away. All that he could think of was what those two simple words on that test meant to them and their lives. Another life had been created. Their small family was quickly expanding. And despite the fact that they had been consciously trying to get pregnant, the reality that it had happened so soon, while their first child was still in diapers and not even walking on his own, was daunting. Two kids under the age was two was going to be a hell of a handful.

"Please say something," Sam implored.

"When did you find out?" he asked. "When we got home?"

"I've known since early this afternoon," she replied. "And you've been called in early every day for the past week and a bit so you haven't really been around to notice how deathly ill I've been in the morning lately. I've also been hiding it pretty well at work and at home when you're around."

"You should have told me you suspected it, Sammie. I thought after that false test at the beginning of the month you abandoned the idea of being pregnant and convinced yourself it was just the meds screwing your body up?"

"It was in the back of my mind that I might be. But I figured I'd just wait until my period was late this month and than do another test. I didn't want to tell you because you've had a lot on your plate with work and I know how disappointed you were the first time. I just didn't want to get your hopes up and than nothing."

"Why didn't you tell me at the precinct?" he asked.

"It wasn't the right moment or the environment. I wanted to tell you when it was special and memorable. So I figured I'd wait until midnight and announce it as a Christmas present. I only told a little white lie. So you'd b extra surprised. I mean, it's a good surprise for you, right?"

She sounded scared and nervous.

"Of course is it. I just never expected it to happen this soon. After that first negative test and than you telling me earlier you had another negative result…you sure about this?" he asked, holding up the baggie.

"It's 99.99 percent accurate," she told him.

"This is me and you we're talking about Sam. Anything is possible."

"I'm sure. A hundred percent sure. I actually, kinda, sorta did more than one test."

"So two came out positive?"

She smiled sheepishly. "More like five," she admitted.

"Five? You took five pregnancy tests? Two wasn't enough?"

"I just wanted to be sure," she explained. "And each one came out the same. Positive."

"But what about the one you took at the beginning of the month? Why was that one negative?"

"Maybe there wasn't enough pregnancy hormone in my body for the test to detect," she reasoned. "I don't know. All I know is that I spent a ridiculous amount of money on plastic sticks to pee on and they all told me the same thing. I'm pregnant. We're pregnant. We're having a baby, Donnie."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, staring at that test in his hands as her words sank in.

"This is what we wanted," she reminded him. She gave a small smile and rubbed his thigh. "I mean, this is what we wanted, wasn't it?"

He nodded.

"We decided to try for another one. We haven't used any form of birth control since the night of Carmen and Speed's wedding. And when you don't use protection these things happen. So we shouldn't be sitting here like finding out we're having another baby is the end of the world as we know it."

"It's not that," he said, shaking his head slowly. "I want another baby. I was ready to have another kid a couple months after Kieran was born, you know that. But saying you're ready and being ready are two totally different things."

She frowned. "So you don't want another baby?"

"What?" he looked at her and was taken aback by the tears that threatened in her eyes. "No…baby, that's not what I'm saying. I do want another baby. I just…I wasn't expecting to hearing this so soon. I thought maybe a few months down the road. I didn't think it would happen this quickly is all. And it's one of those things that you plan and plan for and still get freaked out about when it comes about. I mean, you're freaked out, aren't you?"

She nodded and rested her chin on his arm and looked up at him.

"I don't think anyone's ever prepared to hear about something like this," he said, looking down at the test once again and running his thumb along the smooth, cool plastic of the baggie. Thinking of the ramifications that the result held for them. "Wow," he said, and sighed heavily and struggled with tears once again.

"At least tell me you're happy, Donnie," she begged. "That you're not thinking this is a huge mistake."

"Do you think that?" he asked, looking down at her.

"This is what we wanted. A baby. Something we made together could never be a mistake. But I should be ecstatically happy and all I can think about is what all of this means. I haven't been back to work that long and I can just imagine what Mac's reaction is going to be when he finds out he'll have to put me on modified duty again and loose me so soon to mat leave. And Kieran is still a baby himself. He doesn't even walk yet or feed himself very good and he might still be in diapers when I have a new baby in diapers to worry about."

"A lot can happen in his life, development wise between now and when the baby is born, Samantha. And don't worry about Mac. He'll just have to deal with it. It's what he gets for hiring so many women at child bearing age. And honestly, I love Mac, but who gives a rats ass what he thinks."

"And what about where we'll live? We couldn't stay here. Look at how crowded it is with us and Kieran. How the hell will we fit another body in here on a permanent basis?"

"Carmen lived with us for five months after Kieran was born. She's an adult and took up more space than a baby will. It can sleep in our room until Kieran is old enough to be put in a bed and the two of them can share a room."

"That bedroom is small, Donnie. And look at all the stuff that comes with kids. There's no way two of them can stay in that room."

"So we'll move," he said and sat the plastic baggie down on the coffee table. "Why are you worrying about this now?"

"It's plausible stuff to be worried about. And money. What about money? We don't make a lot of money even with our salaries put together and…"

"Sammie," he turned sideways and gently took her face in both of his hands. "You're just getting a little paranoid. There's still a nice chunk of change left from Zack's estate and the sale of the house in Arizona. And it's not like we're just scraping by with what we make. We're living pretty good without even touching what's in the bank."

"I know but…"

"No one in this house is going to starve or go without. Even if you were to quit, I'd still be able to take care of you and Kieran and a new baby and just dip into the savings account from time to time. It's not like we're destitute. Another mouth to feed is not going to put us out on the street."

"I know, but…"

He silenced her by covering her lips in a long, soft and meaningful kiss. "We're going to be okay," he assured her, her face still in his hands, his forehead resting against hers. "I promise you that we're going to be okay. All of us."

She laid her hands over his and nodded. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she bit her bottom lip nervously.

"What's a matter?" he asked, pulling back slightly to look at her. "You believe me, don't you? That I'll take care of us?"

"Of course I do. I always have faith in you. It's just that.." she sniffled noisily. "I was so scared for a second that you were disappointed. That you weren't happy about it."

"Are you crazy?" Flack asked, kissing her quickly before removing his hands from her face in favour of wrapping his arms around her slender body and gathering her into his chest as he collapsed back against the arm of the couch.

She giggled as she ended up stomach down on top of him. She settled herself between his legs and circled his torso with her arms and rested her head on his chest.

"I'm fucking ecstatic, Sammie," he declared, his hands stroking her back. "This is awesome news. How could it not be? We're having a baby."

"I'm just scared," she admitted.

He kissed the top of her head, brought a hand up to stroke her hair. "About?"

"Things went so wrong with Kieran. I had nothing but problems with him. Pre-eclampsia and gestational diabetes and a tear in the placenta. And the whole incompetent cervix thing! What if this pregnancy goes bad too?"

"You're doctor will keep a close eye on you. Hell, I'll keep a close eye on you. And it wasn't all bad with Kieran. Once you had that operation, things were okay. And he was born healthy and with no missing pieces. You did an amazing job. And you'll do an amazing job this time, too."

"And the blood work coming back and saying there was a problem.."

"And was there? No. He was perfectly normal for lack of a better word. Things will be okay. Just have faith in yourself and this baby that you're carrying. It will all work out. And who knows, everything could go perfect this time around."

"Or it could go exceptionally bad," she said.

"Hey, look at me…"

She raised her head.

"I don't want you talking like that, okay? Don't be counting this baby out before he or she even gets out of the starting gate. Everything's going to be fine and you need to promise me that you're not going to stress yourself out thinking about all the things that could go wrong and that you'll concentrate on everything that's wonderful and amazing about us having another baby."

She smiled.

"Promise me," he said.

She slid herself up his body and kissed him delicately. "I promise."

He brushed hair out of her face. "I love you, Samantha. So much. And you're right. This did out do the Rangers tickets. Which as incredible, don't get me wrong. But this? This takes the cake."

"A Christmas you will never forget," she declared. "And I love you, too."

He combed his fingers through her hair and than tangled his hand in the long, dark tresses and pulled her against him for a long, body tingling, toe curling kiss. "So what's this about a Mrs Claus outfit?" he asked.

"Just a little something I picked up for you," she replied, popping open the third button on his dress shirt.

When he'd arrived home from dropping Reed off, he'd taken off his tie and undone the top two buttons on his shirt. Now she was taking care of the rest.

"Well you wanna go in the bedroom and you can put it on for me?" he asked, as she tugged his shirt from his pants and continued undoing it.

"Actually," she said, giving him a devilish grin. She finished with the last button and climbed off of his own prone body.

Standing by the side of the couch, she peeled off her sweat pants and t-shirt and tossed them aside. Uncovering a nearly sheer, red baby doll nightie with white fur trim along the bottom hem and spaghetti straps. And matching thong underwear.

"Holy shit," he declared. "You weren't joking."

"No," she said and reached for his hand. "I was not."

He grinned and let her pull him to his feet. Than he gathered her into his arms for a hungry, demanding kiss. His hands drifting up the back of her nightie, his fingers grazing along the top edge of her panties. "God I love you," he whispered, as his lips found her neck.

"Do you?" she asked, stepping away from him. She reached around the grab his hand once more and gave it a tug. "How about you take me in the bedroom and show me how much?"

He smiled broadly, the dimples in his cheeks standing out. And before she could react, he grabbed her and effortlessly scooped her up into his strong, capable arms.

"I'm never going to let you go you know," he informed her, carrying her to their bedroom while she began nibbling on his ear lobe and neck.

"Promise?" she asked.

"Promise."

"Good," she declared. "Because I'll never let you."

* * *

Samantha's eyes snapped open as she woke with a start. Sprawled out on her left side, she cast a glance towards the clock radio resting on the nightstand. The illuminated red numbers were the only source of light in the bedroom and advertised that it was shortly after three in the morning. Her husband was fast asleep behind her. Snoring lightly, resting on his side with her back snuggled into his chest and stomach, and his head next to hers, sharing her pillow. She could feel his soft, warm breath slightly rustling her hair and his chest rising and falling against her back. His one arm tightly around her and his hand resting on her stomach. Protectively.

It had been well after one in the morning by the time they collapsed in the middle of their rumpled, well used bed out of sheer exhaustion. They laughed and talked sleepily. Ecstatic over their news. Excited and exhilarated over the thought of adding to their small family. Of there being a brand new life growing inside of her. Than yawning and unable to keep his eyes open any longer, Flack had gathered up the comforter, pulled her into his arms and promptly fell asleep. Sam had spent some time staring into the darkness of their room. Unable to fall asleep despite the fact she was tired and weary from a long day chasing after their son and getting ready for Christmas.

And when she did manage to fall asleep, she was plagued with bizarre dreams and fitful rest. She wasn't exactly sure what had woken her up. So she lay in the stillness of the room, listening. She had been a light sleeper since Kieran had arrived almost eleven months ago. Able to pick up on the slightest hiccup or moan or movement he made despite being separated by a wall. She heard nothing coming from the room next door. But did hear the sound of faint hammering coming from the upstairs neighbour.

"Fucking asshole," she mumbled.

The guy was a complete and utter moron since he'd moved in four months ago. Dragging furniture across the floor, slamming doors, drilling and hammering. All at ungodly hours of the morning. Flack had gone up several times because the noise continuously woke Kieran up and prevented Flack himself from getting any rest following long, tedious shifts. The last time he'd went, he'd taken his badge with him and shoved it in the guy's face the moment he opened the door.

As annoying as the noise above her head was, it was hardly a terrible nuisance. It hadn't been what had woken her up. It was, she now realized, the crazy dreams that she'd been having the moment her eyes had flickered closed. And she just couldn't go back to sleep without telling someone all about it. And that someone was fast asleep behind her.

She picked up Flack's arm and rolled over onto her opposite side, so that she was now facing him, and rested his arm on her side. She pressed a kiss to his lips, than to his chin and cheek. Followed by both of his eyes and ending with the tip of his nose.

"Donnie…" she whispered, laying a hand on his hip and shaking him lightly. "Donnie…"

He stopped snoring. Scratched at his nose, nestled the side of his face in the pillow and continued sleeping.

"Donnie!" she repeated. Louder this time. Shaking him more forcibly. "Donnie! Wake up!"

"Hmm?" he responded, his eyes still closed.

"Wake up!" she continued to shake him. "I need you to wake up!"

"What?" he asked groggily, cracking open one eye. "What is it, baby? What's wrong?"

"I can't sleep," she whined.

"What time is it?" he inquired, reaching out to lay a hand on the back of her neck.

"Just after three."

He groaned loudly. "Go back to sleep, Samantha."

"I can't!" she cried. "It took me forever to get to sleep and than when I did fall off I had these strange dreams and they woke me up!"

Flack yawned noisily. "Just dreams," he assured her. "Close your eyes and be quiet and go back to sleep."

"Don't you want to hear about them?" she asked.

"Can't it wait until, I don't know, daylight? Say eight or nine?"

"I'll never be able to fall back asleep if I don't tell you know," she responded, sitting up in bed.

He sighed and rolled over onto his back and lay a forearm over his eyes. Relegating himself to the fact that if he wanted to go back to sleep anytime soon, he better just humour her.

"What were these dreams about?" he asked.

"I had this dream that Mac was taken hostage in a bank by this guy named Joe. Someone got killed in the robbery and Mac was allowed in there to investigate and this guy took him hostage! And you were there doing the negotiations and Stella was there and…I don't know where anyone else was."

"Yeah? Sounds exciting. Good night."

"That's not all! There's more!"

"Okay…."

"I don't know what happened, but the next thing I know, Mac ends up in the East River. At least I think it was the East River. I never heard anyone say it was but he was in the water. And than Stella and him are investigating this Joe guy and before I knew it, for some reason she's dangling off the side of this building."

"Was she okay?"

"Yeah…she got herself up. No surprise. Because it's Stella and she can do anything. Anyhow, it's all a real blur and I can't remember the finer details. But you know what the most fucked up part of this whole dream was?"

He sighed. "What, babe?"

"Your sister was involved."

"I don't have a sister. At least not one I know of."

"I know. But in this dream you had a sister. She was a bartender. And she drove this sweet ass Dodge Charger. Which makes no sense because really, how in the hell would a bartender afford a ride like that?"

"Is there a point to all of this?" he asked.

"Yeah…your sister kind of looked like me. She looked like she could be more my sister. And you wouldn't believe what her name was!"

"Humour me," Flack said.

"Samantha!" she cried. "Her name was Samantha! I'm Samantha! I'm your wife! Not your sister!"

"You know what I think of all of this?" he asked, looking over at her. Both amused and somewhat distressed at how badly such a ridiculous thing had unnerved her.

"What?"

"First, I think that's the last time you eat or drink anything with caffeine before bed. Because it totally messes up your brain. Two, I think that sounds like someone's lame ass attempt at writing a script for a television show."

"Think so?" she asked, visibly upset.

Flack nodded.

"Okay," she said with a sigh. "Thank you. For listening to me."

"Did I really have a choice?" he asked as she leaned over to kiss him.

"Not really," she replied, and turned back around to settle down on her left side.

He shook his head in disbelief at the conversation that had just taken place and he rolled over onto his side once more and reached out to draw her back into him.

"Do me a huge favour?" he asked, lips buried in her hair.

She nodded.

"Two favours, actually. One, please don't wake me up at this time again to tell me about something like that."

"Sorry," she said sheepishly and wrapped her arms around his right bicep and hugged him to her.

"And two, stop watching these damn soap operas or what not you've gotten yourself into. You've got way too much of an overactive imagination. A sister? Named Samantha? That looked like you?"

"You know that tattoo on the small of my back?"

"What about it?" he asked.

"She had almost the exact same design but on the inside of her right bicep."

"Yeah? That's a dumb ass place. Your's is much sexier. And the whole thing sounds just plain stupid if you ask me. Samantha is your name. My wife. Why would you ever dream I had a sister named the same thing?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I just did."

"Feel better now? That you told me all this?"

She nodded and yawned.

"Goodnight, baby," he said and kissed the back of her head.

"Goodnight," she echoed and closed her eyes.

"Hey, Sam?" he asked after several minutes.

"Hmm?"

"If Samantha is my sister and Samantha is also my wife does that mean we're inbreeders and that what we did earlier is considered incest?"

"Fuck you, Don Flack," she grumbled.

He chuckled. "If you're my sister, we are sick, twisted, dirty people."

"Shut up," she said.

* * *

She woke up to sunlight streaming through the window and the smell of pancakes and sausage drifting through the apartment. She could hear Christmas music faintly playing on the stereo in the living room and both Kieran's, and Flack's voices. The latter was instruction his son to NOT stick honey nut Cheerios up his nose, in his ears or in other orifice of his body for that matter. Kieran, in that piercing shriek that he had discovered in day care and now loved so much, was clearly and defiantly, although with very few recognizable words, telling his father where to go and how to get there. For eleven months old the kid was mouthy. No doubt about it. It was the hazards of having half his father's DNA inside of him.

But with the mouthy came periods of unbelievable cuteness. The way he'd learned to wink at people -especially women- and the near constant habit of blowing kisses, even to strangers, and that subtle, flirty way he got when someone -again, especially women- would talk to him. He'd cock his head to his side and raise his shoulders and flash his dimpled grin and make those blue eyes sparkle and women of all ages and sizes were practically on the ground in front of him in a puddle of goo.

"Gonna have trouble with that one when he's fourteen," Danny had once said, when Sam had brought Kieran, than only months old, into the lab and she was nearly besieged by hordes of females flocking to the stroller to get a look at the baby.

"Well than you better make sure you have all boys," Sam had joked. "And if you have girls, that you keep them locked in the house."

The on going joke now was that Kieran had two 'ladies' now vying for his attention and possible future relationship status. Addie, and Mac and Stella's unborn baby girl that they had tentatively named Tiana. To Stella and Carmen, it was all shits and giggles about having their daughters hook up with Kieran with that thick dark hair and his bright blue eyes. They were practically stroking off the days on the calendar until all the kids were in school and it came time to see who Kieran's favourite was.

To Mac and Speed however, the sky was falling at the mere prospect of their daughters being anywhere in the close proximity if a boy with the last name Flack.

"Maybe you all will have nothing to worry about and Kieran will turn out gay," Danny had said, when Speed was lamenting in the lunchroom about the fact Carmen all but had Addie and Kieran's wedding date planned.

Flack, who'd just walked into the room to see if there were any results on a case he'd caught, had heard that swipe at his son and all but had to refrain himself from nailing Danny Messer's head through the table.

Kieran, for the most part, was unfazed by his popularity with women. He had three loves in his life. Food, his toys, and his mother. In that order. As far as he was concerned, no other female existed and that was just fine by Sam. She wasn't ready to share her little man anyway.

She sighed and rolled over onto her back and lay in bed for some time. Listening to the sounds coming down the hall and enjoying the delicious smell of the food being prepared. She was hungry. Starving in fact. Yet at the same time, too lazy to get out of bed and pull on some pyjamas and head for the kitchen.

Several minutes passed before she decided enough was enough. It was Christmas morning. Almost quarter to eight according to the clock on the nightstand. There was breakfast to be eaten, presents to be opened and the clean up of the massive mess that would be left behind afterwards. Than lunch to be prepared, three people including a toddler to get bathed and dressed, baby gear and presents packed into the car and a half hour drive into Queens.

And her mother to put up with. She just hoped the woman behaved herself in front of her in laws. Especially when Flack Sr got into the booze and became more sarcastic and loose lipped than normal.

Sam pushed off the heavy down filled comforter and slipped out of bed. The moment her bare feet hit the hard wood floor, a wave of nausea flooded through her entire body. At first she attempted to control it by closing her eyes and leaning forward with her elbows on her thighs and her head between her legs. But when it became apparent that it was futile, she jumped off the bed and ran for the washroom.

Cursing her body, and her husband for causing her such torment and agony.

* * *

Twenty minutes passed before she could peel herself away from the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl.

Twenty minutes of constant, horrific vomiting and profuse sweating and many, many tears. And an endless string of profanity.

She splashed cold water on her face and brushed her teeth to rid her mouth of the foul, acrid taste lingering on her tongue and lips. She brushed out her hair and snagged an elastic from around the door knob and put her tresses into a tight, high ponytail. One glance in the mirror told her she looked exactly like she felt.

Like complete and utter shit.

Flack was leaning against the sink ledge and sipping a cup of steaming black coffee in a pair of sweats and a wife beater. Simultaneously keeping an eye on a third batch of pancakes on the stove and watching Kieran as he finger fed himself chunks of banana, and dry Cheerios. The first two servings of banana pancakes and breakfast sausage were keeping warm on a heat resistant plate in the oven when Samantha came padding into the kitchen in one of his dress shirts. It hung past her knees and the sleeves were rolled up a mile and she nearly drowned in it. But she looked damn adorable and irresistible.

"Mommeee!" Kieran shrieked happily when he saw her.

"Merry Christmas, baby boy," she gushed, and leaned over the high chair to shower his sticky cheeks with kisses. "Did daddy show you all the presents that Santa brought you?"

"Yeah…" he answered enthusiastically. It was a new word he had learned, but he wasn't necessarily responding to her question. He said yeah no matter what he was asked. But it sure as hell was better than having him say no all the time.

"Good idea to put those baby gates around the tree," Flack told her, sipping his coffee. "'Cause he was ready to just go to town as soon as I showed him everything."

"Did you give him something to open?" Sam asked, turning her head to the side to avoid the handful of mashed banana Kieran was attempting to shove in her mouth.

"You kidding? And have you ream me out for screwing up the natural progression of things? He was happy once we got in here and he got some food on his tray."

"Well he's definitely your son," Sam commented. "Food is his number one priority."

"I can think of a couple of other things in my life that come close," Flack said and winked at her.

"Have you had that big goofy grin on your face since last night?" she asked, as she crossed the kitchen and wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest.

He nodded. "Save for you waking me up at three in the morning to tell me about some stupid ass dream."

"It really bothered me," she argued.

"Hey, Kieran," Flack called to his son.

The baby popped a piece of banana into his mouth and looked over at his father.

"Did you meet your Auntie Samantha?" he asked, nodding down at his wife.

"Let it go already," she grumbled, pinching his side.

"I was just figuring, seeing as you're my sister, he's really your son and your nephew in some gross, screwed up way."

She raised her head and looked up at him. "Let it go," she repeated.

He set his mug down on the counter and curled his arms around her slender body and kissed her. Long and soft and sweet. "Merry Christmas," he said, pressing his lips to her forehead.

"Merry Christmas," she returned with a bright smile. "I don't feel very good this morning," she sighed.

"Sick to your stomach?"

She nodded.

"You actually throw up?"

"Naturally. Seems to me that pregnancy for me is not complete without throwing up. Makes me wonder why I ever wanted to have another baby seeing as I get so sick."

"I'll show you why?" Flack said, and laying his hands on her shoulders, gently turned her around so her back was to his stomach. He wrapped his arms around her, his one hand resting on her stomach. "See our son, Sammie? How smart and adorable he is?"

She nodded.

He kissed her cheek. "That's why you wanted another one. Because the end result is worth everything you go through."

"Easy for you to say," she giggled as he nuzzled the side of her neck with his nose. "You aren't the one puking your guts out and getting fat. You get the initial fun and donate the sperm and that's it. I do all the hard work."

"Yeah…but look at the damn good job I did the first time around with Kieran. That's champion league sperm that made something like him."

"And you're suggesting that he didn't get his amazing good looks for his mother?"

"Come on," Flack laughed. "We all know I'm the looks and you're the brains of this operation."

"You're moron," she said, directing a playful elbow at his stomach. "And you're right…it is worth it in the end. Although I do hope there's no hospital stays this time around."

"Me, too," he agreed. "There was just a little too much excitement with Kieran if you ask me."

"Definitely," she said, than grimace and rubbed her stomach. "Could you…"

He was already releasing her and moving away. "You don't even have to ask," he told her, as he went to one of the cupboards and got down the box of soda crackers. He sat them on the table and than went to the fridge and grabbed the milk. He poured her a glass, than warmed it in the microwave.

"You're a pro," she enthused, taking a seat at the table.

"Got lots of practice with Kieran," he said, and set the glass down in front of her.

She caught his hand as he went to walk away from the table. "You're so good to me," she said.

Flack smiled, leaned down and kissed her softly. "Just returning the favour," he told her.

* * *

The living room was a disaster area.

Two hours after breakfast, discarded wrapping paper and bows and empty boxes littered every available inch of space. The Sony camcorder had been turned off and now sat on the coffee table along side. Slippers was tearing around the house chasing after a cat nip mouse that had been in the toy filled stocking that Flack had picked up just for her at Pet Smart the week before. Kieran was busying himself with the box that his Fisher Price Tool Bench had come in. There were boxes of toys everywhere. From cars and trucks to a Fisher Price Garage and Learning Table to a three in one walking and riding dump truck that Flack knew, as soon as he had put the batteries in, would drive him nuts within a week.

"All that and he plays with a box?" Flack shook his head as he and Sam relaxed on the couch. His arm around her as she was snuggled into his side, her legs tucked underneath her and her head on his chest.

"It's the greatest thing in the world to him," Sam said, laughing as Kieran tipped the box over and plopped it onto his head. "He's a ham like you," she informed her husband. "And is he not best friends with the camera or what? He sure is full of himself."

"I wonder where he gets that from. His mother, you think?"

"Pardon me? I think you've got me confused with yourself. You're the egotistical one."

"Me? Never?"

She giggled and pressed a kiss to the underside of his chin. "Right…and bears don't shit in the woods. You know what they say about guys who are that full of themselves? Who think they're the shit?"

"I don't think it," he corrected her. "I know it."

"Whatever."

"And what do they say? And whose they anyway? Are you going to psycho-analyse me again, Samantha?"

"They. As in the experts. Apparently it means you're actually lacking in self-confidence."

"Yeah?" he reached out and lay a hand on the back of her head. "Well I've always been a study in contradiction."

"Very true," she said, and kissed him softly.

"Mommeee," Kieran got himself up onto his feet and than toddled, somewhat unsteadily, over to where his parents sat. "Daddeee…" he reached up, opening and closing his fists several times. A clear indication he wanted to be picked up.

"Come here, big guy," Flack said, removing his arm from around his wife and leaning down to scoop his son up and settle him in between them. The smell hit him immediately. "Jesus, Kieran…do you have to?"

"That's a ripe one," Sam declared. "Even I don't think I can deal with that one."

"Fine," Flack sighed and got up from the couch. "But don't be going to all your friends and bitching and moaning that I never do my fair share of diaper changing. 'Cause by the smell of it, this one takes the cake."

"Could be worse," Sam said, as her husband picked their son up. "He could be smearing it all over the place again."

Flack grimaced and shuddered at the memory. "You know, I hope this baby is a girl. 'Cause girls can not be as gross as boys. No way."

"Shit is shit, Don. No matter what sex is dealing it out," Sam reasoned, getting to her feet as well. "I'm going to start cleaning everything up. My folks should be back soon. And we've got a lot to do before we head to your parents."

"Let's just hope that the natives will co-exist peacefully," he said, as he carried Kieran from the room.

"Where are you taking him? There's wipes and diapers out here."

"I've got to get something out of his room. Might as well kill two birds with one stone."

"What do you have to get?" she asked.

"It's a surprise," he replied simply and disappeared down the hall.

Sam went and grabbed two green garbage bags from under the sink and set to work cleaning up the living room. She had honestly never seen such a mess. Or that many toys in one house. There was enough new toys alone to open up a day care centre and not have any of the kids battling over the same item. It was disgusting and excessive, yet she just couldn't help herself from going overboard for her son's first Christmas. And neither she, or Flack had gone without either. Mostly new clothes. Some books and Cds and DVDs. In her stocking a five hundred dollar gift certificate to Macy's so she could pick out whatever she wanted that she hadn't managed to score in other presents. Next to the Rangers tickets, Flack's big haul had been a new white and yellow gold Tag Hauer watch he already sported proudly on his right wrist.

"Looks like Hurrican Kieran blew through the place," Sam commented, as she heard the two men in her life coming down the hall and into the living room. Kieran's incessant babbling always gave him away.

"Is it just me?" Flack asked. "Or does our son always have a lot to say?"

"We are his parents," she responded, stuffing garbage into one of the bags. "We're both like that. So we can't really lay blame."

"If he could talk, like real words, I bet you he'd be telling us off right, left and center."

"I wouldn't doubt it," she said, and glanced over as they came further into the living room, Kieran toddling beside his dad, holding onto Flack's pant leg with one hand, and a brightly coloured gift bag with the other. His father helping bare the burden a little by holding onto the handle with two fingers.

"What are you two up to?" she asked.

"It's a special delivery," Flack replied. "Santa dropped this one by and wanted me to hold off on giving it to you until the bitter end."

"Okay…" she said, eyeing him sceptically. "What is it?" she asked, as she got to her feet.

"I don't know," he told her. "It's from Santa. It was already wrapped when he brought it."

She sat down on the couch and Flack lifted both Kieran and the bag onto the couch. He took a seat beside her and moved Kieran onto his lap. Watching as she lifted the elaborately wrapped gift from the bag and than let the baby assist in unwrapping it.

Tears immediately sprung to her eyes when she saw what was underneath all the paper. It was the last thing she had ever expected to be opening on Christmas morning. Especially at her age. But there it was. Twenty-three years later, the one gift she had coveted more than anything on earth.

A Cabbage Patch kid.

Emotion caught in her throat and she laid a hand over her chest. She couldn't speak. All words seemed to fail her. Her hands shook and the tears finally came, spilling hot and free down her cheeks.

Flack felt himself choke up. He'd never seen his wife like that. About anything. Ever. He'd seen her get emotional and shed a tear here and there about something nice he'd done for her, but he'd never seen that raw emotion come over her. Other than the night their son was born.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, brushing frantically at her tears.

"Why are you sorry?" he asked.

"Crying like this. Over a doll."

"I'd rather see you cry because you're happy over getting a present than cry over something horrible and crappy happening to you," he told her.

"You have no idea how much this means to me," she whispered, than leaned across the couch and laid her hand on the side of his face and kissed him softly. "Thank you, Donnie. You just have no idea."

He wouldn't tell her the hassle he'd gone through to find that doll. Or that he had had to pay a ridiculous amount for it at an antique store. None of that mattered. All that mattered was seeing her reaction and the realization that he'd made her that happy.

"Can I open it?" she asked.

"Isn't that what you're suppose to do? Open it and take it out? Play with it? It's a toy, right? Just promise me it will not sleep on our bed. That I could not deal with."

"I promise," she vowed, and carefully tore open the box and lifted the doll and small envelope from it.

"What's that?" he asked, nodding at the envelope.

"Adoption certificate," she replied.

"Come again?"

"When you bought her, you adopted her. So she comes with adoption papers. It's how we know what her name is."

He sighed and shook his head. "I'm starting to think I want to have all boys. Girls just come with way too much weird, confusing stuff."

"It's just a nice little touch," Sam said, and ripped open the envelope and removed the contents.

"What's her name?" Flack asked curiously.

"Her name is Alannah Olivia-Rose," Sam read. "That's a beautiful name."

"It's alright," he said, and reached over to pick the doll up. He held it out at arm's length, to keep it away from Kieran's grabby, greedy hands. You just helped me score huge Brownie points, he thought, than handed the doll back to his still teary wife.

She cradled it to her like a baby. Than smiled at him and picked up his hand and held it tightly.

He smiled as well and moved both of their hands to her stomach. Where their baby was safe and warm and would soon be thriving and growing. He wrapped his arm tightly around his son and pressed a kiss to the top of Kieran's head.

And they all sat there. Enjoying the silence. As a family.

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers!! Please just drop a review folks! It makes my day and lets me know if I should continue with these stories or not.**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz  
****Brttmclv  
****Hope4sall  
****muchmadness  
****Forest Angel  
****TruLuv  
****Wolfeylady  
****GregRox  
****Shopaholic20  
****bluehaven4220**


	28. Best Kept Secrets

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* * *

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DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK, BABY KIERAN AND THOSE YOU DON'T RECOGNIZE

**THANKS TO ALL OF YOU! YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING! YOU HELPED ME REACH 300 PLUS REVIEWS IN ONLY 27 CHAPTERS! TO ME THAT'S INCREDIBLE AND I APPRECIATE ALL OF YOUR SUPPORT!**

**Best kept secrets**

"If I had my way  
I'd corner him and say  
Put yourself in her position  
All she needs is recognition  
Love's not enough when you say it  
Don't you know you've gotta mean it  
Screwing up the best thing ever  
Is something you'll regret forever."  
-Sleepless Nights (Never Let Her Go), Faber Drive

* * *

It was three thirty in the afternoon when Flack exited the Queensboro bridge and began the fifteen minute drive to the suburb known as Flushing. To the modest, well kept grey brick home that he had grown up in and his parents still called home nearly thirty-three years later. Despite the thaw that had taken place between him and his father after Kieran's birth, there was still a part of Flack deep inside that had ever fully healed from the hurt and torment that his old man had caused him not just as child, but off and on through the last thirty-two years of his life.

He'd never forgive his old man completely for the beatings he consistently laid on his two sons and wife. All the nights he'd come home drunk and ranting and raving about the evils of the world and snap at some small thing one of his boys had done. Physical wounds healed. But the psychological ones lingered and every so often bubbled to the surface. He was fucked up thanks to his old man. He knew that. He knew that his jealousy and possessiveness and his need to have full control over his wife and now his child directly stemmed from seeing his dad treat his mother and his kids the exact same way. In a way, he didn't know any better. That was the role model he had growing up. And no matter how he tried or no matter how many times he vehemently swore he'd never be like his old man, the truth was, to an extent, he was just like him. He had his name, his looks, and the cocky, kiss my ass attitude that served Flack well on the streets but didn't go so well at home.

The difference was that he had a wife that wasn't a doormat. She simply refused to be. She held him accountable for everything he did or said. And called him on it when she felt he was stepping over the line. She didn't tolerate his shit and wasn't afraid to stick up for herself. She would, and had on many occasions, tell him where to go and give him detailed directions on how to get there. In a year, she'd packed his bags on more than one occasion and told him to go. To take his shit and just leave. She wasn't messing around and he knew it. He never left. He had no intention on leaving. The seriousness and legitimacy of her threats kept him scared enough to take a step back and exam the way he was. She loved him but could take care of herself, and their son, just fine on her own. And she let him know that.

He wasn't prepared to live without them. He didn't even know if he could. So he got his act together the best he could and went to therapy when he felt he needed it. He accepted that talking to someone wasn't a weakness. He'd been going to see the same shrink for more than a year and a half and the guy had done wonders in helping Flack keep himself on the straight and narrow. To prevent himself from going that small, extra step from attentive and loving, if not a tad protective, husband, to a full out ignorant and abusive bastard. The shrink had helped him get himself sober time and time again. Alcohol was his struggle and Flack had accepted that. He had fallen off the wagon more times than he liked to admit.

But he wasn't going to be like his father. He wasn't going to bash around his wife and his kid. Kids, now that they had found out Sam was pregnant. He wasn't going to cause the mental or physical anguish that his dad had through the years.

And through the years, through all the name calling and punishments and the heartbreak that his old man had caused him when Flack had found out his father hadn't gave a shit enough to visit him while he was so critically wounded from the bombing, one thing bothered him the most.

The hurtful, bitter words that his father had spoken about Samantha and their now eleven month old son. He would never, ever forgive his father for being so vicious and cruel. For calling his then soon to be daughter in law names and for suggesting that the best thing for Flack's career would be to destroy the life that he and Sam had created together. A tiny, precious life that in the end had transformed Flack into a better man. Because in the end, arrest records and titles wouldn't matter. His life wouldn't be measured by the kind of cop he was. But by the kind of human being he was.

He had never told Samantha about that night at his parents house when he'd gone to tell them about the engagement and the baby. She had been through enough agony in her life without having to hear what a pathetic asshole his father was. Flack doubted he would ever tell her. It simply didn't matter anymore. It was in the past and things were decent between her and his old man. He talked highly of his daughter in law and doted on and cherished his grandson. He was an adoring and attentive grandfather. Flack supposed it was his dad's way of making up for how shitty things had been when he was a kid. He wasn't expecting an apology from his old man. That was like waiting for hell to freeze over. But seeing his dad with Kieran, seeing the father that his dad could have been was almost enough.

But not quite.

* * *

Samantha was fast asleep in the passenger's seat, her head resting against the cold window. It never failed. The woman always started yawning as soon as she buckled herself up and was usually out like a light before they even got into the middle of the bridge. If she wasn't driving, it was damn certain she'd be taking a nap. She claimed that the motion of the car did one of two things. Make her sleep, or make her puke. Thankfully, the latter hadn't happened. Although there'd been a couple of moments of severe nausea as they got ready for the return of her parents. Crackers and milk seemed to be working so far. But she could only drink milk and eat saltines for so long before people started wondering if something was up.

They had agreed not to tell her parents until they returned to Arizona. Flack felt bad about it and had been vehemently against the idea when she'd brought it up. It made more sense, he argued, to just spring the news on them while they were there than wait the two weeks until they left and try and find plausible excuses to why she felt as rotten as she did. Sam's argument was that she would rather deal with the inevitable nastiness and negativity her mother would toss out over the phone than in person. He'd sighed and reluctantly went along with the plan. He just hoped pulling it off wouldn't be as hard as he was imagining it was going to be.

His in laws were in the very back. Flack could tell by the silence between the couple that Christmas Eve hadn't been much of a silent night between the two of them. More than likely they had gotten into some major scrap. From what both Adam and Sam had told him in the past, Sarge and Lynne got off on fighting. They fought about everything and anything. Who does that sound like? he'd asked Sam when she had commented about it not long ago. Flack was convinced that Sam had inherited her nagging and her penchant for picking nonsense fights from her mother. All because she not only liked to see him get all riled up, but because she thoroughly enjoyed the wild, crazy and somewhat violent make up sex that ensued afterwards.

Adam was in the middle row of seats with Kieran buckled in tightly in the car seat alongside of him. Gus had left on an early afternoon flight to New Orleans. She had family back home that were dying to see her and unable to travel on their own accord, so she'd made the trip herself. Adam had been disappointed that he wasn't able to join her for the week. He was, after all, her future husband, and her family desired to meet him prior to any wedding, just as much as he wanted to get to them before hand as well. But fate had other ideas. Well, real life did anyways. Mac just could not afford to spare his best lab tech when there were four other less reliable and less qualified techs already on holidays.

Flack's mom had invited Adam along for Christmas dinner when she had heard about his plight from her daughter in law. Patricia had meet Adam on several occasions and found him down to earth and unassuming and well mannered. He was a relatively quiet and unabashedly shy kid. Unlike his older sister in every which way shape and form. And because he was related to her daughter in law, Patricia had adopted the philosophy that Adam Ross was just as much a relative to her as Sam was.

Kieran giggled noisily as Adam, a bright green dragon puppet from Baby Einstein perched on his left hand, spoke to his nephew in a deep, animated voice.

"I'm gonna get you, Kieran Flack…I'm gonna get you and I'm gonna eat you like a big fat cookie!"

The puppet 'attacked' the baby's stomach and Kieran let out a piercing, gleeful shriek that nearly rattled the windows and busted everyone's ear drums.

"Jesus," Sam grumbled, not opening her eyes. "Whose killing the baby?"

"Sorry," Adam said sheepishly. "I forget how excited he gets over this thing."

"I think the two chocolate puddings he devoured before we left the house has something to do with how wound up he is, too," Flack complained.

"Again, my fault," Adam apologized. "I had no idea that Sam had already let him have one and he was climbing all over me while I was eating mine and when he flashes those blue eyes and does that little pout thing he has going for him, I just can't seem to say no."

"You mean this pout?" Flack asked, and stopping at a red light, turned around in his seat and gave his brother in law the exact replica of the pout he knew his son was infamous for.

"That's it!" Adam exclaimed.

Sam laughed. She didn't have to see it to know what it looked like. "That's Don's 'what do you mean I'm not getting lucky?' pout," she said.

"Which means he must not use it very often," Adam said dryly.

Flack chuckled. "Nice one, Ross," he praised. "You're learning well from the master of one liners."

"Why thank you," Sam said with a loud yawn.

"You wish," Flack told her and glanced over at her. "You alright?" he asked.

"I guess," she replied. "Can you turn up the heat a bit? I'm freezing."

"Sammie, it's sweltering in here," Adam complained. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," she said. "I'm just cold."

"Well here than," Adam unbuckled his seat belt momentarily and slipped out of his winter jacket and passed it into the front seat. "Use that to keep warm so the rest of us don't die of heat stroke."

"Thanks, peanut," she said appreciatively and snuggled under his jacket. "You smell good, Adam," she complimented, breathing in the scent off his coat.

"My lady likes me smelling purty," he said, doing up his seat belt. "Seriously though, Sammie, you don't look so good. And if you're feeling hot and than cold like you've been complaining about you might have come down with the flu or something."

"I'm fine, Adam," she assured him.

"'Cause you know, there's been some crazy stuff going around work lately and the last thing you need it to be passing something around, especially to Kieran seeing as he's having that operation in two weeks."

"Adam," she said forcibly. "I am fine."

"You don't look too fine and I'm just worried that…"

"She's fine, Adam, " Flack told him, shooting his brother in law a stern glare through the rear view mirror.

"Alright…alright," Adam held up his hands defensively. "I am just expressing my concern."

"Thank you, Peanut," Sam said. "But really, I am fine. Just really tired and feeling worn down."

"I don't know why," Lynne commented from the far back. "It's not like you do that much. You've been off from work for three days now and I've barely seen you pick up a dust cloth or sweep or mop the floor let alone do laundry or make a meal."

"Oh here we go," Flack muttered.

"It's not like you're run off your feet or anything. When I had you and Adam running around the house, I still managed to get the housework done, make proper meals and work."

"You worked part time, mother," Sam reminded her. "You weren't working forty, sometimes fifty, sixty hours a week and trying to balance all of that."

"You never were much of a homemaker and a cleaner," her mother continued. "And all men like a clean house and home cooked meals."

"Yeah?" Flack asked. "Well I prefer my wife spending her spare time with my son. And if I gotta walk through shit on the floor and eat out of a can or a frozen dinner done in the microwave, as long as my kid is happy and taken care of that's all that matters to me."

"She hasn't been working for almost a week and she's had all the time in the world to keep a clean house," Lynne argued back.

"Our house is clean. It's not like we're living in squalor," Flack told her, keeping his temper in check. "I'm sorry if it's not spotless and we don't have plastic on the furniture. We eat dinner while sitting on the couch watching television some nights. We leave our clean dishes in the rack for a couple days and grab whatever we need right from it if we have to. We let the laundry pile up so it's falling on the floor and we're practically tripping on it. And sometimes, we actually leave the empty toilet paper roll on the spool and leave the full roll on the back of the toilet or on the counter."

Sam buried herself under Adam's jacket and snickered.

"And you know what else we sometimes do?" Flack continued. "Sometimes we eat take out for an entire week. Sometimes even twice on a Saturday. And yesterday, to kill two birds with one stone, I actually brushed my teeth in the shower while I was getting ready for work. Now if that isn't the height of laziness I don't know what is."

"I am just trying to say that…"

"I know what you're trying to say, Lynne," Flack cut her off. "You're trying to say that you're daughter is nowhere near as perfect as you."

"Heavy on the sarcasm," Adam muttered and flashed his brother in law a discreet thumbs up.

"So what if the apartment is cluttered and we can't find our keys most mornings," Flack said. "Hell, hours we work, we can barely find five minutes to take a shit most days. So the dishes and the laundry get left a little longer than they should and we're not eating five course meals every nights. What matters is we're happy and Kieran's taken care of. It's the way we live. We like living that way. And honestly, it's really none of your goddamn business."

"So take that," Adam said with a slight chuckle.

"I don't know how you people can live like that," Lynne huffed.

"I will reiterate what I just said," Flack told her. "We like it and it's none of your business. So keep your nose out of how me and my family live our lives. Maybe if you hadn't have been doing so much cleaning and homemaking way back when you would have cared more about your kids being bashed around and the fact that your husband was turning your daughter into his stand in wife every night for nearly five years."

A stunned silence overtook the other passengers. Lynne let out a loud, startled gasp and laid a hand over her chest. Clearly shocked by what she had just heard come out of her son in law's mouth. Both Sarge and Adam were wide eyed. Sarge in utter disbelief and Adam in surprise that his suspicions had just been inadvertently confirmed after all of those years. Samantha popped her head out from under Adam's jacket and gave her husband a cold, vicious glare. Tears welling in her eyes as she shook her head.

Flack couldn't believe that he had even said what he had. As far as he knew, he was the only person Samantha had ever trusted with the truth about what her father had actually been doing to her as a child. And he had promised her, after listening to her confession with the utmost feeling of disgust and rage flooding his entire body, that he would never, ever tell anyone as long as he lived.

And he'd fucked that up.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Lynne hissed from the backseat.

"You know what? I do. More than you realize. I know that your husband was a sick fucking bastard who liked having sex with a little girl. His little girl. And I know you just sat around and let it happen and let him kick the shit out of your kids every chance you got."

"Donnie, please," Sam practically begged. "No more. Don't say anything else."

"Why? Why can't I say anything? You're my wife. And I'm not going to sit around and let her, or anyone else, talk to you like that. After what went on it that house, right under her nose, she owes you a hell of a lot. And she's damn lucky I even have her in my house and around my son knowing she tolerates that kind of sick and demented shit."

"I never tolerated anything!" Lynne informed him. "Nothing like that ever happened in my house! My husband would have never, ever done anything like that!"

"Holy fuck!" Flack bellowed. "You're defending him!?"

"Don…please…" Sam shook her head. "Stop…just stop…"

"Nothing like that ever, ever went on in my house," Lynne repeated.

"Yes, mom," Adam said quietly. "It did."

"Jesus Christ," Sarge breathed, putting his face in his hands and shaking his head. "You knew about what he was doing, Lynne?"

"Of course not. I never would have let him do something like that. And Samantha would have told me if he…"

"I never told anyone," Sam told her mother. "I never even told Adam. There was one friend I told and I never spoke of it again until I told Don just after Kieran was born."

"But why didn't you tell me? If not back than, as you got older?"

"Why bother?" Sam asked. "So you could accuse me of making things up? It's what you always did when Adam and I came to you about something dad did. So I kept it to myself and told the one person I trusted and than I eventually told my husband. Because he wouldn't look at me like I deserved it. Like I was some kind of dirty whore that wanted something like that to happen to her."

"I never would have thought that, Samantha," her mother said sadly.

"What does it matter now, anyway?" Sam inquired. "It happened. I dealt with it. I went on with my life. And maybe keeping it inside for so long screwed me up. A lot. But I think I turned out pretty good considering. And this is the last time I ever want to talk about it."

"Samantha," Lynne said. "Had I known…"

"It's over, mother. I don't want to talk about it ever again. Not to you, not to Adam, not to dad and not to Don."

"That's fair enough, Sammie," Flack assured her, reaching out to take her hand and entwining his fingers with her and placing their hands on his thigh.

* * *

A long, awkward silence fell on the occupants. Until Kieran, oblivious to the tension and shock hanging in the air around him, suddenly gave a musical laugh and kicked his legs excitedly and began gesturing frantically out the window.

"Da-deee!" he cried happily. "Da-deee!"

"What, buddy?" Flack asked, casting a quick glance over his shoulder.

"Tuck," Kieran announced. Pointing a mitten towards his window. Where a tow truck waited at the light beside them. "Tuck…tuck, da-dee."

"It's a truck, K," Flack corrected him, clearly pronunciation the word. "A truck."

"Tuck!" the baby shrieked and giggled and clapped his hands together in excitement.

His innocence and exuberance brought a smile to every face in the car and the thaw slowly began to melt

But it would never be completely unfrozen.

Ten minutes later, Flack was pulling into the driveway of the familiar home on Pinedale Avenue in Flushing, Queens. He parked on the street, behind the burgundy Pontiac Montana minivan that his younger brother Chris had carted his family over in. Flack noticed that his niece or his nephew - or maybe even both in a rare moment of joint peace and solidarity- had erected a snowman complete with one of grandpa's scarves and hats to top it off. Despite it being afternoon and still light out, his father had already turned on the Christmas lights that lined the railing on the front porch and took up residence in the row of bushes along the driveway.

"Where are we, Kieran?" Sam asked, looking into the seat behind her at where her son had just burst into another round of giggling and was bouncing up and down in his car seat and pointing frantically out the window.

"Pa-pa!" he screeched. "Pa-pa! PA-PA!!"

"You know why he likes it so much here?" Flack asked his wife as he killed the ignition. "Because grandpa sneaks him hot chocolate and those little powdered donuts the old man is addicted to."

"Well now I know why he's bouncing off the walls most nights when your mother brings him home," Sam said, unclipped her seat belt.

He caught her by the hand as she went to reach for the handle on her door. "Sam…I never meant for it to just come out like that. About your dad."

She gave a little smile. "I know you didn't."

"I was just really pissed off and I say shit without realizing it when I'm pissed off. I didn't mean to tell everyone like that. And I definitely didn't mean to betray you like that. I told you I'd never tell anyone and…"

She kissed him softly. "It's okay, Donnie. Really. You didn't mean it and no harm was done. It was a long time ago and I dealt with it. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I promised you I wouldn't say anything," he said.

"You didn't do anything wrong," she repeated. "Now can we just enjoy the rest of our first Christmas as family? I know that it's been less than ideal, but you and Kieran are my entire world and I just want to enjoy being with the two of you."

"I think you're forgetting about somebody," he told her quietly, and cast a glance down at her stomach.

She laid a hand on the side of his face and kissed him once more. Longer this time. Much to the chagrin of Adam who was already out of the SUV, but leaning into the backseat attempting to unbuckle his hyper nephew.

"Must you two?" Adam asked. "You'd think you'd take it easy. You don't want another Kieran anytime soon, do you?"

Sam and Flack looked at each other. Content to hold onto their little secret.

"He has no idea," Flack said, bemused. Winking at his wife before opening his door and climbing out to assist his brother in law. "What's a matter, Ross? You gotta masters degree but you can't figure out how to get a baby out of a car seat?"

"It's not as easy as it looks. You do it nearly every day. You've been doing it consistently for almost a year."

"I'm gonna give you Kieran's old carrier car seat and a teddy bear and let you practice. So you're a pro for when Broussard starts popping the kids out."

"I have told you this a million times, Flack," Adam said, stepping out of the way and allowing his brother in law to take over. "Gus and I are going kid-free. We are leaving the childbearing to you and Sammie. I am perfectly content playing uncle for the rest of my life."

"Don't know what you're missing out on," Flack told the younger man as he snapped open the restraints on the car seat. "I always swore up and down that I would never, ever have kids. And when Kieran came along…well let's just say I can't imagine my life without him."

"And neither can I," Adam said. "I mean, I love my nephew and the thought of not having him around kills me. But I also love the idea that after I'm done playing with him and winding him up I can give him back to you guys so you can deal with the aftermath."

"I'm just saying that you should reconsider you're whole stance on not having kids," Flack said, pulling the hood of the baby's winter coat over Kieran's head before lifting him out of the car seat. "There's no feeling like it, Adam. Watching your kid come into the world. It's amazing. Massively gross, but amazing."

"You can handle decapitations, disembowelment's, and all kinds of other horrific, barf worthy things but you can't handle watching child birth?" Adam frowned. "What is up with that?"

"You ever seen what a newborn looks like?" Flack asked, as Kieran wrapped his tiny arm's around his father's neck tightly.

"Sure. I've seen A Baby Story on TLC."

"And you know where a baby comes out of, right?"

"Of course."

"Imagine watching something that looks like that coming out of that spot. And now tell me it's not the least bit gross."

Adam grimaced and grabbed the child's size Bob the Builder knapsack and a garbage bag full or wrapped presents and shut the car door. "Good point," he said, and followed his brother in law up the curb and across the snow covered front lawn. "So…do you think maybe she knew?" he asked, his voice low so that Sam, walking with Sarge and her mother in front of them couldn't hear.

"Who knew what?" Flack asked

"My mother. Do you think she knew? About what my dad was doing?"

"Let's not talk about this anymore, okay? It never should have got said in the first place."

"It was a strange, obscure way of having one of my worst fears confirmed," Adam agreed. "But do you think she knew and never did anything about it?"

Flack sighed. "I hope she didn't," he said. "But I've heard stories where mothers have known that was going on and never did anything about it. I guess they thought the kid was doing them a favour by keeping the husband away from them."

Adam shuddered at that thought. "And Sam's been okay? Since she told you?"

"She deals with it. Every day. And out of respect for my wife, I don't want to talk about this anymore. Okay?"

The lab tech nodded.

"So…what did you get for Christmas?" Flack asked for a change of pace. "From your lady as you so eloquently called her."

"You know, a little bit of this, a little bit of that. Get what I'm talking about?"

"Yeah…I do. And I don't need any mental images of you and Broussard doing the nasty."

"So now you know how I feel about having to listen to locker room talk about my sister."

Flack smirked. "You are in fine form today, Ross."

* * *

The initial introductions went well. The entire Flack family- even Sr, whom his oldest son suspected had already been dabbling in the drink by his unnaturally easy going manner and talkativeness- was on his best behaviour. He and Sarge hit it off right away. They had similar backgrounds with Sr being ex-cop and Sarge being ex-military, and ten minutes into the visit the two men were already downstairs in the family room tipping back some beers and sharing stories. And escaping the noise and boisterous activity that was infecting the rest of the house. Three kids including one very hyper, overactive toddler were enough to drive anyone insane.

"Seems like your father has a new best friend," Patricia commented to her oldest son, who was in the midst of changing his son's wet diaper in the middle of the living room floor.

Adam was busying himself laying the presents they had brought along under the tree while the other guests had retreated into the kitchen. The kitchen was always the hub of activity.

"They're two peas in a pod, mom. Trust me, they will get along just fine."

"God knows your father could use someone decent to chum with instead of those cronies of his," Patricia sighed, handing her son a clean diaper from the baby bag.

"Don't get too excited, mom," Flack said, as he slipped the diaper under a squirming Kieran and sealed the sticky tabs good and tight. "Sarge lives in Arizona. And Sam and I hope that's exactly where her parents stay. Other side of the world would be good, too."

"Antartica would be nice," Adam agreed, as he stood up and headed out of the living room.

"All is not well on the in law front," Patricia observed.

"Sam's mom's a witch," her son declared. "I'd tell you what I really feel, but you'd probably wash my mouth out with soap."

"She does seem a little…what's the word…critical when it comes to her children. I mean, did I really need to hear about how my daughter in law is lazy? The woman had only been here five minutes and she was on Sam like flies on shit."

"It's constant. It's what I've been listening to since her parents got here," Flack said, snapping up the closures on the inside of the legs of Kieran's denim overalls. "It's driving me nuts. Thank God most nights they've been at Gus and Adam's. But still. What guy wants to hear that shit after he's worked fourteen hours? Never mind that. What husband wants to hear that about his wife to begin with?"

"Just tell the bitch to fuck off," Patricia advised.

Flack grinned and gathered up the dirty diaper and used wipes as Kieran rolled over onto his stomach, got onto all fours and than pushed himself up into a stand. "Watch it, mom. Or I'll be the one washing your mouth out with soap."

"I am just being honest. And I am telling you right now, Donnie, she has so much messes a hair on my daughter in law's head, and I will be on her ass like nobody's business."

"That's it, mom," he laughed as he got to his feet. "Go all cop on her. Sam will just love that. She has a thing for cops, you know."

"Obviously. I can't imagine what else she'd see in you," Patricia teased. "Everything is okay? With you and Sam?"

He nodded and followed slowly behind Kieran so the baby wouldn't go wiping out on the hardwood floor. He was notoriously unsteady on his feet. "Why wouldn't it be?" he asked.

"You two seem a little…I don't know…quiet. Not yourselves."

"Sam's not feeling very well," Flack told his mother. "She hasn't been sleeping well and she had to up the dose on her meds just to deal with her mother. She's a little out of sorts."

"But everything is okay with the two of you?"

"Mom, I just said…"

"I know what you just said. I am just making sure. Because I know the problems that the two of you have gone through. It was one of my spare bedrooms you took over for a few days on two separate occasions when things weren't going so well. Remember?"

"I swear to you, everything is fine with us. Things have never been better, actually. Sam's just not feeling well. Plain and simple."

Patricia eyed her son sceptically.

"What?" he asked with a laugh. "Everything is fine. How many times do I have to say it? Go and ask her and Sam will tell you the same thing."

"Tell who what?" Sam asked, as she stepped into the living room with a sippy cup of apple juice in her hand.

The source of the first issue of the day. She had forgotten to pack a sippy cup for Kieran. Something she had discovered the moment they'd stepped in the house and gotten the kid out of his snow suit. She was damn near frantic over the cup and her mother's sly comment of how her daughter would forget her head if it wasn't attached had only added insult to injury. Thankfully, grandma and grandpa Flack had a stock pile of sippy cups and just about any other item of baby crap you could think of.

"My mom thinks you and I are getting a divorce," Flack told her.

"I never said that," Patricia scolded him. "I merely asked if things were okay with the two of you?"

"Why wouldn't they be?" Sam asked, setting the cup down on the floor where Kieran would see it.

"Exactly what I told her," Flack said.

"I was just commenting that the two of you seemed a little out of sorts," Patricia told her daughter in law.

"I'm just not feeling very well," Sam said, taking a seat on the floor alongside of Kieran who'd plopped down to enjoy his drink. He smiled at her and shuffled closer and leaned into his mother's warm, familiar body. "It's no big deal," she assured her mother in law, combing her fingers through her son's dark hair.

"Anything I can help with?" Patricia asked. "I have just about every cold and flu medication in the house."

"I'm okay," Sam replied with a smile. "Really. There's nothing you can do."

"Well alright," her mother in law said with a sigh. "But I'm going to make you some tea just to be on the safe side."

"De-caf, mom," Flack said, as his mother headed from the room. "If you have it…"

"That stuff tastes like crap," Patricia complained.

"De-caf," he repeated. "Please."

She arched a quizzical eyebrow but said nothing more as she left for the kitchen.

"You haven't told her yet?" Sam asked, as her husband joined her in the middle of the living room floor.

"I didn't just want to spring it on her as soon as we arrived," he replied. He wrapped an arm around his wife's slender shoulders and pulled her into him and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You okay?" he asked.

"My stomach's a bit queasy," she replied, leaning her head against him. "But I had some milk and it helped a bit."

"That's good…but I wasn't talking about that."

She sighed. "I'm fine," she said. "I just wish she wouldn't be so mean all the time. Do you see where I get it from now? All the things I say when I'm angry and we're fighting? Do you honestly see where that comes from? You grow up listening to that and you start to think it's okay to be that way too."

"Sam, you are nothing like your mother. You say things when we're fighting and you're pissed off. So do I. It's just the way we are when we argue. We say mean, hurtful things. I'm just as much guilty of that as you are. But the difference between you and your mother is that you're not saying things to intentionally hurt people."

"But do you see? Why I am the way I am?"

"You're not any way, Sammie. You're just you."

She laughed softly and nuzzled her nose against his neck. "You're so damn diplomatic sometimes."

"No…I just love you and accept you the way you are."

She smiled and pressed a kiss to the underside of his chin.

"You know, you're going to have to go to the doctor and see if it's okay to be taking all those meds while you're pregnant. And we're going to have to find out when it actually happened. Because I would have sworn you had a period in the middle of November."

"I did. But it wasn't much of one. Just some spotting that last a day."

"So you could have hardly been pregnant or just gotten pregnant? Is that normal? To have blood like that?"

"Nothing is normal when it comes to us," she said.

He chuckled lightly. "Ain't that the truth."

* * *

Dinner had been a lively affair. A lot of light hearted teasing and conversation and a lot of laughs. Flack Sr entertaining the group with the more funny arrests during his long and rewarding career. Including a story about a perp that had attempted to rob a house on Christmas Eve by gaining access to the home by sliding down the chimney. By the grace of God, there'd been no fire burning that night. Not that it had mattered much in the end. The dumb ass had managed to get himself stuck halfway down and spent nearly six hours trapped in there before the home owners woke up to open Christmas presents and heard someone calling for help. It was a story that his sons and wife had heard more times than they could actually recall. But to see the old man in a joyful, engaging mood was worth listening to tales they had long ago grown bored of.

The men had retreated to the basement after supper to watch television and do what they did best. Curse and swear and drink beer. Adam was in one of the upstairs bedrooms playing video games with Chris' kids while Samantha and Allison and Sam's mother relaxed in the living room and kept an eye on Kieran who was enthralled by all of the toys that his grandparents had showered him with for Christmas.

Patricia busied herself with cleaning the kitchen. She wasn't the type that liked a lot of people hanging around and getting in her way. She liked to do things her way and found that as well meaning as guests were, they just didn't do things properly. So she had shooed everyone out and set to work. Smiling as she listened to her grandson's giggling and energetic babbling and remembering back thirty years ago when his father was that exact same age and interjection energy into the house.

She hadn't given her boys many good Christmases to remember. Their years at home had been more agony and torment and disappointment than anything. A father that was never around and a mother that took on the role of both parents and did her best to keep her family together. She had endured the other women her husband had on the side and the occasional drunken violent outbursts and beatings. Simply because she had loved the man and when things were good they were exceptionally good and when things were bad they were exceptionally bad. Three times she'd packed up clothes for both her and the kids and took off in the middle of the night and spent a week or two at a shelter. Until someone in the NYPD tracked them down and convinced her that her husband was mending his troubled ways and that he just couldn't function without his family. Not that he loved them and missed them and vowed to change. But his job was suffering because of it.

Things got better as her sons got older. They grew up big and strong and could more than handle themselves against their old man. Don more so than his introverted and socially awkward younger brother. Chris spent the majority of his teenage years drinking underage and doing whatever drug was passed his way. His father was constantly bailing him out of one bad situation after another without even so as much batting an eye. Yet if his name sake so as much broke curfew or swore in the house he was in for a world of hurt.

Patricia had come to realize that it wasn't because her husband hated his oldest and first born. It was because he had long ago given up on Chris and expected so much from Donnie Jr. Their son's decision to enter the academy as opposed to head to college on a hockey scholarship had infuriated the old man. He was against his son's desire to be a cop. While Jr saw it as a compliment to his father, Sr saw it as a slap in the face. Because he wanted so much better for his son than to be toiling away for a largely ungrateful city. There was promise there. His grades weren't great but his talent was phenomenal. And as far as his father was concerned, his son had simply tossed a great life away in favour of a difficult and painful one.

Don Flack Sr had come to the realization, as he sat with his son that night outside of the hospital listening to his namesake become emotional while talking about becoming a husband and now a father, that his son's life was anything but painful and difficult. He had a tough job that he was excelling at. He was well respected and admired by his colleagues and his superiors. But what mattered the most was the kind of man he was outside of the job. He was a proud and loving and attentive husband and father. And he was happy. Extremely happy. Flack Sr knew that not only had his son far surpassed him job wise, but as a human being as well. And that if his namesake hadn't made the life choices he had at eighteen, that seven and a half pound infant with a head full of black hair and huge blue eyes and his mother's freckles, resting so peacefully at his mother's beside, never would have made it into the world.

His grandson was everything to him. More so than Chris' two kids. He hadn't been an active figure in their baby days but had been there on a nearly daily basis from the moment Kieran entered the world. He and Patricia tried not to play favourites. But that was damn hard. They spent so much time with that little boy while his parents worked that they had grown accustomed to having a baby in the house after thirty one years. And were saddened in a way that he was growing up so quick.

She was at the sink, up to her elbows in water and soap suds as she scrubbed dinner dishes while others dried off in the plastic rack to her left, when she noticed her oldest son enter the kitchen. She was expecting him to simply grab something to eat or drink from the fridge and than leave again. So she was pleasantly surprised, and a little shocked, when he joined her at the sink. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and snagged a dish towel from the handle of the stove and started attending to the cups and plates already in the rack.

She smiled and arched an eyebrow. "You never did a dish a day in your life when you were living at home," she remarked.

"Couldn't let you do everything by yourself," Flack reasoned.

"It's the way I like to do my cleaning and you know it. How long have you been my son for?"

He smiled.

"You're not in here just to be a gentleman," she said. "You're in here because there's something on your mind and you need your mother to help you work it out. You may be thirty, but you're still my boy and all boys need their mother from time to time regardless of their age."

"I do have something on my mind," he admitted. "But I don't need your help working anything out."

"So there is problems than. With you and Sam."

Flack laughed. "You always think the worst, mom."

"I am a married woman. One who has had her fair share of problems. And Sam just hasn't been herself today. Usually she's the life of every party. Talking and laughing and socializing with everyone. Tonight she just wasn't the Sam we all know. She barely touched any of her dinner and maybe you haven't noticed, but she doesn't look well."

"I've noticed, mom."

"Well if she's ill don't you think maybe she could get to the doctor and see what's wrong?"

"She is going to the doctor. She's going to call her as soon as the holidays are over and the office is open again. But it's nothing serious mom. We already know what's wrong with her."

"Seems like the flu if you ask me. Ever since Kieran got sick there's been one damn virus after another going around your place."

"It's not the flu," he insisted. "Or a virus."

"What, you're a doctor now too?"

"No. But she's not sick, mom. She's pregnant."

Patricia gave a small shriek of both joy and surprise and dropped the glass she'd been washing into the sink with a loud clatter as it hit a plate on it's way down and tossed her arms around her oldest son, trailing soap and water down his back.

"She's pregnant!" Patricia cried, holding her son at arms length. "When did you find this out?"

"Last night. But keep it down, mom. You and dad are the only ones were telling right now. We're waiting a bit to tell anyone else. Especially Sam's parents."

"Your father knows?"

"Not yet. I wanted to tell you first."

"Donnie, that's amazing news!" she hugged him tightly once more. "I had no idea that you two were even trying."

"We agreed to try and have another one when Carmen and Tim got married."

"So it hasn't been that long, than. Honey, that's incredible news. And it happened so quick and effortlessly."

"I don't know about effortlessly," Flack chuckled. "It took a bit of work."

"Yeah, the fun kind," she said and laughed and swatted his arm. "When did you find out?"

"Sam took a test yesterday. We thought at the beginning of the month that she was but the test she took than was negative. She figures it was because there wasn't enough hormone in her body yet to get an accurate result."

"So she's not that far along."

He shook his head. "Month and a half maybe. We're not sure. Things haven't been exactly normal enough to figure it out on our own. She'll get an ultrasound in the New Year to date it."

"Are you excited?" Patricia asked.

"Of course. A little freaked out and nervous, too. I mean, Kieran's not that old. And I know we were trying, but we honestly didn't expect it to happen so soon. We thought a few months down the road at the earliest."

"But you're happy…because this is incredible, Donnie. The two of you are young and it's great for Kieran that he'll have a sibling so close in age to him. You are happy, aren't you?"

"Ecstatic. It's just…I don't know…it's damn scary."

She smiled and curled her arm around his waist. "You did just fine the first time."

He nodded and sighed. "I just don't want to be fuck up, mom. I don't want my kids growing up hating me because I worked so much and wasn't around a lot while they were growing up. I don't want to be like…" he stopped short and shook his head.

"You can say it, you know," Patricia said. "It might do you a world of good to say it."

"I don't want to be like him. That's my worst fear. That I'll be just like dad. And I know you love him mom. And I know things between us are better, but I can't stand the thought of being like him."

"Your father loves you, Donnie. He's always loved you. And he loves his grandson and he'll love any other baby that you and Samantha bring into this world. And he's trying. To make up for the things he did to you."

"I know."

"And I know you're a grown man and all macho and tough. But I also know that deep down you're still hurting like hell for what he put you through. And you know what? It's okay to be angry and hurt. It really is. But you can't let all that anger and bitterness prevent you from being the best father you can be. Because I know you hold back a lot. I see it. I hear about it. You lived with your father for so long that you don't know anything else."

He nodded.

"You're a good father, Don. You really are. But there's more to being a father than putting food on the table and buying him clothes and toys. It's about the time you spend with him and the love you show him. And I know you love your son. But you need to show him that more and tell him more. Or he will grow up and despise you. And I know you don't want that."

"But I'm not that kind of guy, mom. The kind that can just hug and kiss his kid and tell him he loves him."

"He's a baby. And babies need to be hugged and kissed and professed love to. By their mommy and their daddy. Hell, I hope when he's fifteen he still needs all of that. And instead of worrying and stressing so much about being like your father, why don't you pull up your socks and start showing all of us, especially your wife and yourself, that you're nothing like him."

"So what do I do? Just pick him up and hug him and tell him I love him?"

"Yes. That's exactly what you do. Because he's just little, but he idolizes you. And he's going to grow up watching and listening to everything you do and say. And than he'll treat his wife and his kids the exact same way. It's a cycle. So before it's too late, put what your father was like to bed and create you own cycle."

"But how do I do that?" Flack asked.

She smiled and stood on her tip toes and pecked his check. "A little bit at a time," she replied.

* * *

Flack found his old man hunkered down in a lawn chair on the covered back porch. Bundled up in a heavy down filled winter coat and a hat and smoking a cigarette. Staring out at the star filled night sky and alternating puffs of the smoke with swigs of beer.

"Heading out soon?" Flack Sr asked in way of greeting, barely glancing at his oldest son as he stepped out onto the porch.

Flack nodded and stood alongside of where his father sat and leaned against the wall. "It's nearly nine o'clock. Kieran's passed out in that portable play pen you guys keep in your room," he said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his own coat pocket and shaking a smoke out.

"Thought you quit," Sr said, as his son pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit the smoke in his mouth.

"I did. Five or six times in the past year alone. It's my vice. Sam would rather I smoke than drink."

"How's it going with that?" his father asked. "The whole sobriety thing?"

"Been a year now since I touched booze. I went out night before my wedding and got shit faced and did some stupid crap and decided that was the end of my drinking days."

His father nodded. "Heard you ended up in the drunk tank down at Central Booking."

Flack wasn't surprised. He knew his father had 'informants' within the department that kept him up to speed on his son's comings and goings. He was pretty sure that Gerrard was the biggest stool pigeon out of them all.

"Stupid thing to do, Donnie," Sr said, shaking his head and sipping his beer.

"No harm, no foul," Flack reasoned, and heard his father snort in response.

"At least you didn't turn out like your brother," Sr said with a small laugh. "Worthless piece of shit. Kicks the shit out of his wife when he gets into one of his moods and think it's okay."

"All due respect, dad, Chris didn't exactly have the best role model to mirror himself after."

His father didn't have a comment for that. "Well at least you went the opposite way," he said. "Law abiding, great career, well respected by everyone. Hardworking and dependable. You do go work, Donnie."

That was the closet to a 'I'm proud of you' that Flack would ever get. And he wasn't about to complain about it.

"Thanks, dad."

"And you got a beautiful family. Lovely wife, adorable little boy. Sun rises and sets on my grandson. He's the light of my life."

Flack smiled. "I know…and Kieran loves you. You should have heard him as soon as we pulled up. He recognized the house. Kept screaming Pa-pa at the top of his lungs."

Sr broke into a smile of his own. "He's a joy, that's for sure. You've been blessed, son. You've got a nice life for yourself."

"I'm not complaining," Flack said with a grin. "There's something I need to tell you, dad."

"Work related?"

Flack shook his head and took a long drag of his smoke. "Personal."

"Not getting a divorce are you? I'll have to kick your ass up and down the street if you are."

"Nothing like that. Why do you and mom always assume the worst?"

"Maybe because of the three times last year you showed up here bawling your eyes out about fucking things up and worriying about losing your wife and kid."

"Well it's nothing bad, I swear."

Flack Sr look up at his son. "Well, let's hear it than."

"You're going to be a grandfather again," his son said. "Sam's pregnant."

"When'd you find this out?"

"Last night. She's not very far along but the test was positive."

"And she's doing okay?"

"Other than being sick to her stomach, she's doing alright. We'll get her into a doctor in the New Year. Get some blood work and an ultrasound done and make sure everything's okay with her and the baby."

"Your mother know? She's going shit herself when she hears this. Woman is always going on about the two of you having more babies."

"I told mom a little while ago. She's pretty excited."

His father nodded. "That's great news, Donnie. Congratulations."

"We're just telling you and mom right now. So if you'll just…"

"Keep it on the down low? My lips are sealed."

The back door clicked open and Patricia stuck her head out. "I hate to break this up, boys, but there's a little one in here that really needs to get home and get into his own bed. Unless you're all planning on staying the night or you're leaving him behind. Which, your father and I wouldn't mind one bit."

"Normally mom, I'd say keep him for a few days to give us a break," Flack said. "But we've actually got some plans tomorrow and Kieran's included in them. But thanks. I'll be right in."

She smiled and nodded and disappeared inside.

Flack finished his smoke and dropped it into the old rusted coffee can at his dad's feet. "I need to go. I just wanted to come out and tell you about the baby. Merry Christmas, dad."

"You, too," his father responded. He watched as his first born headed for the back door. "Donnie," he called and got to his feet. "You did good, son. And I don't mean with the job. I mean with your wife and your son and now this new baby. You did real good."

"Thanks, dad. I.."

His words were cut off as his dad did that unexpected. Stepped forward and wrapped both of his arms around him in a tight, warm hug. One hand on his son's shoulder, the other on the back of his neck.

"You did good," he repeated, his lips near his son's ear. "And I'm proud of you."

Tears welled in Flack's eyes at those simple words as he embraced his father.

Christmas miracles did happen.

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing. Thanks even to the lurkers! I know there's lots of you! Please review people! It really makes my day and encourages me to continue!**

**Thanks to:**

**Brrtmclv  
****Hope4sall  
****Laurzz  
****muchmadness  
****ImaSupernaturalCSI  
****Laplandgurl  
****GregRox  
****Forest Angel  
****hardylover7477  
****wolfeylady  
****Soccer-bitch  
****bluehaven4220**


	29. Life Lessons

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN. **

**Life lessons**

"Well I take my time  
Never notice changes anyway  
But lately I've been waking up to  
All that we've done, change that has come  
There's just no escaping the damage we do  
But we get along  
Going through our paces in the world  
And maybe I could always be fooled  
But you brought me here, you're making it clear  
You're taking the veil I look through  
Love never lies  
Love never sneaks around at night  
Love won't turn its back on you when you turn out the light  
Love won't ever walk away carelessly  
That's the way that love is, darling."  
-Love Never Lies, Blue Rodeo

* * *

"I'm nervous," Samantha declared.

It was shortly before three in the afternoon on Boxing Day. The sun was high and bright in the sky but was ultimately deceiving. The temperatures hadn't gotten above freezing in nearly two weeks and a light snow was adding to the inches already on the sidewalks and streets.

They stood on the small landing just outside of the Moran's front door. Flack carrying Kieran in one arm and the baby bag on the other, while his wife juggled a large china plate holding various Christmas treats she had made covered with tin foil and a large gift bag that held the small tokens of appreciation that they had brought along for Gavin and Andrea and their grandchildren.

Sam had to spend. It was a rule. If she could come up with an excuse to buy something for someone, than nothing Flack said or did could convince her otherwise. When she'd come home an hour after her shift two weeks ago with a Bloomingdale's bag in tow, he just pictured the charges on the credit card bill that would be arriving the following month.

"What are you so nervous about?" Flack asked, as he reached for the doorbell.

"I don't know…I've just never been good when it comes to meeting new people," she replied. "I'm shy."

Flack's eyes widened and he looked at his wife. "Excuse me? You shy?" he burst out laughing.

"What?" she asked incredulously. "I am!"

"Babe, I can think of a lot of words I could use to describe you. But shy doesn't even crack the top one hundred."

"Okay, smart ass. So give me the top five than," she challenged.

"I don't know…down to earth, bubbly, friendly, outgoing, luminescent."

"Luminescent!" it was her turn to laugh. "You've been reading some big books with big words to come up with that one detective," she teased.

"Detective Sargent," he corrected her, and dropped a kiss on the top of her head before laying a finger down on the doorbell. "Wanna hear number six?" he asked, looking down at her with a sly grin on his face as they waited for someone to answer the chime.

"I don't know," she replied. "Do I?"

He nodded.

She arched an eyebrow.

"Perpetually horny," he said.

She snorted. "You wish."

"Are you going to deny it? Please tell me you're not going to deny it."

"I am not always horny," she argued, shifting from side to side in an attempt to keep warm in the sub zero temperatures.

"Don't lie in front of your son," Flack said. "You're setting a bad example."

Sam smirked and set the bag down on the recently shovelled landing. Reaching around her husband and underneath the bottom of his jacket, she slipped her hand up and pinched his ass. Hard.

"Do you mind, woman?" he exclaimed and jumped away from her. "I know you have a hard time keeping your hands off of me but don't be feeling my ass up in public."

"You've never had a problem with it before," she said, winking at him and moving her hand up even further, this time to rest on the small of his back. "I mean just last night you were…"

The heavy wooden front door clicked open and Andrea Moran stood before them with a bright smile. Dressed sharply in a dark grey pencil skirt and cream coloured chenille sweater. Drying her hands on the festive apron tied around her waist.

"Merry Christmas!" she greeted cheerfully and held the door open. "Come on…come on. No sense standing out in that bitter cold any longer than you have to."

They kicked snow off of their boots and stepped inside the spacious breezeway with its gleaming ceramic tiled floor and its high cove ceiling that boasted a dazzling crystal and gold chandelier. On each side of the front door, running vertically, were elaborate, brightly coloured panes of stained glass. Flack was impressed. So was his wife by the look of appreciation and slight awe that was on her face as her eyes took everything in. All he could think was how in the hell Moran could ever afford a place like that.

"I know what you're thinking," Andrea said, as her guests toed off their boots and set them on the rubber mat by the side of the door.

"And what's that?" Flack asked, as he undid the tie under Kieran's chin that was holding his blue and white stripped wool hat on his head. He stuffed the hat inside of his own coat pocket and unzipped his son's one piece snowsuit.

"You're wondering how Gav and I afford this place," Andrea replied. "Well let me assure you, we are living just comfortable and than some. We won the lottery last year."

Flack's eyes widened. "Get outta here. Are you kidding me?"

Andrea laughed. "Yeah…I am. My father left us a very nice inheritance when he passed. Between what he gave us and what we got selling the old place and using some of Gav's pension, we were able to buy this place, furnish it and decorate it and still have a nice healthy sum in the bank."

"It's beautiful," Sam praised. "I'd kill for stained glass like that. And floors like this. We have hard wood that has seen better days. These are for you," she held out the plate of desserts and the shopping bag. "It's not much. Just some stuff I made and a few little things that Donnie and I got for you and Gavin and your grandchildren."

"You didn't have to do that sweetheart," Andrea said, embracing the young woman and kissing both of her cheeks softly.

Sam didn't react right away. She'd never been a touchy-feely type of person, and didn't feel like she knew Andrea Moran enough to hug her and show that kind of affection. But she got over it quickly and embraced the other woman briefly and drew away with a pleasant smile on her face.

"We wanted to," Sam told her.

"She just likes having another reason to spend my pay," Flack joked. "Boxing Day to her is just another reason to shop. And trust me, she doesn't need anymore reasons to max out the credit cards."

"Ha-ha," Sam scoffed. "Very funny."

"Well, come on in," Andrea said and pushed open the doors that led into the living room.

* * *

It was enormous and immaculate. Furnished with all white couches and chairs and highly polished cherry wood flooring and glass topped tables. A gas fireplace stretching across the wall across from them, the mantle boasting photographs in frames that matched the floor. A white Christmas tree, done in all silver and various colours of blue ornaments and dressed up by a silver and blue embroidered skirt, towered in the corner.

Not the kind of place Flack say someone who shopped at Target living in.

"Gav and the girls and their hubbies are in the den with the boys," Andrea told them. "It's where we put the big tree and all of the presents. We were going to have things in the family room downstairs, but Gavin still hasn't gotten around to adding more insulation and I was afraid it was too cold for a little one to be down there. Did the three of you have a nice Christmas?"

"It was tiring," Flack said. "Exhausting, actually. Nothing but Kieran bouncing off the walls and freaking out over opening presents. We were dead on our feet by the time we got back from my folks and in bed and out like a light well before midnight. And that's rare for us."

"How are your folks?" Andrea asked.

"Alright. My mom's still as feisty as ever and my dad is still as grumpy as ever. Nothing will ever change there."

"They must just love having another grandson," Andrea commented. "He's just such a little darling. I can't get over how much he looks like you, Donnie. Spitting image. Except for those freckles on his nose. Which I can see he inherited from his mother."

"He gets all the cute from her," Flack said, and winked at his wife.

They headed passed a formal dining room closed off with French doors and passed through the massive country style kitchen that was filled with the delicious aromas of a Christmas dinner in preparation. Andrea led the way towards the den situated at the back of the house. Laughter and conversation filtering out.

"Our guests are here," Andrea announced as she stepped into the room. "Take your coats off and I'll put them upstairs on one of the beds," she told Flack and Sam. "And feel free to let the little guy wander around. Lots of toys here for him to play with. Six boys between my girls as you can see. All under five. It's just pure insanity."

Flack set Kieran on the ground and got him out of his snow suit. Watching as his son, all confidence and swagger at almost a year, as he sauntered, albeit a little unsteadily, towards the Christmas tree and all of the brightly wrapped presents that were underneath.

"Vikki," Andrea called to her one daughter. "Get the baby one of his presents and let him open it."

"You didn't have to buy him anything," Flack told her. "Trust me, he's spoiled enough."

"We know we didn't have to. We wanted to," Gavin Moran informed him as he joined his wife and the guests. He and Flack embraced warmly. "Merry Christmas."

"You, too, Gav. Thanks for inviting us. This is my wife, Samantha. Sam, this is Gavin Moran."

"Pleasure to meet you," Moran said, offering his hand.

"Likewise," she said with a bright smile and shook his hand warmly. "Donnie's told me so much about you. About how you used to bust his butt when he was rookie and you were his training officer."

"He was a great pupil," Moran praised. "One of the best, if not the best, that I ever have. I like to take some responsibility for him climbing the ladder so quickly. I like to think that it was my fine supervisory skills that helped make him a detective Sargent at such a young age. Broke a fifty year old department record from what I hear by making it before you turned thirty-one."

"That's what I heard too," Flack said modestly.

"Don't be shy," Moran chided him. "It's a huge deal, Donnie. I'm sure your wife would tell you the same thing."

She nodded and smiled at her husband and slipped an arm around her waist. "I tend to be a very proud wife. I brag a lot to people."

"It's something to brag about," Moran told her. "And trust me, a proud, understanding cop's wife is hard to find. So hang on to this one, Donnie. I don't want to see you going back to your old habits. I'd hate to have find out from this pretty young lady that you're being a scum bag and be forced to kick your ass."

"Don't worry about me, Gav," the younger man said and smiled down at his wife. "I'm not going anywhere. At least not for fifty, sixty years God willing."

"Well come on in and I'll introduce you two to everyone," Moran said. "Make yourselves at home. You want anything to drink? We've got beer, wine, coolers. Pick your poison and we got it. There's pop of all kinds for the abstainers like Donnie here."

"Pop's fine," Flack said.

"Samantha?" Moran asked. "Glass of wine?"

"No thank you. I'm staying away from alcohol. For a little while anyway."

"More like for the next nine months," Flack told Moran.

The older man clued in right away. A broad smile crossing his face. "You serious? You two are expecting another baby?"

"Just found out on Christmas Eve," Flack said proudly.

"Congratulations," Moran embraced his old friend once again. "Great news, Donnie. Looks like the two of you are doing a great job with the one that you have. He's damn adorable. Smart, huh? Walking that good already?"

"He's always been pretty quick at learning new things," Flack said. "Gets his smarts from his mother."

"Well thank the good Lord for that," Moran laughed.

* * *

He introduced them his sons in law first. Rob was his Vikki's husband. A broker for one of the bigger firms on Wall Street. It was owned by his father and he was all lined up to take over the helm of things. Harrison was Diana's husband. A broker as well but for a smaller, less known firm on the lower east side. Both young men were tall and athletic and exceptionally built.

Harrison was blond and well tanned and reminded Flack of a guy you'd see hanging out on the beach in California surfing and wearing nothing but Abercombrie and Fitch. With his perfectly straight and gleaming white teeth and his khaki Dockers and Ralph Lauren polo shirt, the guy seemed he would have been more at home in the Hampton's than related to a retired cop. He was also as phony as all hell and had a weak handshake a voice that was a little too feminine to not draw suspicion. Rob on the other hand -not Robert or Robbie, strictly Rob- was friendly and easy going and genuinely warm. He was tall and dark and big and broad and built like a brick shit house. From his years playing rugby and football at Boston College. And from serving a stint in the Marines. Flack could tell, by the way Moran praised the young man and talked so highly of him that this Rob kid was Gavin's favourite.

"Well I'll be…Donnie Flack," Moran's daughter Diana greeted him with a bright smile as she finally found her way over to where he and Sam were sitting on one of the leather couches, nibbling on finger food and sipping Coke on the rocks.

"Diana," he said simply and stood up, giving her a light kiss on the cheek. "Nice to see you again. It's been a long time."

"It has," she agreed. "I hear you're some kind of big shot in the department now."

He shook his head. "I'm just a detective Sargent. No huge deal. Here you're doing well for yourself. Nice husband, great kids."

"We have a lovely life," she agreed. "Your son is just precious. Looks just like you. I bet you hear that all the time."

"Nearly three hundred and sixty five days a year," he chuckled.

"I can't get over how much you've changed," she gushed. "You're much bigger than the last time I saw you. And the hair. Nice and short."

"And going grey," he added.

"It suits you. Glad to see you cut all of that hair off. Mind you, it was one of the things that attracted me to you. Made you seem like a bit of a bad boy."

Sam cleared her throat noisily from where she now had risen to her feet beside her husband.

"Diana, this is my wife, Samantha," Flack introduced. "Sammie, this is Diana. The oldest of the twins."

"Nice to meet you," Diana said as she shook the other woman's hand. "Never thought I'd see the day when someone tamed him. He was the one that all the girls wanted but none of us could seem to get. Glad to see someone finally managed. What was your secret?"

"I don't think you want me to answer that," Sam responded. "This is a family party. Not an x-rated one."

Flack smirked when he saw the somewhat startled expression that took over Diana's face. Moran's daughter was guilty of what most people who first encountered Sam were. Looking at this tiny, fresh faced brunette and assuming she was the shy, 'take any shit that came her way' girl next door. And she had found out quick, that the Brooklyn girl was no push over.

"Mommy!" Diana's older, Brock, bellowed from the other side of the room.

"Excuse me," she said to Flack and Sam and quickly departed.

"Classic," Flack chuckled as he and his wife sat back down. "That was a real nice line, babe. You're a real pro at starting conversations."

"More like shutting down conversations that don't need to be had between your current wife and an old girlfriend," she huffed and sipped her pop.

"An old girlfriend? Are you kidding me? I never dated her. First off, I was never interested in her. Second, even if I was, Gav never would had let me within ten feet of her."

"So she's just another member of the Don Flack Jr fan club?" Sam quipped.

"More like a another member of the Don Flack Jr flavour of the month club," he corrected.

She glared at him.

"Joking…just joking…don't tell me you're jealous of Diana."

Sam ignored him. "So tell me," she said, swirling her ice around in her glass. "How many of those members did you actually get to taste?"

He grinned and wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head. "You know what? I only have a flavour of my life club now. And there's only one member."

A slow smiled spread across her face. "You are so damn lucky you had something cute to say instead of something sarcastic. Because if anything remotely off hand had have come out of your mouth, you would have found your ass on the couch for many, many years."

"Mom-meee," Kieran chirped as he toddled over to his parents, a large stuffed Ernie doll from Sesame Street clutched tightly in one hand and a sprinkled shortbread cookie in the other.

"Hi, baby," she greeted. "What do you have there?"

"Dis," he responded and plopped Ernie into her lap. Than proceeded to, with some difficulty and a lot of grunting and groaning and hard work, climb onto the couch between his parents, stand up and turn himself around and than plop down hard on his ass, sandwiching himself between his mom and dad.

"Where'd you get the cookie?" Flack asked. "Can daddy have some?"

Kieran shook his head.

"Please? Let daddy have a bite," he said, reaching for the cookie.

"NO!" Kieran screeched. "MINE!"

"Kieran Shaun Donald Flack!" Sam scolded. "That wasn't very nice. Be nice to your daddy. You don't want daddy taking the cookie away because your bad do you? Be a good boy. Now can mommy have some of your cookie?"

He smiled brightly and held it up to her. "Mom-meee," he said.

"Thank you, baby boy," she pressed a kiss to his forehead and took a bite of the cookie. And than smiled victoriously at her husband.

"Oh I see how this works," Flack said. "You have him wrapped around your little finger."

"Actually," she corrected. "I have all the men in our house wrapped around my little finger."

Flack just smiled.

He could find no argument there.

* * *

Dinner had long been served and the dishes cleared away. Both of Gavin and Andrea's daughters had departed for the night. The drives to Long Island and Far Rockaway were time consuming in perfect weather conditions. With the strong winds and snow and the ice pellets that had been coming down for an hour straight, it was going to take twice as long to get home. And the thought of being stuck in a car with small children for longer than was necessary was a terrifying one.

Samantha helped Andrea in the kitchen. Assisting in the rinsing of plates and saucers and cups and silverware and placing them in the dishwasher. The men were still holed up in the den, talking about old times on the streets while keeping an eye on Kieran who was growing weary but still refused to give up playing with all of the toys that the Moran's had bestowed on him.

The two women got along well. They had found there were similarties that existed between them that went beyond simply being married to cops. They had both grown up in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. Sam in the tenament housing complex not far from the infamous, low income building that Andrea had lived in years before. Both were from broken homes. Andrea's birth father had skipped town with another woman when she was five and her mother had remarried when she was in her teens. Both attended St Gregory the Great elementary school and than St Mary's Co-Ed high school. And they both worked part time at the same Denny's as waitresses, even if it was fifteen years apart.

Andrea found the younger woman warm and unassuming. She laughed easily and seemed to be fit in well. She carried on conversations easily once she felt comfortable, and was likeable and friendly. And obviously adored by her husband. And vice versa. It was in the way that the young couple looked at each other. The way they smiled at one another and listened intently when the other talked, their eyes never leaving each other's faces. They were a couple very much in love. Who mutually respected and honoured each other. And who had staying power. Their pride in each other was astounding, and Andrea hoped that they looked at each other, and love each other, that same way fifty years from now.

"Donnie was telling Gavin earlier that the two of you are expecting," Andrea commented, as the two women retreated the kitchen table. She'd plugged in the kettle for some fresh tea and had set a plate of sweets on the table.

Sam nodded. "We just found out Christmas Eve. It's somewhat…surprising."

"You weren't looking to having a baby?"

"Well we were trying to get pregnant," Sam said. "We just weren't expecting it to happen as quickly as it did. It's amazing news, don't get me wrong. We're ecstatic. We're just a little overwhelmed by it all."

"Finding out about a pregnancy always is," Andrea sighed. "I was over the moon when I found out I was pregnant. We hadn't been trying long ourselves and it was just the most incredible news ever. But we were so scared! We'd never been parents before. And when we found out it was twins! Let me tell you, Gavin nearly fainted."

Sam laughed and helped herself to a shortbread cookie. "Donnie would have a stroke if there was more than one. That would just blow him away."

"I know pretty much all there is t know about his family. What about yours? Any multiples?"

"My mom has cousins that are triplets. But their in their sixties now and never had more than one baby at a time. Neither has anyone else in our family. So I doubt the gene is just lingering on waiting for me to find out what I'm having."

"You never know," Andrea said, and got up from the table when the kettle clicked off. "I have heard of stranger things. It could have just been lying in wait all these years and you could be the lucky one."

"I don't know how I'd feel about that," Sam admitted. "One baby at a time is hard enough work. And Kieran's still small. I don't think I could handle him and a couple of newborns."

"Preference? Boy or girl?" Andrea asked, as she poured boiling water into a china tea pot.

"Not really. As long as it's healthy. Donnie really wants it to be a girl I think. He hasn't come right out and said it, but I'm pretty sure he'd love a daddy's girl. Personally, I wouldn't mind another boy."

"You're a brave woman," Andrea chuckled and carried the pot and two mugs to the table, setting them down before grabbing milk and sugar and bringing them to the table as well. "It's decaf," she assured the younger woman. "I drink regular this late at night and I'm bouncing off the walls."

Sam smiled her thanks and poured herself, and Andrea, a cup of steaming tea.

"So you met Donnie at work?" Andrea asked.

Sam nodded. "Outside of the crime lab. It was my first day. Well, it was more of a meet and greet everyone type of thing. I was sitting outside and Donnie and his best friend whose a colleague of ours were heading inside and they stopped to talk to me."

"Talk?" Andrea grinned. "Knowing Donnie flirt is more the appropriate term."

"There wasn't much of that going on. Not on his part anyway. But he was a nice guy. Holding the doors open and stuff like that. I won't deny that I was checking him out though. I mean, how can you not check him out? He's pretty hard to miss with those blue eyes."

"He's a very attractive young man. No denying that. So things happened quick between you?"

"Quicker than either of us expected it to. Our relationship…I don't know if you want to call it unconventional or odd or even just plain bizarre. But we got really serious really quick. We weren't together that long when I found out that I was having Kieran and we got engaged on the same day we took the pregnancy test. Let's just say things have never been normal."

"Who needs normal?" Andrea asked with a laugh.

"True…I just…I never came back to New York expecting to or wanting to fall in love with someone. That was pretty low on my list of priorities. But I'm glad it happened. That I met him that day. Because he came along when I needed someone the most. Even if I didn't realize it at the time. And our lives aren't perfect, but I love him and I love our son and I'm happy with things the way they are. Mind you, there are some days I could kill him."

"Join the club, sweetie. I've been threatening to do it to my husband for nearly twenty-seven years now. And four years before that. Gavin and I were high school sweethearts. Married shortly after high school."

"My mom was married young, too. To my real dad. She was eighteen. But she had me at sixteen."

"That's very young," Andrea said.

Sam nodded. "If I ever have a daughter, I won't even let her date until she's nineteen."

"I used to say the same thing. And Gavin vowed they would never go out with boys until they were close to twenty. They find ways. You were that age once. I'm sure you remember doing things like that."

Sam nodded and sipped her tea. "I dated this boy when I was fourteen. He lived a few doors down from us. He was Native American and my dad just despised him. More because Chester wasn't the kind to take shit from anyone and always stood up for me and my brother. Very assertive and aggressive when he needed to be but for the most part very calm and cool and soft spoken. We used to sneak around to see each other. He was a really nice guy. Once I moved to Arizona that was it. I never saw him again."

"Do you regret that? Would you have liked to see him again?"

"I was going to look him up once I came back," Sam admitted. "But I never got around to it. Because I'd met Don and things happened so fast with us and I never looked back. I still don't. I don't regret anything I've done in the past year and a half since I met him."

Andrea smiled. "Your little boy is adorable. He just sparkles. He's a lot like you in that respect. Looks like his dad but inside he's all you."

Sam beamed. "I like to think that. He's my baby. I can't describe how much I love him. It's nothing I've ever felt before. For either of them, really."

"I have to admit," Andrea said and took a swig of tea. "It was a little shocking to find out that night in Target that Donnie Flack was married and had a child. When him and Gav worked together, Donnie was into a lot of girls. There was never one in particular he saw for a long period of time. So I didn't think I'd ever see the day where he settled down and had a family."

"I don't think he did either," Sam said with a laugh. "I think it all pretty much jumped up and bit him in the ass. I'm sorry," she apologized sheepishly. "My mouth…sometimes I can't control it…the swears get out without me realizing it."

"Honey, I've been married to a cop for twenty-seven years. Ass is the tamest I've heard. It's hard, isn't it."

"What's that?" Sam asked.

"Being married to a cop. Worrying every time they step out the door that they won't come back in. Jumping out of your skin each time there's a knock on the door or the phone rings because you're terrified of that one phone call or that one visit."

Sam nodded. "Our circumstance is a little different with both of us being cops," she said. "But yeah…when he leaves for work I'm scared I might not see him again. Alive anyway. I've had a lot of sleepless nights I'll tell you that much. I don't know what I'd ever do if something happened to him. Seriously, I don't think I could cope. I've always prided myself on being so strong and independent. But if something happened to Don…honestly, I don't think I'd survive. Because he's everything in my life. My entire world outside of Kieran. I don't think I'd be able to deal with something happening to him."

"You would," Andrea assured her. "It's just a reality we accept when we agree to marry them. That the job is dangerous and anything could happen in the blink of an eye. It's why we hug them and kiss them and tell them we love them each time they step out the door. Because we just never know if we will get that chance again. And the last thing you want on your mind is the last memory of your husband being a negative one. Gavin and I used to have this thing that we'd never leave each other angry. Whether we were going to sleep for the night or he was on the way to work. We sucked it up if we were fighting and kissed at the door and said I love you. Just in case."

Sam smiled. "It's a good philosophy to live by. Donnie and I are both guilty of getting into nasty fights and not swallowing our pride and apologizing. Neither of us hate to admit we're wrong. I mean, we've gone days without speaking to one another and we work together and live in the same house. And that's not good. Because one day he will leave after we've been fighting and that's when something will happen to him. And I don't want the last thing I say to him is I hate you, I wish you would never come back. Because I've said it and…" her voice broke off and she put a hand to her forehead as she blinked back tears. "I'm sorry…I think I'm just hormonal."

"No," Andrea corrected gently. "You're just a wife whose madly in love with her husband."

Sam nodded. "I get emotional. When I talk about him and his job and things that could go wrong."

"It's okay. It's normal. I'd be worried if you didn't. And you haven't been married long. You're still getting used to the whole being a cop's wife thing. But trust me, hon, words can't be taken back. I know things get said out of anger. Mean, horrible things. But don't let him leave the house without telling him how you feel. If something does happen, you don't want to live the rest of your life regretting something you've said or done and wondering if he knew you didn't mean it. I've seen that happen to many cops wives after nine eleven. They'd been having a fight or never said goodbye when their husbands left that morning. And that haunts them to this day. And I don't want to see that happen to you, Samantha."

The younger woman nodded and sniffled noisily and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry. I barely know you. I don't get like this with people I barely know. I barely get like this with my colleagues and friends any my family never mind virtual strangers."

Andrea reached out and squeezed the tiny brunettte's hand. "We all need someone sometime," she said. "I had a mentor of sorts when I first married Gavin. Betty Campbell. She was the wife of Gav's training officer. She was always there for me when I needed someone to lean on. Someone to rant and rave to and bitch to when my husband put the job before me. And I know Gavin isn't with the department anymore, but I wouldn't mind being there for you like Betty was for me. You know, someone to talk to that gets it. 'Cause you've got yourself a great guy there and he absolutely adores you. And I'd hate for anything to come between the two of you. If you'd let me, I'd like to be your go to girl for stuff like that."

Sam smiled and nodded. "I'd like that," she said.

Andrea returned the smiled and dipped a cookie into her tea. "I guess Donnie told you. About what went down with Gavin."

"He told me about what happened," Sam confirmed. "And I know it ate at him afterwards that he had to have any part in things. It still bothers him when he talks about it. He never wanted to be involved in it."

"It was his job," Andrea concluded. "And neither Gavin or I held that against him."

"I know. I told him that when he was telling me the whole story the first time around. But it didn't matter how much I told him not to feel guilty about or feel like he betrayed your husband. He needed to hear that from Gavin. And it did a lot for me when Gavin stopped by the precinct to see him and invited us over. I guess they talked and cleared things up and it helped Donnie get over what happened. Helped him deal with."

"He's a good man with a big heart under all the sarcasm and gruff exterior," Andrea mused.

"A lot of people don't get to see that. They just see what he's like on the job and think he's this mean, big, bad police man. And he's not. Outside of work he's loving and attentive and he's an amazing father and a great husband. He's not perfect and doesn't try to be. But neither am I and we accept that about each other."

"We wouldn't want our men perfect," Andrea said. "They'd be too damn boring."

Sam laughed. "True."

"I bet you wonder why I stuck around. After finding out my husband had a whole other secret life. Another child he'd been paying support to for years. One that he threw his entire career away for. Other women on the side for years. She wasn't the only one, you know. I know about all the others. Women he met on his beats that he couldn't resist helping," Andrea made air quotes around the world helping. "It started soon after we got married. He was spending more time at work than at home. It's no surprise they find themselves attracted to women they see every day at the precinct or out on the street when they see them more than their own wives."

Samantha didn't respond. She had her own personal views on men, and women, that cheated. And while she had told herself many times that if she ever found out her husband was fucking around on her behind her back she was packing his bags and kicking his ass out, the truth of the matter was that she didn't know if she could bust up her marriage. She just loved him too much to ever let him go. And with a child in the mix, it made splitting up even harder. She just hoped she'd never be faced with that situation, or decision.

"I wondered," Sam admitted. "But it's really none of my business. It's your marriage and your life. And you make the decisions that are the best for you. And your children."

Andrea nodded. "It's harder you know, to walk away when there's kids involved. You want them to have two parents. Not one and another one that visits every second weekend. You want that stability and a nice place to live and not have to worry about making ends meet. So you stay for their sake. And you put up with whatever crap comes your way. And when you love someone that much…well you'll tolerate just about anything."

Sam just sipped her tea.

"Would you be able to just walk away?" Andrea asked. "If it was Donnie. If you found out he'd done something like that?"

Sam sighed and shook her head. "Probably not. As foolish as it makes me to admit that."

"There's nothing foolish about it. A mother will go to the ends of the earth to protect their children."

"I don't know about that," Sam snorted. "I mean, I know I'd do anything for Kieran. But my mother…she did nothing for my brother and I other than cause us a whole lot of grief. And she still torments us to this day. It's why I am the way I am with Kieran. He's not going to know that kind of life. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure he never experiences that."

"Which is exactly why I stuck around," Andrea concluded. "I hope you never have to go through what I did. I don't wish it on anyone. But as much as I love Donnie and I know he adores you and his son, I'm just warning you to not be surprised if somewhere down the road, he happens to loose his way a bit. It just seems to be the nature of the job. It's like the majority can't help it. That it comes with the territory. But I'll be praying that it never happens to you."

"Yeah…well I'd probably kill him if he does," Sam said, only half joking. "I don't know if I'd ever forgive him."

"You probably wouldn't. I never forgave Gavin. But I dealt with it and so would you. For your son."

Sam sighed and stared into the remains of her mug. She wanted to tell the woman that her husband would never be that low down and dirty to do something like that. That he'd have the deceny to at least end things before moving onto something and someone else.

"But who knows what's going to happen in your life," Andrea said. "You may be one of the lucky ones that have a husband who'd never do that."

I sure as hell hope so, Sam thought.

* * *

Flack and Gavin Moran relaxed with some drinks in the den while their wives busied themselves in the kitchen. Busying themselves was really a code word for gossiping about anything and everything under the sun and comparing tales about stupid things their husbands had said or done in the course of their marriages. Andrea had an encyclopedia of things to share. And even more words of advice and wisdom that Moran knew his wife would be unable to resist offering up.

The Knicks and the Celtics game was on playing on the plasma tv mounted on the wall across the room. Flack sipped black coffee as he sat on one of the leather couches, Moran, a scotch on the rocks on the table beside the easy chair he was sprawled in, had a sleeping Kieran, thumb shoved in his mouth in all, tucked protectively under his arm. Kieran had taken to him easily and comfortably. The minute the baby had been handed his last sippy cup of milk and had his diaper changed, he'd climbed up beside his new found friend, snuggled into him and had made it his new home.

"How's your folks feel about having a little grandson wandering around?" Moran asked.

"They love it," Flack replied. "My folks watch Kieran when he's not at day care and we need to work. Only spot we could get in day care was part time so my mom offered to take him the other days. And she comes on short notice if Sam gets called in on her day off and I'm already working. They love having him around. Keeps them young my mom says. Really helps us out that they're so ready, willing and able."

"And your old man? What's he like as a grandpa?"

"Amazing. Which is surprising considering what a shit ass father he was."

"Trying to make amends," Moran concluded. "He's an old man now, Donnie. Time to let the past be just that."

Flack nodded.

Moran smiled down at the sleeping toddler and ran a hand softly over Kieran's hair. "He's beautiful, Donnie. You've got yourself a great little family. Adorable little boy, lovely wife. Another baby on the way. Don't go messing that up, okay?"

"I won't," he vowed. "It's why we go to therapy."

Moran's eyes widened. "You? Therapy?"

"Shocking, huh? Did you ever think you'd see the day? We started going while she was pregnant with Kieran. We had some issues that we needed to straighten out before things exploded into a massive mess. And we're still going. Twice a month. Keeps us sane and prevents us from strangling each other some days."

"Whatever helps you cope. That's my theory. No marriage is perfect. Some need more work than others. Doesn't make it a bad thing."

"We bust our asses to keep things together sometimes," Flack admitted. "But it's worth it. I wouldn't be sticking around if it wasn't."

"Just don't be going and doing anything stupid," Moran advised. "Don't be meeting no woman at the precinct or the lab or in any other department. Keep your nose clean and your dick in your pants and it's all good. Avoid temptation at all costs."

"You handing out advice now, Gav?" Flack grinned. "Passing along some of your pearls of wisdom?"

"Just speaking the truth. Don't screw things up like I did."

"Doesn't look like things turned out that bad in the end," Flack said. "You saved face within the department, you and your wife are still together."

Moran snorted. "Together…if that's what you want to call it. We're nothing more than roommates these days. You know we haven't slept in the same room let alone the same bed since the whole shit went down?"

Flack shook his head.

"My wife is practically a stranger to me these days. We co-exist at best. And I love that woman more than life itself."

"You tell her that, Gav? How you feel?"

"I've been telling her that every day and begging for forgiveness since the day it happened. She'll never forgive me completely. Or forget."

"Time heals everything," Flack reasoned. "Eventually that will happen in your case."

Moran sighed and reached for his drink and took a swig. "I only have myself to blame, Donnie. So take advice from an old man like me. Don't make the same mistakes I did. You've got something great with your wife. Don't wreck it. 'Cause you will regret it and live the rest of your life a lonely, bitter man. And you'll never, ever forgive yourself. You hear me? Look at me and tell me you hear me."

Flack looked over at his mentor. His second father. Saw the seriousness and intensity in Moran's eyes. "I hear you," he said. "And trust me, I'm not going to do anything to ever cost me my family."

"Good," Moran said and looked away from the younger man and swallowed the remains of his drink. "Because I'm going to hold you do that. And I'll haunt you if you so as much make one small little fuck up."

Flack didn't doubt it for a second.

* * *

The clock on the dining room wall read quarter after two in the morning. Sam only knew that because she'd been using the small flashlight she kept nearby at all times to check the time every ten minutes. The flashlight was a habit she'd held onto since Kieran was a baby. She'd been so paranoid about crib death that Flack had tried to curb her fears by having the baby sleep in the bassinet at the side of the bed, and had given her his flashlight that he normally used for work so that she could routinely check on Kieran and not wake the baby, or Flack himself, up.

She still kept that light with her every night. And while the rest of the apartment was in darkness and deep in slumber, she had been tossing and turning for the past two and half hours. She couldn't get the words Andrea Moran had spoken out of her head. They re-played over and over again in her mind and drove her crazy. And it didn't help that the pull out couch was quite possibly the most aggravating, uncomfortable thing to sleep on in the entire world.

She just couldn't take it anymore. She just couldn't take the overwhelming feelings surging through her. The feelings that she had to say something. To get so many things off of her chest now in case tomorrow was too late.

She rolled over onto her left hand side. Her husband was fast asleep on his side facing her. And as much as she hated what she was about to do, she couldn't help herself.

"Don," she reached out and laid her hand on his shoulder and shook him. "Don…wake up!"

He didn't respond. He simply pushed her hand away from him and kept sleeping.

"Don't be like that," she scolded. And shook him more vigorously. "Don!" her voice was a harsh, urgent whisper. "Don! Wake up! I need you to wake up!"

"Samantha…go away…" he mumbled. "Leave me alone."

"I need you to wake up!" she insisted.

"And I need you to be quiet and go back to sleep."

"I haven't been sleeping," she told him. "At all. That's the problem."

"Well than go and take one of those Ambien things and knock yourself out for about eight hours. Why do you have to harass me and wake me up from a perfectly good sleep because you've got insomnia? Do I really need to suffer alongside of you?"

"Don't be so fucking mean," she said. "And I can't take those because of the baby."

"Than go and make yourself some warm milk. Drink it, come back in here and lie down and count goddamn sheep."

"I need to talk to you," she told him.

"About what? What is so important that you need to talk to me about at…what time is it anyway?

"Quarter after two."

"You're nuts, woman. There's something wrong with you. Why is it you always feel the urge to discuss things with me in the middle of the night?"

"Because we're always so busy during the day that I don't get a chance to talk to you any other time."

He sighed heavily and rolled over onto his back and draped an arm over his eyes. "This better be damn good, Samantha. 'Cause if you woke me up to tell me about some damn stupid dream, you'll be finding yourself sleeping alone."

"It's not about a dream," she promised. "It's about something important."

"It better be. And make it quick. I have to be up in four hours."

"You're so damn bitchy when you first wake up," she grumbled.

"Samantha…come on…out with it so we both can get some sleep."

"I just wanted to tell you that I love you," she said.

He gave a small laugh and removed his arm and looked at her. "You woke me up at quarter after two in the morning to tell me that? That couldn't have waited?"

She shook her head and sat up. "I needed to tell you now so that in case you left without waking me up to say bye that I wouldn't regret not telling you if something terrible happened to you at work."

He stared at her. "Excuse me?"

"I needed to tell you that in case you walked out the door and never walked back in," she said, and promptly burst into tears.

"Samantha," he sighed heavily and sat up as well, wiping sleep from his eyes with his hands before reaching out for her.

His hand fell on her shoulder and he gently pulled her into him. She circled his neck with her arms and continued to cry into his shoulder.

"Baby, what's wrong?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her slender body. One hand on the back of her head, the other on the small of her back. "Why are you being like this? Did you have a bad dream or something?"

She shook her head.

"You're not usually like this. Something must have bothered you or you wouldn't be waking me up at this time of the night and telling me these things and than crying. Are you sure you didn't have a bad dream? Maybe you just don't remember it?"

"No…it wasn't a dream," she said. "It was Andrea."

"Andrea?"

"Something she said. A lot she said. And it made me realize that I haven't always been the nicest, most loving wife in the world to you."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I say things to you when I'm angry. Mean things. Things I don't mean!"

"We both do that. So why….?"

"I don't mean them," she insisted, ignoring him. "I really don't. Last week we got into a fight right before you left for work and I told you I hated you and hoped you never came back!"

"Jesus, Sammie…that was a week ago. I'd all but forgotten about that."

"But I didn't!" she sobbed. "And I didn't mean to say it and what would have happened if something happened to you and I never got to take it back?"

"Well nothing happened to me and you and I kissed and made up and that was that. Why are you letting it bother you now?"

"Because it was a horrible thing to say! Because I didn't mean it and I love you and I don't want you going anywhere."

"I'm not going anywhere. You know that."

"You can't promise me that," she argued. "You can't promise me that you're not going to be out doing a raid or going after someone and something bad won't happen to you."

"No.I can't but…"

"See what I mean!" she broke down into tears again. "That's why I never should have said it!"

"Shhh…just relax…you're tired and probably a little hormonal…just relax and stop worrying about stuff like that."

"I don't hate you," she sniffled against his shoulder. "I don't…."

"I know that. You don't need to tell me that, baby."

"Yes, I do. I do need to tell you. I need you to know that I love you and I appreciate everything you do. I don't say it or show it enough and I need you to know it."

"I do," he assured, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. "I do know that. Just calm down, okay?"

"I don't want my last memory of you being some fight we had and something bad I said."

"You know what?" he pulled back from her and took her teary face in his hands. "Look at me…I don't want you talking like this. Okay? This isn't you talking. I don't know where you got this stuff from, but this isn't you. I plan on being around for a long, long time and I need you to just calm down and stop thinking things like that."

"But I…."

"Samantha…please…listen to me. Stop talking like that and relax. I need you to take it easy. You're not doing yourself, or our baby, any good by getting like this. You know that. Now are you going to stop and calm down?"

She nodded and sniffled.

"Good," he said and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "I know you don't mean the things you say. Just like I don't mean the things I say when I'm upset. And I know that you love me. You don't need to feel guilty about things you've said out of anger. Alright?"

"Alright," she said.

He kissed her. Longer this time, but equally as soft. "I'll be back," he said, and let her go and climbed off the pull out and headed for the kitchen in his boxers.

"You really should put some pyjama pants on in case my mom or dad come out," she said.

"Fuck your mom and dad," came the response as the kitchen light flicked on.

She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her pyjama top. She could her him bustling about in the kitchen. The creaking of a cupboard door and the soft clink of a glass as he removed it from the shelf and it caught another on the way out. Than the fridge door being pulled open and than shut again after thirty seconds. Followed by the microwave being opened, closed and turned on.

"Here," Flack said moments later, as he appeared at the side of the bed with a glass of warm milk in his hand. "Drink it."

"Thank you," she said and took the milk. Than she frowned and bent her head down to the glass and sniffed it.

"Milk's not sour," he assured her, slipping back into bed. "I just bought it this morning."

"I know," she said, and sniffed it again.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Checking to see if you put anything in it," she replied.

He couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah…that's what I did…I crushed up some of you tranqs and dropped them in there and stirred them around so you'd be out for a couple days and I can get some goddamn peace and quiet aroud here."

She frowned. "You didn't really, did you?"

"I'm not in the business of drugging women," he told her. "Especially not my pregnant wife. So do me a favour and drink the damn milk."

"I just want to know if…"

"Samantha, there is nothing in there. I promise you that I did not drug it."

She sighed and took a small cautious sip.

"Jesus Christ," he grumbled and flopped down on his back. "This place is a fucking nut house. I would not drug you. I simply got you a glass of warm milk to calm you down. It usually helps you sleep. I am not trying to kill you, I swear."

She took a larger sip of her drink. "Thank you," she said appreciatively.

"You're welcome," he said, and reached out to lay a hand on her thigh. "You okay now?"

"I think so."

She sat in silence as she quickly finished the milk and he rested beside her. His eyes closed.

She reached over to set the glass on the end table beside the couch. "Are you asleep?" she asked, as she lay back down on her side and snuggled up to him, laying her head on his chest.

"Not yet," he replied. "And you know what? I love you, too. And for the record, I don't mean the things I say either. And I know I can be a real mean, spiteful and hurtful bastard."

She didn't respond. She simply pressed a kiss to the underside of his chin and wrapped an arm around him.

He kissed the top of her head and put his arm around her slender body, his hand resting on her back.

Neither of them spoke the rest of the night. They lay there, listening to the beating of each other's hearts and feeling each other breathe. Their eyes closed. Yet very much awake.

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing. I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers! And I know there's lots of you! So please R and R folks. Just takes a few minutes, if that, to drop a line! **

**Special thanks to:**

**Brrtmclv  
****Laurzz  
****Hope4sall  
****Laplandgurl  
****muchmadness  
****ImaSupernaturalCSI  
****Bluehaven4220  
****GregRox  
****TruLuv  
****Shopaholic20  
****Forest Angel  
****wolfeylady  
****Soccer-bitch**


	30. New Years Eve, baby! Part 1

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN.**

**New Years Eve, baby! Part 1 **

"Seems somebody put out the moon  
Now the road is a minefield  
I can't follow the way she moves  
I can't see past the shadows  
You make the darkness disappear  
I feel found when you stay near  
I know where I am when you are here  
My way becomes so clear  
When you're gone  
Will I lose control?  
You're the only road I know  
You show me where to go  
Who will drive my soul?"  
-Drive My Soul, Lights

* * *

Adam Ross couldn't believe his shit luck.

It was New Years Eve. Shortly before quarter to twelve in the afternoon and he was ass deep in trace evidence and mountains of surveillance tapes from a subway tracks fatality only two hours before were awaiting his attention down in the audio-visual lab. It was suppose to be his day off. The plans had already been made, and approved by Mac, for him and Gus to head down to Atlantic City with Speed and Carmen and Angell and Hawkes. The spot had originally been filled by his sister and Flack, but they had mysteriously cancelled at the last second despite having their hotel room booked and paid for. There was no possible way they could had gotten a refund, so they had done the next best thing and offered the overnight trip up to Adam and Gus as a late Christmas present.

Adam had been looking forward to it. Gus had only been home for a day and he was dying to spend some alone time with her. Those times seemed few and far between as of late. But a string of crimes overnight had prompted an extremely apologetic Mac to call Adam in. For the long haul. He was insistent on having his best lab tech on the job and Adam found it practically impossible to say no to his boss. He was former Marine after all, and sometimes had a stare that just caused you to shake in your boots and nearly piss yourself.

Adam still cowered whenever he thought about the time Mac had lost it on him over Inspector Gerrard getting lab results involving the Emma Pierce case. The young woman who'd been found wrapped in a mover's blanket with packing tape covering her face on Coney Island. Her severed eyelids had led Mac to believe it was the work of the recently released Clay Dobson. It had been Dobson in the end and the shit had surely hit the proverbial fan when the scum bag rapist had taken his swan dive off a twenty storey building.

Mac had reamed Adam out in front of Stella and a relatively packed lab when he found out Gerrard had gotten his hands on some important info first. Adam had never been so embarrassed and so hurt and frightened as he had been that day. There had only been one person who was ever able to instil that kind of fear in him, and by the grace of God, he was dead and hopefully burning in hell.

But it wasn't just fear that prompted Adam to cancel his New Years plans. It had been for the enormous respect he had for both Mac and the entire lab. For his job in general. And because he had plans for himself. Big plans. There was a CSI exam coming up in six months and Adam was determined to not only show up at One Police Plaza to take it, but to ace it and make his way out of the lab and out onto the street where the real excitement was. Hawkes had been his inspiration for that. If an ME could do it, so could a lowly lab tech. And Adam was determined that nothing would stand in his way.

And that included work related tasks that seemed as if they were never going to end. When he had asked Mac over the phone just how long he could be expecting to work, Mac had given that little chuckle that sometimes passed his lips and said, 'Let's put it this way. You might still be here next New Years Eve.' Gus had taken the cancellation of their plans relatively well. She was used to dates being rarely completed and annoying late night phone calls that either woke them from a dead sleep or stop any form of intimacy dead in its tracks. She had simply shrug when he apologized profusely and vowed to make it up to her.

And she'd kissed him goodbye at the door and told him she love him and than informed him, as she stood halfway out their apartment door just as he went to step on the elevator, that she was going to have a great time in Atlantic City whether he was there or not. Than she'd blew him a kiss and disappeared inside.

Life had never been fair to Adam. He was used to getting little to no respect. But if his fiancee happened to hit the jackpot at the blackjack table and dump his sorry ass, he was never going to forgive Mac for as long as he lived.

He was bent over a microscope, intently analysing fibre samples the same way he'd been doing for the last two hours and hadn't seen the two familiar faces enter the lab. His back was aching from standing microscope. He needed a break. Some caffeine and something to eat. A change of scenery even.

Something tugged on the bottom of his lab coat. Once. Than twice. Than a third time. Much more insistent and demanding. He tore his attention away from his work and glanced down. And found himself looking straight into the wide, blue eyes of his nephew. A backwards ball cap on his tiny head and dressed in a pair of baggy cargo style pants and a black hooded sweatshirt with Nike writing across it in big red letters.

"Unc…" Kieran squealed happily and wrapped both arms tightly around Adam's legs. Around one of his tiny wrists was a thick Velcro band, attached to which was a tether of sorts that attached to a matching band on his mother's wrist. So he couldn't get too far in his adventures. "Unc!"

"Uncle Peanut," Sam told her son. Adam noticed she looked exasperated and exhausted and it wasn't even noon hour yet.

"Makes you wish you had gotten a puppy instead, doesn't it," Adam remarked.

"UNC!" Kieran screamed. "UNC! UP!"

"It's been hell on earth all morning," Sam declared. "He won't stay in his stroller so I had to ditch it in the break room with our coats and what not in it. I had to resort to using this stupid leash thing so he won't run around and crash into everything, and he refused to eat breakfast. I made him scrambled eggs just like daddy does and all he wanted was apple sauce and dry Cheerios."

"UNC! UP!" Kieran demanded. "UP!"

"Giving your mom a hard time, huh?" Adam asked his nephew and scooped the toddler up into his arms. And was immediately given a wet and noisy kiss smack on the lips.

"And never mind the pre-op appointment this morning," Sam sighed, running a hand through her loose and flowing hair. "He screamed like a wild banshee through the entire thing. And all they were doing was weighing him and measuring him and making me fill out all kinds of information and sign my life away."

"That was brave of you," Adam said, twisting his head from side to side to avoid the tiny hands attempting to grab a hold of his beard, his hair and his nose.

"Well what was I suppose to do? Take mom or Sarge along and have them drive me nuts? And Don is in court all day so he was a write off. How's it going for you?"

Adam snorted.

"That good, huh? Good thing I'm here to rescue you for a bit than."

"It can't be permanently?" Adam asked hopefully.

"Sorry," Sam said. "But a trip to somewhere warm and tropical sounds damn good right about now. I had called the apartment to see if I could stop by and Gussie told me you got called in. And that she's going to be heading to A.C. alone. What's up with that? You can't get out of work in time?"

"Mac specifically informed me that I am here for the long haul. The very, very, very long haul. How come you and Flack bailed?"

"Don wanted us to spend New Years Eve alone. We got into it a couple weeks ago but how we don't spend enough alone time together. That there always seems to be people around us. He says he misses his wife. And to be honest, I miss my husband, too. So mom and dad are taking off for the night and doing the whole Times Square ball drop and staying in a room at the Waldorf. And Don's mom is picking Kieran up later this afternoon."

"A little late night party session for mommy and daddy?" Adam chuckled.

"Please," Sam laughed. "We'll be in bed and fast asleep before midnight I can guarantee it. So can you get away for lunch? My treat? There's something I need to talk to you about."

"Something serious?" Adam asked, switching his nephew from one hip to the other.

"Not a matter of life and death or anything like that," she replied. "Just something personal and important."

Adam arched his eyebrows. "You're not quitting, are you? Flack didn't finally get the upper hand on the whole you becoming a stay at home mom thing did he?"

"Are you crazy? I will never go for that and he knows it. He can dream all he wants. It is never going to happen. Give up my one social activity? If I didn't work I'd never see anyone. I'd be one of those mothers who know all the theme songs to the cartoons their kids watch and who gather around the park with their strollers and gossip and trade recipes. I think not."

"You need to make friends with the mommies who collect guns and shoot at tin cans and stray cats," Adam quipped.

She frowned. "It was one squirrel, Peanut. One squirrel when I was a kid. And if Sarge's rifle hadn't have had such a damn kick back on it I never would have hit the damn squirrel in the first place."

"Sure, Sammie. Blame it on the gun and not the person shooting it. People with guns kill other people. Not the guns themselves."

"Oh please! You sound like a damn Republican. You've been idolizing Mac a little too much. And as much as I'd love to stand here all day and argue gun control with you, I'm starving. So can you get away for lunch or what?"

"I can do that," Adam said. "If your son will stop sticking his fingers up my nose."

"Kieran!" Sam scolded and pried her son's fingers from his uncle's nose before taking the baby from Adam completely. "I seriously do not know what's wrong with you child! Why is he so bad, Peanut? Tell me! Tell me why my son is so bad!"

"He has you for a mother?" Adam suggested.

"Ha-ha. It's Don's DNA. I'm telling you it is. He produces mutant sperm. He only makes kids that are the spawns of Satan."

"I'm sure he says the same thing about your eggs," Adam said.

"You kidding? He says worse than that. I'm going to take Dennis the Menace here and go and change his bum. If you hear him screaming like a maniac it's because I'm putting him in the stroller. It's nothing to be overly concerned about. Unless it's concern for my sanity because that's almost depleted."

"Should have gotten a puppy like I said!" Adam called to her, as she carried her squirming, shrieking and complaining son from the room. "At least he doesn't talk back and loves you no matter what!"

"Yeah? Do they have an obedience school for husbands and kids that will train them just as well?" she shot back.

Adam smirked and shook his head and started packing away his work.

"And that is why I leave the procreating to you," he said.

* * *

The lab cafeteria wasn't exactly the change of scenery Adam had been hoping for. He had hoped to breathe fresh air and bask in the sunlight a bit. Feel alive and human again even if it was just for a short walk to one of the many restaurants that took up residence in mid-town. The frigid temperatures would have done a world of good waking him up and revitalizing him. But he was so paranoid of what Mac would say if the big boss man found out his lab tech was wandering the streets and spending social time with his sister when there was so much work waiting for him upstairs, that Adam reluctantly suggested lunch in the cafeteria.

Which was how he found himself digging into a greasy cheeseburger and a massive plate of fries instead of something more wholesome and healthy. The cafeteria didn't do wholesome and healthy the majority of the days. Every so often you could get a decent pasta dish or some nice herb crusted fish with rice and vegetables, but all the other days you were stuck with artery clogging fare, that as good as it tasted, was shortening your life span considerably. And Adam had been making a valiant attempt to take better care of himself.

"You're not hungry?" Sam asked, watching as her normally ravenous brother poked and prodded at his fries. Kieran was beside her in one of the cafeteria's supplied high chairs, making a valiant effort to feed himself chicken fingers and fries. Loaded down with ketchup.

"I feel guilty," Adam replied.

Sam arched an eyebrow and sipped a diet coke. The caffeine free type. "Why?" she asked, casting a glance at her son who had ketchup all over his face and hands and more food on the floor than on his tray. "Small bites, Kieran," she said, when he attempted to shove an entire half chicken finger into his mouth. She sighed and took it from him and broke it into smaller pieces.

"NO!!" he bellowed, not impressed with what she'd done.

"Hey!" she snapped, than lowered herself to his eye level and took his messy face in her hand and gently turned his head so he was looking directly at her. "Don't you talk like that to your mommy," she said in a quiet, yet stern voice. "That's not nice. Now you eat your lunch and be a good boy. Okay?"

"No," he answered defiantly and yanked his face from her hand and went back to his food.

Sam sighed heavily and shook her head. "Sorry, Adam….he's just….I don't even know what to say about him at this moment. You were saying you felt guilty. Why?"

"I feel guilty eating this stuff. I'm kinda on a diet."

"Why in the hell?"

"I don't know," Adam said. "I've been trying to take better care of myself lately. Eating healthier and drinking more water and less coffee and espressos and pop and all that other crap. Getting more exercise and extra sleep."

"Sleep?" Sam snorted. "What's that? And if you want exercise, come to my house and watch Kieran for an afternoon so I can get stuff. All his running around, he'll have you tired out in no time."

"All this greasy crap," Adam said forlornly, staring down at his plate.

"Hey, if you don't want it, I'll take it. I'm on a diet myself. A seafood diet."

He arched a quizzical eyebrow.

"I see food and I eat it," Sam quipped. "Get it? A see-food diet."

Adam pointed a fry at her. "That's lame," he declared.

"Maybe," she agreed. "But it's entirely true. Don is absolutely amazed that someone my size can eat as much as I can. And personally, if you ask me, I think you look just fine and you being on a diet is one of the stupidest things I've ever heard. I understand the whole exercise and sleep thing. Shit, I wish I could get more of that myself. But I think you look good, Peanut. And obviously Gussie does too or she wouldn't be with you."

Adam smiled. "You always seem to say the right things," he said, and dug into his food. "And it is amazing, you know. That you can eat that much."

"Well you know how it is," Sam said casually, as she dipped a slice of her grilled cheese sandwich into some mustard she'd squeezed onto the side of her plate. "I can eat pretty good under normal circumstances, but when I'm eating for two, look out. I can pack it away as good as any man."

Adam paused just as he was about to lift his burger to his mouth. The entire comment his sister had just made always went completely over his head. And she was sitting there so calmly, chewing on her sandwich and keeping an eye on her toddler son, that he actually wondered if she'd even said it.

"What did you just say?" he asked.

"I don't know," she replied. "What did it sound like I just said?"

"Sammie, you know what you said. Don't play games."

A smile tucked at the corner of her lips.

"You're pregnant?" Adam couldn't quite grasp the concept. "You and Flack are having another baby?"

"We found out on Christmas Eve," she said. "I took a home test and it was positive. We're not exactly sure how far along I am because things have been a little off as far as my cycle and all of that crap, but the test was positive."

"Another baby?" Adam was astounded. "So soon after Kieran?"

"He's almost a year old," Sam reminded her brother. "And even if I'm two months, he'll be just shy of nineteen months when I have the other one."

"But he's still a baby," Adam said. "How will you manage two?"

She frowned. "I thought you'd be happy for us."

"I am…of course I'm happy for you guys…it's just…surprising. Kieran's so little still and you have your hands full just with him and now another baby? That's insane. And you've known since Christmas Eve and you never told me?"

"We haven't really told anyone," Sam reasoned. "We've just told Don's parents and Gavin Moran and his wife. No one else knows. Not even mom and dad."

"The Morans knew before me?" Adam sounded hurt and disappointed.

"I'm sorry, Peanut. We weren't even going to tell anyone else until after I had an ultrasound to date it. But Don thought it was only right that we told you seeing as your Kieran and any other baby's biological uncle."

"Well at least one of you has a brain," Adam huffed and bit into his burger.

"We had our reasons, okay? We didn't do it to intentionally hurt you. I'm not even telling mom and dad before they go back to Phoenix. And I'd appreciate it if you kept it to yourself. No telling our parents, no telling Gussie and absolutely no spreading it around the lab."

"I don't see what the huge deal is," he said. "Why is it some big secret?"

"Adam, we want to keep it quiet for a while. Until we get the all clear from the doctor and we find out how far along I actually am. I don't see why it matters to you who we tell and who we don't tell. It's how we want to deal with things and I expect you to understand."

"I do understand," he assured her. "It's just…how do you keep something like that from everyone?"

"Because it's our wishes," Sam told him. "Look, we've had one major disappointment since Kieran was born that no one knows about. And no, before you ask, I'm not going to talk about it. So to avoid telling people and than having to go around and hand out bad news if things don't turn out well, we just want to keep it to ourselves until we found out how pregnant I am and than spread the news when I'm past the crucial first trimester. Okay?"

"You had a miscarriage?" Adam asked quietly. "Shortly after Kieran?"

"He was seven months old and things were screwy on the birth control end of things and I was pregnant and it didn't turn out. I was only two and a half months so…"

"Still sad," Adam reasoned. "Still a big loss."

"It's no big deal, Peanut. I wasn't that far along and honestly, Don and I weren't ready to have another baby at that time. We weren't ready, or prepared, at all. And it broke our hearts and we were disappointed when it happened, but in our hearts we figured maybe it was for the best. It was an accident and we didn't want to feel that way about our own child. Things happen for a reason. Or at least, that's how we saw it."

"So you would have had an abortion or gave it up for adoption?" Adam sounded mortified.

"Of course not. No. It was our baby and we would have loved it just the same and taken good care of it. We just…" she sighed heavily. "Do we really have to talk about this? It happened. Simple as that. Can't we talk about this baby that I'm expecting? About how overjoyed and excited we are? Can't we concentrate on that?"

"Of course," Adam told her. "Sorry, I didn't mean…"

"So I called my doctor and I go and get the blood work and urinalysis done in two weeks and they've booked me for an ultrasound at the end of January," Sam said, abruptly changing the subject. "And I was thinking that because it's on the same Friday that Don leaves for that police services leadership conference in Cincinnati and his flight leaves at two and the appointment is at three, that maybe you wouldn't mind filling in for him and coming with me?"

"You serious?" Adam asked.

She nodded and helped herself to one of his fries. "I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to…"

"Are you crazy? Of course I want to. I'd love to see something like that. Especially seeing I'm not planning on ever experiencing it personally with Gussie. I'm just surprised you'd ask me and not Carmen."

Sam frowned. "Why would I ask Carmen over you?" she asked.

"Well she is your best friend," Adam reasoned.

"True," Sam agreed. "And I love her dearly. But you're my baby brother and I love you even more."

Adam felt himself choke up a little at her honest, heartfelt words.

"We've been through a lot together, Peanut and when I got married and became a mommy, I know that the times we spent together have been few and far between."

"You are a mommy, Sammie. And a wife. Don and Kieran come first. I understand that."

"But you're still my Peanut," she told him. "And there's no one outside of my husband that I would love to share the moment with than you."

Adam smiled brightly.

"And God willing, this baby won't be as much of a hellion as this one is," Sam said, and turning to Kieran, stuck her tongue out and blew a raspberry at him.

He giggled and stuck his own tongue out and blew a raspberry right back at her.

"You know," Adam said, taking a sip of his bottle water in an attempt to wash down the lump of emotion in his throat. "You're doing an amazing job, Sammie."

"Thanks, Peanut," she smiled. "Means a lot to hear you say that. I doubt myself a lot. On my abilities as a mother. And a wife. Sometimes the wife part especially."

"Well don't," he said. "Because if you're pregnant, than obviously your living up to at least one part of your wifely duties."

She laughed and grabbed one of her fries and tossed it at him. "Pig. You're easily influenced. You've been hanging around Don way too much."

* * *

"Now there's a pretty face I haven't seen in a while." Sid commented as he appeared at the side of the table in his usual navy blue scrub set and his glasses hanging around his neck. A take out container of food in one hand and an extra large cup of coffee in the other. A copy of that day's Times tucked under his left arm.

"I just saw you this morning," Adam said.

"Well as appealing as you are to some, I wouldn't exactly refer to you as pretty," Sid teased him. "I was talking about your lovely sister."

"I've been on holidays," Sam told him, pulling out the chair on her left hand side and motioning for him to have a seat. "Join us?"

"I can't really stay long," he said apologetically. "I have a new pathologist downstairs and she's just learning the ropes and I feel a little nervous leaving her alone in my humble abode for too long. I wondered why I hadn't seen you down in the dungeon lately. I was beginning to think you didn't like my company."

"Trust me, Sid," Sam laughed. "I'd rather hang out down there with you and the DB's than stare at fibre samples and trace evidence all day. You miss me?"

"You really have to ask that? No one else ever thinks of bringing me down a coffee or a snack. Hence why I'm up here in this chaotic mess to begin with. Did you have a good Christmas?"

"It was eventful," Sam told him. "A little noisy and crazy but we had a great time. You?"

"I worked unfortunately," he said with a sigh. "But I did make a fabulous dinner for Boxing Day. Duck orange with butter and herb scalloped potatoes and julienne carrotts with a lovely citrus and amaretto glaze."

"Sid," Sam said as she sipped her pop. "If we weren't already married to other people, I'd say let's run off and elope. Because you are speaking my language."

"Well you know," he cleared his throat and winked at her playfully. "There are some religions that find it perfectly acceptable to have more than one spouse. So if we both converted to one of them, we'd be free to run off and get married right away."

"Please do not flirt with my sister," Adam sounded, and looked disgusted. "At least not in front of me."

"As soon as I get divorced, Sid, I promise I will come looking for you," Sam teased.

"Well you know where to find me. All in all, my holidays were busy as well. Not completely enjoyable, but I can't really complain when I'm spending time with my wife and my daughters. And of course, in your case, Christmas is always fun with little ones around the house. Detective Flack gave you the gift certificate from me and my wife?"

Sam nodded. "It was very nice of you, Sid. And Toys R Us is Kieran's second place next to McDonalds. My husband didn't give you my thanks?"

"His, but not yours," Sid said.

Sam snorted. "Why am I not surprised. He just doesn't remember stuff like that. He can remember his first girlfriend's phone number and the name of the first girl he kissed way back in second grade but he can't remember important things."

"I just hope you can put the certificate to good use," Sid told her. "Kids are so hard to buy for. How is he doing?"

"He's a hellion," Sam responded, as the ME sat his belongings on the table and squatted down in front of the high chair. And immediately began to make hilarious faces and noises that the baby found absolutely hysterical.

She had been somewhat shocked when, after Kieran was born, Sid had showed up at the hospital the afternoon following his birth and had picked the newborn up with such grace and ease. She had never expected Sid to be a natural with babies. Kieran had simply stared up at the new face with those big blue eyes and curled his fingers around one of Sid's when the man offered it to him. And when Sid had lifted the tiny baby to his chest, Kieran had wasted no time in snuggling right in and falling fast asleep. Even now, Sid just seemed to have that touch. He was patient and funny and full of so much love. And Kieran just sparkled and shined whenever the man was around.

"Dis!" Kieran exclaimed, and picking up a ketchup covered fry, all but reached out and shoved it in Sid's mouth.

"Kieran!" Sam scolded. "Don't do that!"

"That's okay," Sid assured, speaking more to the baby than her. "I just love French fries with lots of ketchup too."

And than he gobbled up the fry offered to him and pretending to eat Kieran's hand, all the way down to wrist. Which the toddler found exceptionally funny and let out a huge belly laugh that seemed to go on forever and caused his entire tiny body to shake.

"You are a God," Adam declared, staring at the ME in disbelief and awe.

"Children are nothing but pure joy and love, Mister Ross," Sid declared, as he ran a hand over Kieran's hair and stood up. "And he's the closest thing I have to a grandchild of my own so I enjoy each and every time I see him. And I hope his mother was at least going to call me and ask me to come upstairs for a little visit before she left to head home."

"I swear, Sid, I would not have left without letting you see your honorary grandson," Sam assured him.

"'Gan!" Kieran squealed, tugging at Sid's pants. "'Gan!"

"He wants you to do it again," Sam said, playing interpreter.

"Well unfortunately, Master Kieran, as much as I would love to stay with you here all day eating chicken fingers and fries, I have to get back to work," Sid told the baby reluctantly. "However, if your mommy will allow it, I do have a treat I could share with you."

"By all means," Sam said.

Sid stood up and opened his take out container and took out a piece of chocolate brownie which he split in half. He placed the one piece back with his lunch and sat the other on the high chair tray.

Kieran's eyes widened as he stared down at it.

"Say thank you, Kieran," Sam said to her son, and when he glanced up at her, she placed the finger tips of her right hand to her lips and brought her hand out as if blowing a kiss. "Thank you."

The baby smiled brightly and repeated her action.

"Good boy," Sam praised and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "We use some baby sign," she explained to Sid. "Because he's been having such a hard time with speech because of all the fluid in his ears preventing him from hearing what we say properly."

"I've heard many say that sign helps babies learn to communicate better," Sid said.

"Well we swear by it," Sam told him. "And for some reason, it seems to help Don communicate better too. Although the middle finger seems to be the sign he prefers more than others."

"For some reason that does not surprise me," Sid laughed. "I've heard some of his communication skills on occasion and let me say, they are colourful at best. Well, I should go," he sighed dramatically. "Death is unfortunately a full time business and shows no mercy. I have a full house downstairs. Take care, Samantha. Have a wonderful New Year."

"You too, Sid," she said, standing up and pecking his cheek. "All the best to you and your wife and your daughters."

"Thank you," he kissed her cheek in return. "See you in a few days. Adam, I should have some stomach contents for you to analyse in an hour or so."

"You can't do that downstairs?" Adam asked.

"I could," Sid replied. "But I'd like to be done work sometime before next year. Which…" he consulted his watch. "Is less than ten and a half hours away. So I better get going."

"BYE!" Kieran cried out as Sid headed away. "BYE-BYE!!"

Sid turned and offered the baby a wave.

Kieran giggled and blew his friend a noisy kiss.

Sid pretended to catch it and tuck it into the breast pocket of his scrub shirt and than gave a smile before making his way through the crowded cafeteria.

"I think you're kid has a split personality," Adam commented to his sister, nodding in the direction of his smiling, bubbly nephew who was now kicking his legs excitedly and energetically and eyeing up the piece of chocolate brownie on his tray.

Kieran noticed his mother watching him, gave her a cheeky smile and a wink and proceeded to pick up the brownie in his already messy, sticky hands, and shove the entire thing in his mouth. Chocolate ended up everywhere. Down his neck, in his hair, up his nose.

"Mother of God," Adam shook his head at the hideous mess.

Kieran laughed heartily at the entire incident and began rubbing his hair with his chocolate covered hands.

"That is so gross," Sam groaned, and clutched her stomach. "I'll be right back," she quickly stood up. "I'm goin to be sick."

Both Adam and Kieran watched wide eyed as she rushed for the nearest exit.

Adam looked at his nephew.

"Mommeee?" Kieran asked, and shrugged his tiny shoulders.

"Can you say mommy and daddy should have used birth control the second time around?" Adam asked his nephew.

Kieran blew a raspberry at his uncle and went back to creating a masterpiece of chocolate and left over chicken fingers and fries and ketchup all over himself and the high chair.

Adam sighed and stood up and reached for the knapsack dangling from the handles of the stroller. He zipped open the bag and rummaged through it for the Clean and Go wipes and yanked out a handful.

"I love you, Kieran," Adam said, as he attempted to clean the squirming toddler's face. "But this is just another one of those instances that confirms to me that Auntie Gus and I will never give you a cousin."

* * *

It was quarter to seven in the evening when Flack finally arrived home. It had been a long day. Four hours stuck in court. An hour spent waiting for the public defender to get his head out of his ass and actual show up to represent his defendant. Another hour and a half on the stand testifying for the prosecution and than thirty minutes of listening to an asshole defense attorney babbling and asking the same stupid, idiotic questions over and over again. So repetitive , that Flack had rolled his eyes when he was asked something for the fifth time in a row. A move that had the moron lawyer accuse him of having an attitude problem. Which than resulted in Flack and both the lawyers being hauled into the judges' chambers and lectured on their apparent lack of professionalism.

No sooner did he get back from the courthouse, he and Scagnetti caught a call on a B and E gone bad in Riverdale. Only it wasn't the home owners that were lying face down in a pool of their own blood in the middle of the immaculate living room. It was the intruder himself. He'd apparently picked the wrong place to break into you. The home owner had been in the den when he'd heard the glass of the dining room patio door shatter.

Instead of locking himself in said den and calling the cops, He had calmly opened the top drawer of his dresser, grabbed a key to the locked display case across the room that held his hunting rifles, took one out and loaded it and surprised the perp as the baddie was attempting to swipe his plasma tv and some sterling silver flatware. He'd also surprised the perp with a shot gun blast to the chest.

As much as Flack admired the man's balls and tenacity for sticking up for himself and protecting his home, he still had to arrest him. He had called it manslaughter but would let the District Attorney sort the shit out. If it was up to Flack, he'd be slapping the guy on the back and thanking him for making his own life a little easier by sparing the world of one less asshole for him to waste his valuable time on.

He toed his shoes off in the hallway next to his apartment door and fished his keys from the pocket of his heavy wool winter coat. He paused, the key in the lock and listened closely. It wasn't something he heard that made him stop in his tracks. It was what he didn't hear. Usually, at that time of the evening, his place was a haven for noise and activity. Kieran either laughing and babbling and shrieking at the top of his lungs while playing with his mother or a some annoying toy he owned. Sam's quiet, patient voice encouraging their son to keep the noise level down just a bit. The tv or the radio blaring. And for the last week, his constantly bickering in laws.

Tonight there was nothing save for music playing a respectable volume on the stereo in the living room and the soft clinking of glasses and dishes in the kitchen. And there was an incredible, mouth watering smell drifting out into the hallway.

He unlocked the door and opened it and slipped inside. He was hanging his coat and suit jacket in the hall closet when Sam poked her head out of the kitchen door.

"Hi," she greeted cheerfully.

"Hi…" he responded hesitantly. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," she said, and disappeared into the kitchen once more. "How was your day?" she asked.

"Long," Flack replied, as he loosened his tie and undid the top two buttons on his shirt.

"Which is a code word for 'I don't want to talk about it'," she concluded.

He grinned. "You know me better than I know myself some days," he told her and headed into the kitchen. He was about to ask her where everyone was when one glimpse at her prevented all words from escaping his lips.

There, peeking into the oven to check on a prime rib dinner she was preparing, was his wife with her hair done up in luxurious, bouncy curls, a slight touch of make up on her face and clad in a sparkling silver sleeveless top with a dangerously low cut back and a black skirt that just reached below her knee and was split to her mid thigh on one side. She was barefoot. Her toenails done up in the same silver as her top. For some reason, seeing her in her barefeet like that just added to the overall sexiness she exuded.

"What?" she asked, when she closed the oven door and stood up and found her husband watching her intently.

"You are such a MILF," Flack declared in all seriousness.

She frowned and grabbed the dish towel sitting on the counter by the sink and slapped him in the stomach with it. "Pervert," she complained, and set back to work on the salad she'd been preparing when she'd heard him come through the door.

"I can't help it. You are," he said, and standing behind her, pushed her hair to the side of pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. "You're beautiful, Samantha."

She smiled.

"So why all this?" he asked, going to the fridge and opening it and taking out a bottle of water. "I thought we weren't going anywhere tonight."

"We aren't," she responded. "But my parents are gone until tomorrow and your mom is bringing Kieran home sometime tomorrow afternoon, and it is New Years. So I just thought it would be nice to dress up for you, make a nice meal."

"It is nice," he agreed. "Your day was okay? You're feeling alright?"

"I've been nauseous all day but other than that I've been okay. Why?"

He shrugged. "Just thought maybe you had a really high fever that was making you delirious and causing you to do things you wouldn't normally do. Like say…cook."

"You're such a prick," she said, but she was smiling at his teasing.

"Seriously, though. Your day was okay?"

"My day was hell on earth," she told him. "That pre-op appointment? I'm never going alone again, Donnie. Kieran was a terror. He was uncontrollable. From the time I had to undress him for them to weigh him, to the time we got the hell out of there. Screaming and yelling and carrying on. I think he gave everyone in the place a migraine. You should have seen the way people were staring at me. And the other mothers…you know, the type who have to offer up disciplinarian advice?"

"Did you tell them to fuck off?" Flack asked. "Because I would have. He's a year old. He can't be a complete angel all the time. Unless we drug him of course."

"One mother suggested that. She suggest Ritalin and an anti-psychotic med."

"That's just what a I want. My kid being a junkie before he gets into kindergarten. You say anything?"

"I told her to mind her own fucking business."

"That's my girl," he praised, a broad girl on her face.

"Than she told me it was very clear where my son got his attitude from. Can you believe that? That someone would actually say that? It took all I had not to lay her out right there and than."

"You should have," Flack said, sipping his water.

"But to suggest that he is the way he is because of me? Isn't that just stupid?"

He didn't respond.

She looked over at him, her eyes narrowed. "You agree with her?"

"I didn't say anything," Flack held his hands up in self defence.

"That's the point. You didn't say anything. You didn't disagree."

"I didn't agree either," he pointed out.

"So you think Kieran's attitude problem comes from me," she concluded, and grabbed the finished bowl of salad and carried it to the fridge.

"I never said that. I just think he has a lot of characteristics that he obviously gets from you. I mean, look at how vocal he is. For lack of a better word. You can deny it all you want, Samantha. He gets that from you. And his lack of patience and the way he throws a fit if he can't have everything he wants…"

"Kids throw temper tantrums," she huffed. "It's what they do."

"Thirty-three year old women throw them too?" he asked curiously.

"I do not throw temper tantrums," she argued, and opened the top drawer by the stove to take out some silver ware. Than tossed the forks and knives on the counter with a clatter and slammed the drawer closed.

Flack arched an eyebrow and took a swig of water. "My point exactly," he said.

"Don't say anyting else," she warned.

"Look, Kieran's a mixture of both of us okay. From the way he looks to the way he acts. Okay, so maybe not so much the way he looks because as much as I know it pains you to hear it so much, he looks just like me."

"Yes…I know," she said snidely. "You have to remind me everyday? It's not enough I have to think it every time I look at him? He's insanely attractive like you and not at all dumpy and plain like his mother. I get it."

Flack frowned. "I never said that. Don't be like that. Don't put yourself down when I'm just trying to have some fun with you."

"It's been a long day, okay!" she snapped. "From the time he got up all he did was fight with me! I made him breakfast and he wouldn't eat it. I had to have a wrestling match with him just to get him out of his pyjamas and into some clothes! I have more bruises and bite marks on me than I care to tell you about. And before you say some dirty, pervish comment, no, it's not the same damn thing as when you leave those kinds of marks. He was the devil child from the time he got up until the time your mother picked him up! And you know what, as soon as she got here and went over to him, he became this sweet, innocent little angel. And that drives me fucking crazy! Why is he so bad for me but so good for you and everyone else?"

"Maybe because he spends all of his time with you and knows he can, and how to, push your buttons more," Flack reasoned, reaching out to rub her shoulder softly. "I don't know. Just calm down, Samantha. Just because some bitch at the hospital couldn't keep her nose out of your business, there's no need to freak out. Okay?"

"It's not just that. It's everything! It's the way he is and the way I am and that whole appointment. I can't do things like that alone, you know that! You're the strong one that keeps calm during those things."

"Well I gotta work, Sammie," he reminded her gently.

"I know that. Don't treat me like I'm stupid. I just…I need some help sometimes. You don't know what he's like because you're not around that much. And yes, I know how hard your job is and what shitty hours you work and I don't expect you to give up your career. And I accept that Kieran and I come second some times. It's just…I can't do stuff like that alone. I'm a shitty mother, okay? Why don't we just be completely honest with ourselves and admit to it now."

"Sam, you're just upset. You're an amazing mother. I tell you that all the time. And I'm sorry he was such a shit head all day. And next time, I'll try and get the day off or at least make it to his appointments. I can't promise you that I can do either, though."

"I know," she said. "And on top of everything else I've been sick all day and I'm hormonal as all hell and I'm just plain bitchy. So maybe you should have either stayed at work or gone out for the night. Because I'm not going to be the best company."

"Only place I wanna be is here," he told her, and pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. "Even if you are a raging bitch."

She managed a smile. "I called the doctor. About the baby."

"And?"

"I go for all the tests in a couple of weeks," she told him. "And the ultrasound is scheduled for January 28th."

He frowned. "I leave the twenty-eight for Cincinnati. You couldn't make it for another time?"

"It was the earliest appointment they had available," she told him. "And the next time was for the middle of February."

"That's not so bad. Can't we wait until than? I'd kind of like to be there."

"I'd rather know sooner than later how far along I am," she reasoned. Seeing the disappointment on his face, she stepped in front of him and laid her hands on his side. "I can scan any pictures they give me and e-mail them to you. You're taking your lap top and there's internet access in your room."

"Not the same thing, Sammie."

"I know. But I just think we should know as soon as possible. And end of January is as soon as possible. And Adam said he'd come with me so it's not like I'd be experiencing it alone. I mean, I'd much rather you be there. But you can't skip that conference. So Adam I figure is a pretty decent stand in. He is the biological uncle."

"True," Flack said. "Still though, I did kinda want to go with you. That first ultrasound we had with Kieran? That was amazing."

She smiled. "There will be other ultrasounds with this baby," she pointed out.

"Yeah…but there's only one first one," he said. "I understand though. And I agree. It is better to find out sooner than later," he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I should go and get showered and changed."

"Why? You're dressed up. You're already in a shirt and tie."

"I've been at work all day," he reminded her, setting the half full bottle of water down on the counter. "I probably stink."

She leaned into him and sniffed his shirt. "I think you smell like a man. My man."

There was something insanely sexy about the way she said that. And the way her body was fitted against his. Those curves that seemed, from the moment he'd first kissed her close to two years ago, to just mould into his body so perfectly. Her warmth and her smell and the feel of her breasts pressed against him was all so familiar and routine, yet just as welcoming and alluring as they were from the onset of their relationship. Simply being with her there in the kitchen, with those golden eyes sparkling up at him and the soft smile on her plush lips, was enough to take his breath away.

She often asked him if he'd ever be tired of her. If one day he'd look at her and just decide that he was bored. That her body and their love making no longer held any sort of attraction or excitement. He always told her how ridiculous that way. Because he loved her more and more with each passing day and could never imagine being with anyone but her. And every time they were together intimately was amazing and mind blowing and filled him with a sense of completeness and ease. Losing himself in her overwhelmed his senses. And he knew, without a doubt, that he'd feel that way forty, fifty years from now.

He kissed her. Soft and slow at first. Her mouth warm and succulent against his. He rested one hand on her hip and the other on the back of her neck. He heard the content sigh she expelled against his lips and than the press of her tongue against his teeth. It wasn't often that she was the initiator. He was usually the one making the first move, making it obvious what he wanted and than taking the steps to make sure he got it. She preferred to the be the submissive one. Hell, she got off on it. So for her to even make a small move like that took it by surprise. He tangled his fingers in her hair and devoured her mouth with his. Tongues meeting and merging as he backed her up against the refrigerator door.

He felt her hands move from his sides to the front of him, impatiently tugging his shirt from his pants and than reaching underneath the quickly, and effortlessly, undo his belt.

The kiss broke when it became necessary to draw in air to their breathless lungs. They were panting, hearts racing, their eyes, filled with want and desire and most of all love, locked steadily on each other.

"How much time before dinner's ready?" he asked, as she snapped open the button on his pants and her fingers fell on the zipper.

She gave that devilish, alluring grin she was such a pro at and removed her hands from the front of his pants.

"Enough," she said, and grabbing his hand tightly, pulled him in the direction of the living room.

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing. I appreciate each and every one of you! And thanks to all of those adding this story, and MOB, to their alerts. I love hearing from you guys and please, feel free to drop a review if you like these stories. Thanks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz  
****Brrtmclv  
****Hope4sall  
****muchmadness  
****GregRox  
****Madison Bellows  
****Shopaholic20  
****Forest Angel  
****ImaSupernaturalCSI  
****Wolfeylady  
****Bluehaven4220  
****Soccer-bitch**


	31. New Years Eve, baby! Part 2

**DISCLAIMER: YOU ALL KNOW THE DRILL. I OWN NOTHING EXCEPT FOR SAMANTHA FLACK AND KIERAN FLACK**

**New Years Eve, baby! Part 2**

"Every time I close my eyes I thank the lord that I've got you  
And you've got me too  
And every time I think of it I pinch myself cuz I don't believe it's true  
That someone like you loves me too  
Girl I think that you're truly somethin', yes you are  
And you're, you're every bit of a dream come true, yes you are  
With you baby, it never rains  
And it's no wonder  
The sun always shines when I'm near you  
It's just a blessing that I have found somebody like you."  
-Every time I Close My Eyes, Babyface

* * *

"I hope you know you ruined everything," Sam commented.

They lay on their sides on their cramped living room couch. Limbs tangled, their bodies drenched and glistening with sweat and their hearts pounding. Their chests pressed tightly together and her head tucked under his chin.

"What?" he asked, chuckling slightly. He stroked her back, buried his face in her hair, inhaling her intoxicating, alluring scent. "Ten minutes ago you were calling me God and now you're saying I ruined everything? What's that about?"

"For your information, I was not calling you God so don't flatter yourself," she said with a giggle, and felt him shudder against her when trailed her fingertips along his spine. "And I meant that I gotten myself all dressed up for you and now I don't even feel like putting clothes back on."

"So don't," he said. "You want to walk around naked all night? That's fine with me. Just don't go expecting to get anything accomplished other than re-christening every possible inch of this place."

"Not even you have that kind of stamina," she declared, laughing as he jumped at the feel of her finger drifting down the small of her back to the cleft of his ass.

"Get your damn finger away from there," he said. "You know how I feel about you putting anything anywhere near there."

"I bet you don't resist when it's Danny," she joked.

"You're such a bitch," he laughed, and flipped her over onto her back and caught her by the wrists and pinned them to the couch above her head.

"Nice move," she praised, as he loomed above her. "You know, the least you and Danny could do is let me watch or join in."

"You're disturbed. That would really turn you on wouldn't it. Watching me with another guy."

"I will neither admit it or deny it."

He grinned. "You're dirtier and kinkier than I ever realized. And as much as I love you and trust me, I have no problem playing along with your little kinks and letting you be a dirty little thing, that is one thing I will never, ever do."

She pouted dramatically. And brought her head up to lick a path from his Adam's apple, up his neck and along the underside of his chin and to his mouth. The salty taste of his sweat on her tongue and lips as she kissed him leisurely. Her body arching against him as she felt the tip of his tongue graze the roof of her mouth. Something he had long ago discovered drove her absolutely insane. His hands released their grip on her wrists and one trailed softly along her side while the other went south to caress the inside of her thigh.

He broke the kiss and looked down into those golden eyes filled once more with passion and need. "I'm starving," he announced.

She frowned and used a knee in the stomach to push him off of her and almost onto the floor.

"I'm sorry," he said with a laugh. "I know my reputation for being able to go hours upon hours on end is something you've come to expect, but I never had anything to eat all day and I desperately need to put some gas in the tank if you want any further performances."

"Don't worry about it," she said dryly. "It's nothing I can't do myself. Same end result anyway."

"Please. Nothing you can do to yourself can even come close to what I can do for you," he told her, as he slipped into his boxers.

"I so do not want to get dressed up all over again," she sighed, sitting up and raking her hand through her hair as she surveyed the mess of clothes on the living room floor.

"Like I said, don't. In fact, I have something that I think you'll look even sexier in than that dress."

"Please God do not tell me you bought me some whorey looking French maid outfit. Because honestly, Donald, as much as I love and adore you, I'd probably have to file for divorce if you started wanting me to play dress up."

"Sam, as much as I'd kill to see you in some hot little black PVC number cut down to your navel and hooker boots and fishnet stockings, that's not what I had in mind. Here," he picked up his discarded dress shirt and tossed it to her. "You know how sexy I think you are when you wear my clothes."

She grinned and stood up and slipped into the white dress shirt. It had his warm, familiar and astonishingly sexy scent and hung well past her knees. She was aware of him watching her intently as she did up the buttons and rolled the sleeves to her elbows. To her husband, nothing was more attractive and seductive than a woman in a man's shirt. Specifically after making love.

"Do me a favour?" he asked, wanting nothing more than to just throw her down on the couch and start things all over again.

She looked up at him.

"Go and put your hair up?"

"What is it with you and my hair being up?" she asked with a smile.

He shrugged. "I just find it extra hot is all. Seeing you in my clothes, all sweaty still from having crazy, wild sex, with your hair up…does something for me."

"You are so very easy to please," she declared, laying her hands on his sides. "Can you check on supper? Warm things up if they need to be? The meat should be done by now. Think you can handle some homemaking responsibilities while I clean myself up?"

"I think I should be okay," he said and kissed her softly. "I love you, you know," he called, as she headed for the living room and down the hallway for the bathroom.

"I know," she responded. "I've got a pretty big crush on you, too."

"A crush, huh? I hate to see what you do to a guy's shoulders and back when your madly and passionately in love with him," he teased.

"Oh…well than I'm just brutal and vicious."

"You think you could bring me some clothes?" he asked. "Like a pair of jeans or some sweats? And a t-shirt?"

"Nope, sorry. I'm making you walk around all night in just your boxers and maybe your undershirt. Definitely the undershirt. Because you know that for some reason seeing you in that just turns me on."

"I'll agree to the undershirt," he said, snatching up the wife beater and tugging it on. "But some pants would be nice."

"I'll see what I can do," she said, and he heard the bedroom door click open. "Slippers is on your pillow again!" she called.

"Leave her. I've co-existed this long with the mangy little bitch…oh, wait…I'm sorry…I thought you said your mother. I didn't realize you were talking about the cat."

"Be nice, Donald," she scolded, but was laughing at the same time. "And if you dare even turn Sports Center on while I'm out of the room, I will beat your ass."

He looked down at the remote that he had just picked up off the coffee table. He tossed it back down again with a smirk on his face. "How do you do that?" he asked.

"Eyes in the back of my head, my dear," she replied. "And hidden surveillance cameras in every corner of every room. Next time you see your mistress, tell her I thought that red lace number with the thong she had on last time you two got busy was a little too skanky."

"I will tell her," he assured her and headed into the kitchen.

* * *

He pulled the prime rib from the oven and dumped the mashed potatoes and corn and carrots into plastic bowls that could be heated in the microwave. It wasn't often that they had a good old fashioned 'Sunday meal' as his mother called it. The majority of the time they were heating frozen entrees or pizzas in the oven or microwave or whipping up something as simple as Hamburger or Tuna Helper or God forbid, the one thing in the world that made him want to barf the most, Kraft Dinner.

It reminded him of being a kid and being forced to eat the crap nearly every second day with chopped up wieners mixed in with baked beans. The thought of it years later just made him cringe and gag. If Sam made it for herself and Kieran, Flack made sure he wasn't even in their vicinity when they were eating it. And he wouldn't come into the kitchen to eat the entirely different meal his wife had prepared just for him until she had cleaned up an trace of Kraft Dinner from the dirty plates.

Take out was big in their house as well. Delivery or pick up, whichever worked best on the given night. Sam just didn't have the time to cook elaborate meals what with working full time and taking care of the baby. And while he respected her tenacity to hold down her career and raise a family, and he accepted her decision to work, there was a huge part of him that wanted nothing more than for her to stay home and look after their son and be a full time housewife.

And that's what he was thinking about as he was preparing his wife and himself plates of food. That he could get used to coming home to delicious meals and the house as clean as remotely possible with an energetic toddler and the laundry completed and folded and put away as opposed to the hampers constantly overflowing and clean things being left in baskets for days on end. Nothing like digging your socks out from the bottom of a massive pile of clean clothes in the darkness of the bedroom after getting a three a.m. call out.

"Everything's okay?" Sam asked, as she journeyed into the kitchen with her hair gathered into a high ponytail and carrying a pair of navy blue sweatpants. Joining him at the counter, she stuck her finger into the mashed potatoes on one of the plates and licked them off ever so slowly. "Mmm…" she said with a nod. "Good stuff."

"Jesus Christ you're sexy," he told her, and leaned sideways to press a kiss to the sensitive spot under her ear.

"You're prejudiced," she teased, and handed him the sweats and gathered up the silverware she'd tossed on the counter earlier. "We're going to eat in the living room, okay? Put the tree lights on and some candles and the stereo. Sound good?"

"Sounds good," he conceded, slipping into the pants. "I mean, it's nice and romantic. And that's what New Years Eve is all about, right?"

She smiled brightly. "You are learning so well," she said. "I've even got sparkling cider in the fridge and I bought us a special dessert."

"Special, huh? What's so special about it?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out later," she told him playfully and headed out of the kitchen, her hips swaying slightly.

I am one lucky sonofabitch, he thought with a broad grin.

"I told Adam about the baby today," she announced, as she returned to the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator to collect the bottle of cider.

"What did he say?" Flack asked curiously as he got two plastic cups down from the cupboard and sat them on the counter.

His wife frowned when she turned around and saw them.

"What?" he asked.

"We're not toddlers, Donnie. I think we're more than capable of drinking out of glasses."

"Force of habit," he said with a grin and replaced the plastic cups with two wine glasses from the cupboard above the stove. "I'm so used to having to use plastic stuff because of Kieran's bad habit of throwing anything he might get his hands on."

"Aren't we just pathetic?" she sighed. "We're actually accustomed to plastic plates and cutlery and child size plastic cups."

"Well maybe you're accustomed because you're the size of most average ten year olds," he teased.

"Asshole," she said, and grabbed him by the draw string on his sweats and yanked him towards her. "You're going to have to make that comment up to me, you know."

"God, I sure as hell hope so," he said and kissed her aggressively, backing her up against the fridge once more. "And for your information, we aren't pathetic. We're parents."

"Okay…so we're pathetic parents that have no lives outside of our kid," she said, slipping her hands up the front of his wife beater and over his well muscled chest.

"Be good, Samantha," he told her and backed away from her and removed her hands from his body.

"You never want me to be good," she argued. "You're always telling me how I need to initiate things more. To be more aggressive in letting you know what I want and how I want it and where I want it."

"Well if you're going to start listening to me, can you please do it after I eat?" he asked, as he tore the foil off of the top of the cider bottle and popped off the cork.

"Men and their stomachs," she huffed.

"You never told me what your brother said," Flack said, handing her the wine glasses to carry while he picked up their plates and headed into the living room. She had already flicked on both the lights on the tree and the ones that lined the balcony railing. There were several lightly scented pillar candles burning on the table at the back of the couch and a few more on each end table and on the wall unit that held the television and stereo. She had turned on a mixed CD that her brother had made for her. Soft, calm, romantic tunes that she loved.

"You mean what did he say after he called us crazy?" she asked with a laugh as she placed the glasses on the coffee table and sat down on the couch. "He said that he's happy for us and that he's glad we're doing all the procreating because him and Gus feel no need, or desire to follow in our footsteps."

"They're loss," Flack concluded, as he placed their meals down and sat down beside her. He frowned, lifted his ass slightly and reached under himself. Coming up moments later with one of Kieran's Mega Blocks. He smirked and tossed it in the general direction of the toy box near the balcony door.

"So that's what was digging into the small of my back earlier," Sam said with a giggle. "If I hadn't have been so into our activities, I would have told you to stop so I could figure out what it was."

"That would have been the mood killer of all mood killers," he told her. "And he's not the only one who called us crazy. Scagnetti all but wants to commit both of us for even thinking about having another kid."

"You told Scagnetti?" her tone was accusing.

He hung his head in silent confession.

"We weren't telling anyone else besides Adam," she said. "We agreed on that. We agreed that we were going to wait until we found out how far along I was or when the first trimester was over. That is what we agreed on, Donnie."

"I know…but…."

"He better not go around the precinct and tell everyone. I didn't want our friends, and especially my boss, finding out that way."

"He promised me he wouldn't say anything. And it kind of just slipped out."

"How? How does something like that just slip out?"

He shrugged. "We were talking about Kieran's first birthday and his party next weekend and I somehow let it slip that we were giving him the best present ever and Scagnetti asked what it was and I said that we're getting him a baby brother or sister in about seven, eight months."

"You dink," Sam said and sipped her cider.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out. But I'm ecstatically happy about it and I guess I just couldn't hold it in any longer. I made him swear on his mother's grave that he wouldn't tell anyone."

Sam's eyes widened. "His mother died? When?"

"Yesterday."

"What? Are you serious?"

Flack nodded. Than broke into a huge grin. "No…I'm not."

"You've got a sick, twisted sense of humour," she scolded.

"All you need to know is that he promised not to tell anyone," Flack told her. "And that I don't know how much longer I can hold out."

"Well let's put it this way. You either hold out or I do. As in, no sex. For a very, very, very long time."

"You just know how to put the fear of God into me," he said, and kissed her cheek. "This is really, really good babe," he said, pointing his fork at his plate. "I could get used to have more meals like this when I get home from a long day at work."

She gave him a wary look out of the corner of her eye as she chewed on some of her salad. "Are you trying to hint at something?" she asked.

"Did it sound like I was?" he responded.

"A little," she admitted. "So…out with it. Say what you want to say."

"You're a good cook when you want to be," he said.

"Thank you. But that is not what you want to say and we both know it."

He nodded and ate quietly for a minute. Picking his words carefully as he chewed prime rib and than took a sip of the cider. "I love you, Samantha…"

"Donnie…I love you, too…but please just say it."

He sighed heavily. "I want you to quit and stay at home full time with Kieran."

* * *

She couldn't say that she was surprised. It was far from the first time he'd said those words in the past year and it was far from being the last time he'd utter them. His request didn't irk her as much as it once had. Before, when he was all but demanding her to give up her career in favour of being a stay at home mother and a housewife, she saw red immediately and launched an all out attack. There was no way in hell she was going to coop herself up in the house and do nothing but cook and clean and chase after a child. She just wasn't that type of person. She loved her job and the people she worked with were her family. And the thought of giving that up permanently terrified her. Because once she lost that, she lost her last shred of independence and control.

"This is getting very familiar," she said in response.

"I know that you love your job. And I know that you're damn good at it. I get to see how awesome you are every day working with you. There's always something you're doing or saying that amazes me and makes me say 'wow' and feel all proud to say you're my wife. But than there's the part of me that wants you here, taking care of my son. Our son. And looking after the house and doing normal things a wife does."

"Normal things?" she laughed. "You mean you want me to be your damn maid."

"No. I just…I want a normal marriage, okay? And maybe this makes me old fashioned when I say it or makes me sound like a chauvinistic pig, but I want to come home to a hot meal and the house clean and the kid happy and taken care of and the laundry done and put away and all that other shit that is so fucking neglected around here."

"You know how to do laundry," she pointed out. "And you are more than capable of cooking a meal and cleaning the house and looking after your son. Parenting isn't a one way street. It takes the two of us."

"I know that. But my hours are insane and I'm climbing the ladder and…'

"Oh, I get it. Your career is more important than mine. Because you're the NYPD's golden boy and I'm just a science geek with the crime lab."

"I never said that. But I want to be the bread winner. The one bringing home the bacon so to speak."

She laughed even harder. "Are you listening to yourself? Are you? What decade are you living in? We are not your parents. When it was the mothers who stayed home and played cook and maid and nanny. Both husbands and wives work now."

"I know that, Sammie. But I want my wife to stay at home with my kid. Taking care of my house. And we're expecting another baby. We're going to have two kids and I'd rather you home with them than out working. That's what I want."

"I know it is. And do you want to know my opinion on the whole thing?"

"Of course."

"It's more of an answer to your request. No fucking way. That's not me. Thank you very much," she dropped her fork and knife on her plate with a clatter and stood up.

"Don't be like that, Sammie," he nearly pleaded, grabbing a hold of her left arm. "I didn't bring this up to piss you off or cause a fight. It's New Years Eve, baby. We're alone for the entire night. We haven't been alone without someone interrupting us in a while. I didn't want to argue with you about this."

"I'm not that type of woman, Donnie," she said. "I can't be happy stuck in the house. I'm not a domestic goddess. I've never been like that and you knew that when you married me. And it was okay with you than."

"Kieran wasn't born yet when we got married, Sam. And now he's a year old and spends more time at day care and with my parents than he does with either of us. And he needs to be with his mother more."

"He needs his father, too," she argued.

"Not as much as he needs you," Flack told her. "I don't like him being around day care teachers and his grandparents more than he is his own mother. And you can't tell me that you like being away from him that much."

She sighed. That was something she couldn't deny. How much she longed for more time with her son but worried more about their finances than the quality moments Kieran and her were missing out on. She sat back down beside her husband.

"It's not that I don't want to be around him more," she told Flack. "I do. It's just…"

"Money," he concluded. "That's what it always is. What is always comes down too."

"It's a big thing, Donnie. This city is crazy expensive to live in. And cost of living is not cheap."

"So why don't we move to a different borough? Where we could have mortgage payments on a little house with a yard for our kids to play in instead of sky high rent on an apartment that's way too crowded?"

"Even than we couldn't afford it on just your salary," she told him.

"Okay…so than maybe you don't quit outright. Maybe you just cut down to part time hours."

She shook her head. "Mac will never go for that."

"He's going to have to bend somewhere when he finds out you're pregnant again, Sammie. He's going to have you back in the lab. Maybe not right away, but it's going to happen. And maybe he'll be willing to give you straight eight to fours and no weekends."

"You're pushing it, Donnie."

"All I know is that something needs to change. We need some kind of normalcy. And we're not getting that with the hours we're both working. Most importantly, Kieran isn't getting that and the new baby won't get that either."

She sighed heavily. "I need time to think about this," she said. "I can't just decide something like that."

"That's fine," he assured her, reaching out to rub the back of her neck. "And I didn't mean to cause a big old thing between us."

She smiled. "I know. But it's a touchy subject. It always has been."

"Yeah…I know," he said and kissed her cheek. Than went back to the remainder of his meal. "You are a really good cook when you want to be," he informed his wife.

"How come you never eat my Kraft Dinner than?" she asked.

He gagged noisily.

"Just kidding," she laughed, and curled her arm around his waist. "Remember earlier when I said I had a crush on you?" she asked.

He nodded.

"I lied," she admitted. "I don't have a crush on you."

"No?"

She shook her head. "I love you. Wholly and completely. Madly and passionately and desperately."

He smiled and kissed her softly. "It's nice to hear that every once in a while," he admitted.

"I don't say it enough," she sighed.

"It's okay," he assured her. "Neither do I."

* * *

They finished their dinner in companionable silence. Instead of clearing the dishes right away, they relaxed on the couch, his arm wrapped tightly and somewhat possessively around her, his eyes closed as she snuggled into him, her head on his chest and her hand on his stomach and her legs tugged underneath her.

"So you know," she said. "I managed to pick up that shadow box thing for that Yankees jersey Danny bought Kieran for Christmas."

"How in the world Messer managed to score A-Rod's autograph I will never know," Flack said. "And he knows I'm a Mets fan."

"He also knows, like the majority of us normal human beings do, that the Mets suck."

"You're being really evil and mean tonight," he teased. "He still won't tell me how he got that autograph."

"It's Danny's secret," Sam reasoned.

They had been shocked, when upon opening one of the many gifts Danny had brought to their home on the t twenty seventh when he and Erica had come for dinner, had discovered Danny had bought his godson a toddler sized Yankee's jersey emblazoned with Alex Rodriquez' number and autograph. Something like that was way too priceless to ever let the child wear, so Sam planned on displaying it in a shadow box in the baby's room.

"Do me a favour, babe?" Flack suddenly asked.

"Please tell me it's not some kinky request."

"Not yet," he grinned. "Can you get off of me for a second? I want to do something."

She sat up, allowing him to climb off the couch. He went over to the wall unit and opened the glass door to where the stereo sat. Reaching for the empty CD case resting on top of the stereo, he turned it over to read the list of songs Adam had printed on the back.

"Number thirteen," Sam requested, her eyes closed, her head leaning back against the couch.

He scanned down to number thirteen and smiled. "That's the one I was looking for," he said, as he entered the number of the song into the stereo.

"It's my favourite," she reasoned.

"Yeah…the hundred times you played it last Sunday told me as much."

She stuck her tongue out at him.

Flack turned the volume up and grabbed the remote control for the stereo and went back to the couch. Instead of sitting down, he reached for her hand and tugged slightly.

She cracked an eye open. "What are you doing?" she asked curiously.

"It's what we're going to do," he replied. "Dance."

"In our living room?"

"You got something against dancing with your husband in your own living room? In our bare feet nonetheless?"

"No. But it's just…it's just not you."

"Well tonight it is," he said, and gently pulled her to her feet and led her to the middle of the living room floor. He hit the play button on the remote and tossed it onto the coffee table.

"Who are you and what have you done with my husband?" she asked playfully, as she smiled up at him and wrapped her arms around his torso as the beginning strains of Joshua Radin's I'd Rather Be With You began to play.

"I am capable of being a nice guy once in awhile," he told her, curling his arms around her waist and pulled her tight against him. "Just don't expect me to bend down to let you put your head on my shoulder. Because you're like half my size and that will just kill my back."

"Here," she said, and climbed onto the top of his feet. "Not that that helps a whole hell of a lot. Why do you have to be so big?"

"Why do you have to be so small?" he countered.

"Deal with it," she said, resting her head against his chest. "You going to sing to me to0?" she asked, as they moved to the music.

"Hell no," he replied quickly.

She pouted dramatically. Than smiled against him when despite his refusal, he leaned down so his lips were next to her ear and began singing quietly to her.

"_Now here's the sun, come to dry the rain, warm my shoulders and relieve my pain. You're the one thing that I'm missing here. With you beside me I no longer fear. I need to be bold, need to jump in the cold water, need to grow older with a girl like you. Finally see you are naturally, the one to make it so easy, when you show me the truth. Yeah, I'd rather be with you, say you want the same thing too." _

"You learned the words just for me?" she asked, when the music ended yet neither of them moved to break the embrace.

"Unintentionally, really. I mean, something is bound to stick in your head when your wife plays the damn thing constantly," he replied. He smiled at her and pecked her forehead. "Okay…so I lie. I went on the internet and looked up the words."

"It was a very sweet thing for you to do. And you really should let out that romantic side a bit more," she told him.

"We'll see," he smiled, and kissed her. Soft and leisurely. His hands gently slipping down to cup her ass, than moving lower and sliding up underneath the shirt. Deepening the kiss as his fingertips traced along the waistband of the lace boy shorts she had put on under the shirt.

She broke the kiss and backed away slightly and reached behind her and than underneath the top to remove his hands. "Time for dessert," she announced.

"I was just about to get my dessert," he said, and tried to pull her back into him.

"That comes after my special treat," she told him. "Now put a couple of pillows and the blanket on the floor. By the Christmas tree."

"Why?" he asked, watching as she headed for the kitchen.

"Because it's what I want," she replied and disappeared into the other room. "It's New Years Eve," she reminded him, as he spread the blanket from the back of the couch out in front of the Christmas tree and threw down a couple of the cushions. "And I want romance, and you, my dear husband, are going to give me romance if it kills you."

"Why does the sound of that scare me?" he asked, taking a seat on the floor.

"There's nothing scary about this," Sam assured him, journeying back into the living room and appearing beside him with a carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream and two spoons.

He grinned at the sight of the treat in her hand.

"I swear, every time I look at mint chocolate chip ice cream I blush and giggle like mad," she declared, joining him on the floor. "The check out girl must have wondered what the hell was wrong with me."

"It's a hell of a nice memory to have," Flack reasoned. "And who knew there were so many different uses for ice cream."

"Oh don't play innocent with me," she said, handing him a spoon and than pulling off the lid of the ice cream carton. "I'm probably not the only woman you've ever done that little game with."

"Actually," he said, as he dug his spoon into the frozen treat. "You are."

"What? You weren't kinky until you met me or something? Or do I just bring out that side in you?"

"I wasn't as kinky until I met you," he answered. "And yeah, you do bring out that side in me. You know, the side that makes me want to do all kinds of dirty, perverted shit."

"Like what?" she asked, scooping out some of the ice cream and popping it into her mouth.

"I'm not answering that," he replied.

"Why? Are you shy? Embarrassed? I'm your wife. The last person you should be either around. And trust me, you are the last person anyone would ever accuse of being shy. Besides, when have you ever had an issue talking dirty? You do it all the time in bed."

"Because it turns you on," he reminded her.

"But you can't talk like that if we're not in the middle of things?"

"What do you want me to say?"

She shrugged and helped herself to more ice cream. "I don't know. You said I bring out this side of you that makes you want to do things. What kind of things?"

"I don't know, Sam. Lots of things. Things that we've tried already that I've never, ever done with another woman. Things most women freak out about if you even go anywhere near the certain part that's involved with this specific thing."

"It's called anal sex, Donnie."

"Did you have to say it?" he asked. "Seriously…did you have to?"

"There's something wrong with saying it? You're more than capable of doing it so why can't you say it?"

"Because…I don't know. I just can't. Saying it makes me feel weird."

"You're strange," she declared. "And saying it doesn't make you feel weird. It makes you blush like this fourteen year old virgin whose having a girl see him naked for the first time."

"It does not," he said.

"It does," she giggled. "You're blushing right now. Why are you blushing? The words anal sex bother you? Or is the word anal or the word sex?"

"Stop," he said. "Quit talking about it."

She laughed even harder and laid her hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. "You're being silly," she said. "And blushing? Seriously. You don't blush. You're not Adam."

"I am not blushing," he insisted.

"You are," she said, and kissed his cheek once more. "Who knew my big, tough, burly and abrasive husband was in fact, deep down, a sensitive prude."

"What? I am not sensitive. Or a prude."

"You cried when Kieran was born. That makes you sensitive."

"I was ecstatically happy and relieved. Of course I cried. And for the record, there is nothing wrong with a man showing emotion sometimes. You're the one whose always going on about how you find it sexy when a guy can show he's sensitive."

"It is," she agreed. "But that doesn't account for you being a prude."

"Would you stop already?" he laughed. "Quit picking on me all the time."

"Well can I help it if you're such an easy target?" she asked. "And I am not picking on you. I am having fun with you. And if you don't toughen up soon, I'm going to divorce you. Because you know I love manly men."

"I'll show you a manly man in five seconds if you don't stop aggravating me," he warned.

"Oh what are you going to do?" she asked. Dipping her finger into the ice cream, she dabbed a bit onto his cheek and leaned over to lick it off. "Are you going to beat me up?" she asked, putting more ice cream on the side of his neck and using the tip of her tongue to scoop it up. "Tackle me?" she added more ice cream to the spot under his ear. "Throw me down on the floor?" she put some of the frozen treat on his earlobe and licked it off, than softly bit down on the lobe. "Take out your cuffs and play good cop, bad cop with me?"

He just smiled and continued to eat his ice cream.

"You're playing hard to get tonight," she said, and setting her spoon down on the coffee table, snatched the carton and the spoon away from him and proceeded to do the honours of tackling him onto his back and than climbing on top of him and straddling his chest.

"Now this is exactly what I mean when I ask you to be more aggressive and assertive in bed," Flack told her, his hands slipping underneath the shirt to caress her thighs.

"Well isn't this just your lucky night than," she said, and leaned over him to capture his lips in a hungry, passionate kiss that left them both breathless.

"I don't know," he said, removing his hands from under the shirt in favour of beginning to unbutton it. "Is it my lucky night?"

She grinned devilishly and licked her top lip in eager anticipation before sliding down his body until she was sitting astride his thighs. Her eyes never left his as she trailed a finger tip along the sensitive skin below the waist band of his pants. Hearing his breath hitch and feeling him arch slightly. Seeing the desire and want in his blue eyes.

"Why don't we find that out," she said, and set to work giving him the best New Years Eve he ever had.

* * *

Two hours had passed before they fell asleep, utterly spent and exhausted in the middle of the living room floor. Summoning up just enough extra energy to climb under the blanket as opposed to lying on top of it before drifting off into a comfortable, deep slumber wrapped tightly in each other's embrace.

Flack woke up to the insisted buzzing of the alarm on his cell phone. He'd grabbed the phone earlier to check all the unheard messages that had piled up during the day. Expecting that both he and Sam would no doubt be asleep by midnight, he had set the alarm for five minutes to twelve and sat the phone on the coffee table.

Sam was cuddled tightly into him, her face buried in his neck and her arm and leg wrapped around him. She stirred slightly when he moved away from her. She mumbled incoherently and gave a deep sigh and rolled over onto her other side. It was the same routine whenever he got called out to scene in the middle of the night. She'd muttered and make all kinds of soft noises when she felt him leave the warmth and comfort of their bed and than roll over and continue right on sleeping. It had become second habit for her to sleep through the calls now.

He sat up and leaned over to snag the phone off of the coffee table. Flipping it open, he turned off the alarm and put the phone back and grabbed the remote for the television instead. Moving back to his wife, he flicked on the t.v and took a minute to check the hockey scores on ESPN before turning the channel to the Dick Clark New Years Eve Special. Times Square was an absolute zoo and Flack wondered what in the hell was wrong with people that they'd voluntarily want to get caught up in the sea of humanity. In all his years living in New York, he'd never once been to Times Square on New Years Eve, save for when he was just a uniform and stationed there to help keep the peace.

He lay back down beside his wife. Propping himself on his elbow to keep an eye on the time at the corner of the screen, he draped his other arm around her and pulled her tight into him. She gave another loud sigh and followed by an even louder yawn.

"What time is it?" she asked sleepily, as she tucked her ass into his stomach.

"Almost midnight," he replied, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

"How many more minutes?"

He squinted as he peered at the time at the corner of the screen. "One and a bit."

"We're lame," she declared. "Falling asleep before midnight. I mean, we're not that old where we should feel the need to be in bed before twelve."

"We work long hours," he reasoned. "And we have a toddler that never sits still."

"It's kind of sad, you know," she said.

"What is?"

"That Kieran's not a baby anymore. I kind of miss it."

"So do I," Flack admitted. "But now there's going to be a new baby."

"I know. I'm scared that I might love the new baby more."

"That's ridiculous, Samantha," he told her, and kissed her cheek. "Kieran's our first born. Why would you start loving him any less?"

"I didn't say I would. I just said I was worried about it. And that I won't have enough time for him once I have the new baby."

"You'll be okay," he assured her. "Everything will work out. I'll just have to take some extra time off this time around. Instead of two weeks take a whole month or something. I have enough vacation time piled up. Don't worry about all of that right now. Let's just worry about doctor's appointments and making sure you and the baby are healthy," his hand rested softly on her stomach. "Okay?"

She nodded. "I find New Years Eve sad, too."

"Why's that?"

She shrugged. "All the things that happened in the year are put behind us. And a lot of things happened last year. I don't want to forget them."

"You won't," he said. "And lots of things will happen this year. We'll make a lot of new memories in the next three hundred and sixty five days."

She nodded and brushed tears off her cheeks. "How much time?" she asked.

"Twenty seconds."

She wrapped her arm around his, hugging it to her as they lay in silence watching the final moments of 2009 count down on the television screen. No fan fare or excitement. Just two people content and in love sharing the night, and that moment with each other. And when the time ran out and bedlam erupted in Times Square, Sam let go of her husband's arm and rolled over onto her side to face him and kissed him softly.

"Happy New Year," she whispered against his lips.

"Happy New Year," he returned, and deepened the kiss and rolled her body underneath his.

"Now this is how you celebrate the New Year," she said with a giggle, than sighed as his lips found the hallow of her throat.

The phone rang. The landline.

"I thought you weren't on call," Sam said with a frown.

"I'm not," Flack told her. "I'm off until the second."

"I hope nothing is wrong with Kieran," she fretted, as her husband rolled off of her and got to his feet and headed for the cordless phone on the table behind the couch.

"It's your brother," Flack said as he checked the caller ID. "Calling from his cell phone."

"Maybe he got off early and found someone to hang out with tonight," Sam said. "I hope he's not dumb enough to get involved with all that Times Square insanity."

Flack pressed talk on the cordless phone and held it to his ear. "Hello?" he answered. "Yeah…we were up…Happy New Year to you, too."

"Happy New Year, Peanut!" Sam called out.

Flack relayed the message. "He says Happy New Year," he told his wife. "So what's up?" he asked into the phone. "What?…when did this happen?…are you serious?"

"What?" Sam asked. "What's wrong?"

"Yeah I would say that's quite the shock," Flack said with a laugh. "Well congratulations. I'll tell her. Alright. Bye."

"What's going on?" Sam asked, as her husband hung up the phone, turned off the ringer and joined her back on the floor.

"Nothing," he replied, and gathered the blanket up and pulled it around them before forcing her to lie back down beside him. Facing each other. He captured her lips once again, anxious to continue where they had left off.

Sam pushed him away from her. "What was that all about?" she asked.

"What was what all about?" he responded, and grabbed her by the hip and yanked her towards him, his lips feasting on her neck and shoulder.

"You know…as good as that feels and I really don't want you to stop…"

"Than I won't stop," he said with a chuckle.

"…you won't be getting nothing until you tell me what my brother said to you."

"He didn't say anything. He said Happy New Year. That's it."

Sam frowned.

"Babe, it was nothing," Flack assured her.

"I heard you say something was shocking and than tell him congratulations. Congratulations about what?"

"It honestly was nothing," he told her, kissing her chastely. "He was just telling me that he and Gus are in AC. He managed to get off early and met her down there."

"And?"

"And what?" Flack asked, pressing kisses along her shoulder and than up her neck to her ear.

"Don't play stupid games with me!" she snapped, and shoved him away.

"Honestly, babe, it was nothing. Now come here and quit playing hard to get," he pulled her to him once again and began kissing her neck and ears in earnest.

"Donnie…"

"It's nothing. I wouldn't lie to you. Unless you consider your brother getting married a huge thing."

"What?!" she shrieked and jumped away from her husband. "He got married? When?"

"About an hour ago. He wanted to wait until it was 2010 to surprise us."

"Adam? Adam and Gus? Married?"

Flack nodded.

"But how? Seriously. How?"

"They've had their license for a few days," he told her.

"You knew they were getting married?"

"Not tonight. I knew they were getting married soon. They were just going to have me and you meet them at a JP within the next couple of weeks and BOOM. I guess they couldn't wait."

"Adam?" she was dumbfounded. "Married?"

Flack nodded.

"Whoa…"

"Happy New Year, huh? Now get over here and assume the position."

She picked up a cushion and swatted him with it. "Pervert!"

"You love it," he declared, grabbed her and flipped her onto her back. "I love you," he said, gazing into those golden eyes.

"I love you, too," she said, and raised her head to kiss him.

"Is it time now to show you how much?" he asked.

She grinned.

"No better time in the world," she replied.

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and everyone of you! Even all you lurkers! PLEASE R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Brrtmclv**

**Hope4sall**

**Madison Bellows**

**Laurzz**

**GregRox**

**ImaSupernaturalCSI**

**Laplandgurl**

**Forest Angel**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Shopaholic20**

**Bluehaven4220**


	32. The loves of my life

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF IT'S CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND ALL THE CRAZY FLACK KIDS. **

**A/N: THIS IS A FUTURE CHAPTER. THE MUSE HAS BEEN AFTER ME FOR A WHILE TO WRITE IT. I KNOW THIS IS TWO CHAPS CLOSE TOGETHER, BUT I AM GOING AWAY FOR A COUPLE DAYS AND WANTED TO HAMMER ANOTHER ONE OUT. SO ENJOY!**

**This chapter (specfically the last couple of sections) goes out to my DL gals laurzz and muchmadness**

* * *

**The loves of my life (aka Everybody Loves Crackers)**

"It's amazing how you can speak right to my heart  
Without saying a word, you can light up the dark  
Try as I may, I could never explain  
What I hear when you don't say a thing  
The smile on your face lets me know that you need me  
There's a truth in your eyes saying you'll never leave me  
The touch of your hand says you'll catch me if ever I fall  
You say it best when you say nothing at all  
All day long I can hear people talking out loud  
But when you hold me near, you drown out the crowd  
Old Mr. Webster could never define  
What's being said between your heart and mine."  
-When You Say Nothing At All, Alison Krauss

* * *

Flack stood on the front porch and had a smoke while he watched a tearful Daria speed away from the house. He knew what would come next. It was inevitable. That kid would get home in the condition she was and offer up some explanation to her mother about what had happened - and more than likely not the whole truth, seeing as Daria had a reputation as being somewhat of a pathological liar- and Max would be calling up the house and going off half cocked about Flack mistreating her precious, innocent baby girl. Because Flack was the perpetual bad guy. The King Asshole in Max's eyes since he'd had her turfed back to being a uniform years ago. How he and Sam had ever fallen into a friendship with the woman remained somewhat of a mystery to Flack. He supposed it all started when Max and Rick hooked up and invited Sam and her better half on a double date.

Flack had looked at his wife as if she needed to be committed that night many years ago when he'd come home and she'd announced they were going out on a date the following evening. It wasn't the idea of a nice dinner out with his wife that had surprised him. Hell, any alone time with her was welcome. It was when she ever so smoothly snuck it into the conversation that they would be having another couple join them. And when she said Max and Rick Santucci, Flack was pretty sure she'd lost it and that hell had frozen over and that Rick Santucci had gone completely insane despite repeated warnings to keep his distance from Max. Not to safe her from harm. But to spare him of a life of suffering and misery.

Harsh, maybe. Quite frankly, once Rick had proposed after only six weeks of dating, Flack had all but washed his hands of the whole thing. Rick was a recovering alcoholic and Max was a woman with an apparent heart of stone and an unusual obsession with thinking she had to be around her kid twenty four seven. She couldn't seem to function or exist if Daria was permanently attached to her hip. While most mothers relished time away from their children, Max clung to that kid like the girl was her personal life preserver. It was unhealthy and unnatural. No one needed to be around their kid that much.

"Some people are different, Donnie," Sam had said when he'd complained to her about how Max's behaviour was screwing her kid up beyond repair. "If she wants Daria to be clingy to mommy forever and be a miserable, bitter, old and grey lady with sixty cats, that's her business."

Flack had noticed, in the years that they'd been somewhat friends with Max and her family, that Daria never seemed to have a boyfriend. It struck him as odd because here she was, an incredibly attractive young woman with a somewhat decent head on her shoulders and he would have thought there'd be guys lining up around the block like there was for his girls and they were just turning fourteen in a matter of months. Now he realized, after Kieran's confession, that the reason he never saw her with a guy was because she obviously wasn't into guys her age. She was too busy trolling the playgrounds and the barely into high school set for a hook up. Apparently, she didn't just possess half of Dean Truby's DNA. He had also passed down his astonishingly poor morals and his ability to make the most possible choices without the smallest shred of regret or remorse for the consequences or the people he messed up along the way.

The apple does not fall far from the tree, Flack thought, as he finished his cigarette and butted it out before dropping it into the rusted old coffee can on the ground by the front door. Gathering up his briefcase and the box of files he'd sat on the porch, he yanked open the screen door and stepped into the house. He had just gotten his shoes kicked off when he heard a loud crash in the kitchen and the shattering of glass followed by a blood curdling scream that belonged to his wife. Followed by his oldest son's calm, soothing voice.

"Mommy…it's okay…just calm down…"

"Get it out of here, K!" she shrieked. "Get it out of here!!"

"Mom…take it easy…it's not a big deal."

"Yes! Yes it is!" she cried. "Please! Just get rid of it!"

Flack was out of the foyer and through the living room and down the hall in record time. He paused in the doorway to the kitchen, baffled by the sight of the shattered pile of glasses and dishes on the floor. And the sight of his wife clinging in panic to the front of their oldest son's shirt, her face buried in Kieran's chest. He towered over his mother's petite frame and had both arms wrapped securely and protectively around her while he attempted to comfort her. Her entire body shook and Flack could scarcely hear the sobs that were muffled by his son's shirt.

"What in the hell is going on in here?" Flack asked.

"Mom got scared," Kieran replied.

"Of what?" his father inquired.

Kieran nodded in the direction of the kitchen table. On top of which, locked securely in it's cage, was a tiny ginger coloured dwarf hamster busying himself digging in the shavings that lined the bottom of its 'house'. A water bottle was attached to one side and in the cage itself was a small metal wheel and a bowl of food.

"Please just get rid of it," Sam begged.

"Samantha, just calm down," Flack said.

"I can't!" she wailed, and prying herself away from her oldest child, turned to her husband with tears streaming down her face and pointed at the innocent hamster playing so happily on their table. "Donnie! There's a rodent in our house!"

"It's a hamster," he informed her.

"I don't care! I don't want it here! I don't want it in my house!"

"I think what we should be asking right about now is what the hell is it doing in our house?" Flack asked, and turned a stern glare at his son.

"Don't look at me," Kieran held his hands up in self defence. "I merely carried the little piece of vermin home. This is all Liam's doing. It's the class hamster. I guess each kid gets a chance to bring him home and this weekend was Liam's turn."

"Isn't there suppose to be some kind of permission slip signed for this sort of thing?" Flack asked.

"Liam sort of, kind of told a small white lie," Kieran reluctantly confessed.

"What kind of small white lie?" his father inquired.

"Just a little one," his son assured him, holding his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart to emphasis how small. "I guess he, uh…well when Mrs Davies mentioned to him that it was his turn to take Crackers home, she told him that he had to ask his parents. Well, Liam kinda told her you guys said it was okay."

"Liam never even mentioned it," Flack said.

"Yeah…I know. And I told him that you guys were going to be pissed. But he was nearly in tears when I refused at first to carry the cage all the way home. I couldn't disappoint him and I couldn't get back into the school where he would have been left all alone for the weekend and I couldn't just abandon the poor guy somewhere. So, here he is. Mom and dad, meet Crackers. Crackers, meet mom and dad."

"You realize you're starting to ramble and sound like your Uncle Adam more and more every day?" Flack asked his son. "And who in the hell names a hamster Crackers?"

"Beats me," Kieran said, shrugging his broad shoulders.

His son's body language and facial expressions often made Flack feel as if he were looking into a mirror and seeing himself. And this time was no exception. The way Kieran's blue eyes were fixated on that hamster and the way his eyebrows were arched and his forehead was wrinkled was a duplicate to the expression Flack himself often had worn during an interrogation when he suspected someone was bullshitting him.

"Is someone going to get rid of it!?" Sam wailed, clutching her oldest son once again.

"Take a pill, woman," Flack told her. "I can't believe you're behaving like this over a hamster."

He went to the kitchen table, snapped open the tiny door on the cage and reached in to scoop up the animal.

"Oh my God! Donnie, don't!" Sam shrieked. "Don't kill him! Don't crush him or snap his neck!"

"Why in the hell would I kill him?" Flack asked, taking the hamster from it's cage and cradling it gently in the palm of his hand. "Look at how cute he is."

"Cute!" she screeched. "He's not cute! Put him back!"

"Calm down, Sammie and I'll bring him over and you can touch him and see that he isn't anything you need to be scared of. That Clapper.."

"Crackers, dad," Kieran corrected. "His name is Crackers."

"That Crackers is harmless. He's just a dwarf hamster, Sammie," Flack told her as he slowly crossed the kitchen. "He isn't going to attack you and gouge your eyes out or gnaw your face off."

"Don't!" she cried and ducked behind her son. "Please don't bring it over here!"

"How in the hell does this tiny, little adorable thing scare you?" Flack asked. "You grew up in Crown Heights. A place that has rats the size of small terriers."

"Don't, Donnie…" she pleaded, in tears yet again as she hide behind Kieran. "Please…don't!"

"It's okay, mommy," Kieran assured her, and reaching behind him, laid a hand on her arm and gently drew her out in front of him. "Dad's not going to put him on your or anything. He just wants you to look at him."

"Promise you won't do anything bad," Sam sniffled, turning her terrified golden eyes on her husband.

"I promise you," he said. "You okay?"

She nodded.

"Here," he said, and went to drop the hamster on her shoulder.

"Donnie!" she screamed in horror and backed away. "You promised!"

"I'm sorry," he attempted, and failed, to hide his chuckle or his humour at the whole situation. "Here…" he held out his hand to show her the hamster. "It's okay…just touch him."

She shook her head vigorously.

"He's not going to hurt you," Flack assured her, speaking calmly and soothingly. Taking another step towards her.

She backed up even more.

"If Kieran held him would you feel better?" Flack asked. "If he promises not to toss the thing at you would that be okay?"

She nodded.

Kieran stretched out his hand, palm up, and Flack placed the tiny creature in it. "Here, mom," he said, and turned to Sam, the hamster trembling and sniffing at his hand. "See? He's not going to hurt you. He's just a baby."

* * *

Flack watched the moment between mother and son. The unbelievable trust and respect that existed between the two of them. The soft, soothing and patient tone in Kieran's voice. The understanding in those bright blue eyes, the way he looked at his mother with so much love and adoration. How he was able to calm her to the point she took a tentative step towards him and looked up at him. Kieran nodded. A silent reassurance passed from him to her. And she reached out, her hand shaking, and tenderly stroked the tiny animal.

He was yet again taken back by the bond that existed between them. It hadn't come easily to Sam. That undying love and devotion that so many mothers professed they felt for their babies the moment they were born had taken longer to come to her. She had felt guilty and increasingly frustrated that she didn't feel that way. Scared that it made her a bad mother because while she loved her new son, he had seemed like a complete stranger to her and that she didn't know how to get to know him better.

Things didn't 'click' easily for them. Once the baby had come home he fussed endlessly whenever his mother tried to tend to him and refused to latch on to the breast no matter how hard Sam tried to encourage him. A lactation consultant and a baby nurse had come in to check on things and had helped ease some of her stress. But it wasn't until she got rid of her fear and uneasiness of being left alone with her son, that she was able to relax and the baby, perhaps sensing the release of tension between him and his mother, began to thrive and bond with her. And she with him.

And maybe it was because he had always been the one to work the extra hours and leave his wife alone with Kieran -all the kids for that matter- and for longer periods of time, or maybe it had to do with their separation and how she had been forced to become mother and father while he was relegated to visits whenever he could get the chance. But Sam and Kieran would always be closer than he could ever hope to be with his oldest child. And it broke his heart to realize that his son wouldn't look up to him and love him the same way he did his mother.

He only had himself to blame for that. But he vowed, standing there, watching the love of his life and his first born child, that he would do whatever it took to make things up to his boy.

The sliding door that led from the kitchen to the walk out deck slid open and Liam came bursting through. A navy blue bath towel wrapped around his slight frame and his hair wet and sticking up every which way. Water dripped off his face and down his legs and left a trail across the linoleum floor of the kitchen.

"Hi daddy, hi mommy," he chirped and simply hurried past.

"Whoa," Flack caught his youngest before Liam could get any further, stepping in front of him to block the way. "Where you going little man?"

"I gotta go to the bathroom," he said.

"You should have dried yourself off before running in here and leaving water all over the kitchen floor. You going to help your mom clean it up?"

"No," Liam answered honestly.

Flack arched both eyebrows and stared down at his son.

"Yes," the little boy quickly changed his tune. "But I didn't have time to dry off, daddy!" he exclaimed. "'Cause I got to pee so bad!"

"You go into the little bathroom down here. Don't be going upstairs and making an even bigger mess on your mom's carpet or she's going to blow a gasket and you don't want that, right?"

Liam didn't respond.

"Right?" Flack pressed.

"Right…I really gotta take a leak, daddy!" he cried, clenching his legs together. "And I hate the small bathroom! I can't stand pink! How does a guy take a leak with pink walls?"

"Liam…" Flack warned.

"Alright…alright. I'm going…" the little boy huffed and hurried out of the kitchen and down the hall to the small bathroom located by the stairs that led to the basement.

"When you're done I want you to dry yourself off, and upstairs in your room putting on clean clothes," Flack called after him. "You hear me?"

"Yeah…yeah…I hear you," Liam responded and slammed the bathroom door.

"He's a mouthy little shit, dad," Kieran declared, as Sam, with the hamster now in her own cupped palms, bonded with the tiny animal while Kieran got the broom and dust pan to clean up the shards of glass.

"I wonder who it gets that from," Flack shot his oldest son a pointed glare. "I'm telling you right now, Kieran, you start watching your mouth around here because there's no way a kid his age is saying that stuff unless he's picking it up somewhere. So watch it, understand?"

Kieran didn't answer.

"Kieran!" Flack snapped.

The fifteen year old glanced up from his sweeping.

"Do you understand?" Flack asked.

"I didn't catch all of what you said," he admitted sheepishly.

"What's wrong with you? Are you deaf or something?"

"You know sometimes I can't hear properly," his son responded. "And that I can understand better when you and mom are looking right at me when you guys talk so I can see your lips moving. How long's it been that way?"

"Don't be smart, Kieran," Sam said, and carried the hamster across the kitchen and deposited it into it's cage and shut and locked the door. "Don't talk to your father like that."

"He knows, mom. About my hearing and he still calls me names."

"I wasn't calling you names," Flack informed him. "But I get a little pissed when it seems like you either aren't paying attention or you don't give a shit. You have issues hearing, than you look at me when I'm talking to you. Better yet, your mother is going to call the audiologist and get you a hearing test. You haven't had one in a few years so I'd say you're just about due."

Kieran sighed. "What if they say I need a hearing aid again? Like when I was a kid?"

"Than you get one and you wear it," his father told him. "And who says you're going to need one? You might just have fluid in there and need the tubes put back in."

"Again? Dad, I've had those things done nearly every year since I was a year old until I was twelve."

"You want to be able to hear or what?" Flack asked.

"I'll never be able to get into the academy if I have tubes in my ears or a damn hearing aide," Kieran huffed.

"Jesus Christ not this crap again," Flack complained.

"Donnie…leave him alone," Sam defended her son. "The academy won't look down on you for having tubes or wearing a hearing aid," she assured Kieran.

"Don't encourage him," Flack told her.

"I am going to encourage him!" Sam argued. "Because if that's what he wants to do than you need to accept it and back the hell off of him! Shit, you'd think you'd be happy he isn't out smoking pot or stealing cars and who knows what other crap like some of his friends are doing. If he wants to be a cop that's his business! Not yours!"

Flack snorted and shook his head. "You're both fucked up. Like mother like son, I guess, " he muttered and stalked out of the kitchen.

"Asshole," Sam grumbled. She looked across the kitchen at her son, who was grinning at her.

"I know what you just said, mom," Kieran said.

"How'd you hear me say that if you couldn't hear your dad talking right next to you?"

"I didn't hear you. I read your lips. And you're right, he is one sometimes. A big one."

"He's your father, Kieran. My husband. And I don't want you talking about him like that. He's sacrificed a lot to give you and your brothers and sisters everything he possibly could. And he's put up with a lot from all of us. So you need to show him a little more respect. Okay?"

Kieran nodded.

"And he's really stressed out over your grandfather," Sam added. "So please cut him some slack. And lay off this academy stuff with him. He's not ready to hear you talking about life plans like that. If you know it bothers him, why do you insist on talking about it?"

"I don't know…"

"If you want to talk about it, I am more than willing to discuss it with you. But please, please lay off your dad. He had a lot on his plate right now."

"Grandpa's really sick?"

Sam nodded.

"Like dying sick?"

She ignored the question and turned around the picked up the hamster cage. "Can you please take this and put it in the basement until Liam decides what he wants to do with it?"

The fifteen year old nodded and picked up the dust pan and carried it to the sink. He opened up the cupboard underneath and dumped the pieces of glass into the garbage can inside. Putting the broom and dust pan back into the pantry, he walked over to his mother and took the cage from her.

"Thanks, mommy," he said, and kissed her cheek.

"For what?" she asked.

"Just being you," he replied. "'Cause you've always had my back against dad when I've needed it."

"Your father loves you, Kieran. And I'm sorry he doesn't say it or show it as often as he should. When you were a baby he was so different. He couldn't get enough of you. He was always holding you and kissing you and touching your face and your hair and telling you stories."

"The legend of the Land of Tiern A Nog," Kieran said.

Sam smiled. "You remember that?"

"Dad used to tell me that story all the time. I loved it. Than all of a sudden, I turned ten and it all stopped. Why? Why is he like that?"

"I don't know," she admitted sadly. "But don't give up on him, Kieran. He's never given up on you. On any of us. Especially me."

"He loves you, mom. You're his entire life."

"We're his entire life," Sam corrected him. "Now please put that thing downstairs and than maybe you can help me start some supper? Uncle Danny and Aunt Linds will be here in an hour and than we're all walking over to the park for Mikayla's soccer game."

"Auntie Montanie," Kieran said with a grin.

"She'd kill you if she heard you call her that. Only Liam is allowed to call her that."

"That's because Liam is her favourite," Kieran reasoned. "If she loves him that much do you think she can take him? Like for good?"

Sam grinned. "Downstairs, please."

"Still say you and dad should have stopped at one," Kieran declared and headed from the kitchen.

* * *

"Tell me why you lied, Liam," Flack said, as he and his seven year old son sat on the edge of the little boy's bed.

"I didn't lie to you, daddy," Liam responded, eyes downcast as he fiddled with a loose thread on the comforter below them. Black and emblazoned with all the NHL teams logos.

"But you lied to Mrs Davies," Flack told him. "You told her that your mom and I said it was okay that you brought the hamster home."

"Crackers," Liam informed his father.

"I don't care what his name is, Liam," Flack said. "What I care about is that you didn't ask your mom and I if you could bring the hamster home and than you went and lied to your teacher and said that we told you it was okay. You remember what I told you about lying?"

"That it's not nice," Liam responded.

"And?" Flack pressed.

"And that you don't like liars because you can't trust them."

"Exactly. And I don't think you want me not trusting you, do you?"

Liam shook his head.

"Why did you lie to Mrs Davies?" Flack asked once again.

The little boy shrugged. "I don't know…I just did."

"Why didn't you ask your mom or me if it was okay to bring the hamster home?"

Another shrug.

Flack sighed. Who would have thought talking to his seven year old son would turn into one of the toughest interrogations he'd ever face.

"Did you think maybe mommy or I would say no?" he asked, taking a different direction in his quest for an explanation.

"I know mommy doesn't like mice," Liam replied. "And hamster's kinda look like mice."

"So you were afraid your mom was going to say no?"

Liam nodded.

"You know that your mom wouldn't have been so upset about the whole thing if you had have just asked her, don't you? And that she wouldn't have said no as long as you promised to clean up after the thing and make sure it had food and water. You know all of that right?"

"No…"

"You didn't give your mom a chance to say yes or no. And you should have given her that chance. Because now she's mad when before she would have been okay with it. Understand what I'm saying?"

"Yeah. Are you mad, daddy?" he asked, turning tear filled golden eyes up at his father.

"I'm mad, Liam," he replied honestly.

"I'm sorry, daddy," Liam's lower lip wobbled as he struggled not to cry. "I didn't mean to lie. Honest! My brain couldn't control my mouth!"

"And that's another thing," Flack said. "I know you're hearing Kieran say a lot of stuff. But I don't want you repeating it, okay? Because Kieran's a big boy and says big boy things and you're a little boy that shouldn't be talking like that. Alright?"

Liam nodded.

"Don't lie to Mrs Davies ever again," Flack told him. "Or to me or your mommy. Or anyone else for that matter. Understand?"

"I understand, daddy," Liam said, and broke down into tears.

Flack's heart broke at the sight of his little son crying. But he remained firm and serious and instead of speaking, reached out and pulled the tiny trembling body into his arms. He said nothing as he stroked his son's fine hair with one hand and his back with the other.

"I want you to go and wash your face and clean yourself up," Flack told his son, pulling away after several minutes. "Than I want you to go and say sorry to your mom. Okay?"

"Okay," Liam sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I love you, daddy."

"I love you, too," Flack told him, and standing at the side of his bed, took his son's face in his hands and pressed a kiss to the top of Liam's head. "Before supper I want you to clean your room up," he instructed as he headed for the door.

"Does mommy hate me?" Liam asked through his tears.

"Your mommy could never hate you," Flack replied.

Me I'm not so sure about, he thought as he exited the room.

* * *

Flack didn't know what to make of the new girl hanging around his oldest daughters.

Alessa seemed like an alright kid. She was bubbly and seemed to have a good head on her shoulders and was showing more patience and tolerance for Declan than most people three times her age. She didn't treat him like he was any different. She listened intently to when he spoke, and instead of interrupting him by saying she didn't understand or by seeking someone out to explain what he was talking about, she simply kept quiet and did her own interpreting. One thing about Declan, if you didn't get it, he repeated it until you did. The kid was tenacious. Definitely a trait he'd picked up from his mother.

This Alessa kid was polite. When Reghan had introduced her, Alessa had shook both of their hands warmly and called them Mr and Mrs Flack as opposed to the simple 'Hey' they usually got when their kids brought home new friends. And that was often. Reghan and Alannah seemed to attract just about anyone. Kids flocked to them and clung to them and followed them home like stray animals did to other people. Unlike the other young teens who did little more than hang out and eat them out of house and home, Alessa made polite small talk. From the weather to the Flacks' big family to their individual jobs. There was nothing that didn't interest her. And she followed Sam around like a lost puppy. Asking what jobs she could do to help make the dinner preparations easier and less of a hassle.

It just wasn't normal. Flack had decided that the moment the kid had started her 'mommy's little helper' gig. And as he stood at the barbecue on the deck, grilling hamburgers and hotdogs for supper, he kept one eye on Liam and Mikayla setting the nearby table with plastic cups and cutlery and paper plates and the other on the new girl that was giggling and doing a little too much flirting -as far as Flack was concerned- with Kieran as the fifteen year old kicked around a soccer ball with Declan.

"Whose that?" Danny asked, nodding in Alessa's direction, as he suddenly appeared at his best friend's side, beer in hand.

"Her name's Alessa," Flack replied, picking up a can of Coke that sat on the railing of the deck and taking a sip. "Lanni and Reggie brought her home from school today. Apparently they're new BFFs."

"Until they all decide they like the same boy and stab each other in the back," Danny concluded. "Which is so what's going on in my house at the moment."

"Hey, Uncle Don!" Aiden called as he bounded out of the house and across the deck and down the stairs to join his best friend on the lawn.

Aiden Messer was his father's son in the same way Kieran Flack was his father's boy. A spitting image of Danny. From the slender yet well toned build and the short, spiky blond hair that Danny had once sported to the blue eyes and thin wire framed glasses.

"So what were you moaning about?" Flack asked, flipping burgers as he watched the introductions taking place in middle of the yard.

"My daughter. All of eleven and she's having boy problems," Danny sighed.

"Join the club, Mess. Mikki just got passed over by some guy whose father's a defence attorney."

"What a moron," Danny declared. "I mean, our girls are still babies, Flack! Babies and they're interested in boys already! What is up with that?"

"Be thankful they're just interested in them and not doing other things in the school bathroom," Flack responded. "'Cause some of the things I have been hearing lately about kids that young getting and giving oral sex…"

"At eleven?" Danny looked mortified.

"Younger, even. Damn scary if you ask me. Last thing I want is Mikki getting caught doing anything like that. And you know what happened last week? Did I tell you?"

Danny shook his head and took a swig of beer.

"Reghan informs her mother she wants to go on the pill."

The CSI nearly spit his beer out.

"Yeah…my reaction exactly," Flack said. "Sam told me and I nearly went ballistic. After I fainted, of course. She's only thirteen! Thirteen and she wants to go on the pill for Christ sakes! And my wife agrees with it and makes an appointment for her! An appointment to put my thirteen year old daughter on birth control!"

"She have a reason?" Danny asked.

"Sam gave me this bullshit excuse about how it will regulate Reggie's periods because they're all screwed up like Sam's have been all her life. Honestly, I don't buy that crap for a second. 'Cause I know there's a boy she's interested in and I'm pretty sure he's somewhat experienced and might be getting her into things."

"Whose the guy?" Danny inquired. "I'll go tune him up."

Flack looked at his best friend with a grin on his face and than looked out at the yard. And directly at Danny's son.

"Get outta here," Danny laughed and brushed off the suggestion. "My son is not messing around with your daughter."

"Yeah? You sure? 'Cause she all but told me she has a thing for him."

"Really? She's into my boy? Pretty girl like her? That could be interesting. My son and your daughter."

"Never gonna happen," Flack informed him.

"Why not?"

"Because he's your son. And I've known you a long time and I know he's just like you. And no offence, but the second coming of Danny Messer around my daughter? I don't think so."

"I don't see it as such a bad thing," Danny said with a shrug.

"I find out your kid isn't keeping it in his pants, Dan-o, and I'm castrating him myself. Understand me?"

Danny held up his hands in self defence. "Ask me," he said. "Looks like it's your boy you should be worried about. He's looking mighty cozy with that new girl."

"Don't worry," Flack told his best friend. "I've got my eye on that new girl."

"What are you bitching about?" Sam asked, catching the end of the conversation as she stepped out onto the deck in her bare feet.

They had done their proverbial kiss and make up. Heavy on the kissing. She was out of her work garb and now wearing a pair of baggy olive green cargo pants and a simple white tank top. And carrying three year old Danny Messer Jr on her hip.

"Your horn dog son trying to get into the new girl's pants," Danny replied.

"She's a very nice girl," Sam informed him.

"Miss Goody Two shoes with her Park Avenue address and her lunches delivered by a chauffeur driving a Bentley," Flack declared.

"Be nice," Sam scolded. "By the way," she said, and helped herself to a handful of Tostitos in a bowl on the nearby table. "I've made a decision."

"What's what?" Flack asked, sipping his pop. "You want a divorce?"

"You couldn't afford to divorce me," she replied. "Want to hear what my decision is?"

"Enlighten me," Flack said.

"Bend down for a second. I don't want Danny to hear."

Flack humoured his wife and lowered himself to her level.

She cupped a hand around his ear and whispered into it.

His face went white, his eyes widened.

"Did you catch that?" Sam asked, pecking his cheek before he straightened himself up.

He nodded slowly.

"Do I get an answer?" she inquired.

"Other than I think you're fucking nuts?"

She frowned.

"We'll talk about it," he told her and kissed her softly before she disappeared back into the couch.

"What was that all about?" Danny asked curiously.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Mess," his best friend replied.

"Try me," the CSI said.

Flack just smiled.

But all he could think was one thing:

Holy shit she wants another baby.

* * *

"So how do you do it?" Lindsay asked.

She and Sam were at the park behind Archbishop Malloy, the co-ed Catholic high school that their oldest children attended together. Across a wide expanse of grass was the football and soccer fields. While Danny and Flack and Declan watched Mikayla playing soccer, the two wives found themselves at the playground with the rest of their broods. Aiden and Kieran were hanging out by one of the portables with Alessa, Reghan and Alannah while Liam was on the swing Sam was currently pushing as high as she possibly could while Lindsay tended to Danny Jr in the baby swing several feet away.

"Do what?" Sam responded with a question of her own.

"Keep Flack in line," Lindsay replied.

The petite brunette laughed. "I don't do anything," she said. "He merely tows the line."

"But how do you make sure he does that? That he keeps himself grounded and where he should be? You two have been together for sixteen years. Married for fifteen and a bit. How do you keep him where he is?"

Sam thought about it. "Well," she said at last. "I put the fear of God into him for one. And two, we have six kids. Can you imagine the amount of child support that man would have to pay? It would be staggering. He couldn't afford it and he knows it and that alone is enough to scare him into behaving."

Lindsay managed small laugh.

"Seriously, I like to think he stays where he is because he's happy," Sam told her friend. "Because he loves me and his kids. Because he wants to grow old and grey with me. Because he knows that no other woman in this world can do the things for him that I can and love him the way I do."

Lindsay sighed. "God I hope you're right," she said.

"Where is all this coming from?" Sam inquired. "You and Danny okay?"

"Yeah…I mean…I guess…I think so."

Sam frowned.

"We're okay," Lindsay confirmed. "But we're not great."

"What's going on?" Sam asked stopping the swing, as Liam requested to be let off in favour of playing on the slides and monkey bars. She took a seat on the swing instead, facing where Liam was now busying himself.

"I just think that Danny and I could be a lot better," Lindsay confessed.

"Okay…"

"He's not like Flack," Lindsay told her friend. "Flack is grounded. He knows what he wants and where he wants to be. Danny is more free and easy and not willing to settle down completely despite the rings on our fingers and the baby we created together and the fact I took in his two kids. I mean, it feels like he's with me but not totally with me. Does that make sense?"

"I used to feel that way about Don. When we first got together. Right before we found out I was having Kieran."

"Seriously?"

The brunette nodded. "All the time. I used to feel that I was head over heels in love with him and didn't know how he was feeling. That I was so willing to give myself completely and he was holding most of himself back. He cheated on me once."

Lindsay's eyes widened. "After you were married?"

"Way before. When we were seeing each other," Sam made air quotes around the words seeing each other.

"Whoa…that I didn't expect to hear. He actually told you about it?"

"Yep. He 'fessed up. And I thought more of him for having the balls to tell me than I hated him for doing it. We weren't that far into the relationship and neither of us knew what we wanted yet. I was still reeling from the whole Zack disaster and Don had just broken up with Devon. Who, I might add, was the one he cheated on me with."

Lindsay groaned. "Yuck…stuck up rich bitch or what."

"I got over it. I think his honesty made things between us stronger and made us realize how much we did care about one another. As weird as that sounds."

"Have you ever felt since than that he's cheated on you?"

"Once or twice," Sam admitted. "But I don't think he actually did. I think he knows he stands to lose too much if he ever even considered it."

"Have you ever been tempted to cheat on him?"

Sam gave a small smile. "Once. About three years after we got married. With Chester Lake."

"Your ex boyfriend you told me about? Who ended up working for Flack? The one who was killed in the line of duty five years ago?"

Sam nodded. "I had my chance. I almost took it. But I couldn't in the end. Because I just love my husband too much to face life without him."

"Wow," Lindsay said. For the lack of anything better.

"You ever think Danny's cheating on you?" Sam asked.

Lindsay shook her head.

"And what about you? Would you ever cheat on him?"

"I spent way too many years apart and missing him and loving him every day to ever mess around," Lindsay said. "I've had guys I could have with. But I never did."

"Sounds like we all have skeletons in our closet," Sam sighed.

"And that we all need to bury them," Lindsay said.

* * *

"Tell me how you do it, Flack," Danny said, as he leaned back on his elbows as he stretched out beside his best friend on the grass.

"Do what?" Flack asked, as he kept one eye on Declan acting as snack and drink boy for Mikayla's soccer team, and another on his eleven year old daughter kicking ass on the field.

"Your marriage," Danny replied. "How you keep it together?"

"I don't know," Flack said, as he removed his sunglasses and cleaned them on the front of his t-shirt before slipping them on once again. "I don't think about how. I just do it."

"Been fifteen plus years for you and Brooklyn," Danny told his friend. "That's a long ass time."

His best friend nodded. "It is," he agreed. "But Sam and I don't sit down and make a game plan on how we're going to get through year to year. We just get through. We love each other. We love our kids. We love our life. Plain and simple."

"But there's gotta be a secret," Danny argued. "Something in your bag of tricks. Because you guys do love each other. Probably more now than you did fifteen years ago. And you and Brooklyn are happy despite all the shit you guys have been through. So there must be something you do to keep that even keel."

"I don't know what you want me to say, Dan-o. I just take my marriage day by day. Honestly, some days I'm shocked I've been married this long. Five more years and it's two decades. How fucking surreal is that?"

"Pretty crazy," Danny agreed.

"I've learned a lot, I guess," Flack said. "I've learned to never leave the house without telling my wife I love her. I've learned never to let either of us go to bed angry. I've learned that it's never goodbye. It's see you in a bit or see you later. And I've learned that I'm a good person and a good father and a damn good husband."

Danny smiled.

"I've learned that I don't have to be perfect so I gave up trying. I've learned that my wife isn't a possession and she deserves to be treated like an equal. And most of all, I've learned that I love her more than anything in this world and that I'd lay down my life for her in a heart beat."

Danny nodded slowly. "I'm proud of you, Don. For the way you turned out. Husband, father to six kids. An NYPD inspector. Who would have ever thought Donnie Flack Jr would be part of the big brass."

"Whoever thought you'd be second in command at the crime lab and married to Lindsay Monroe," Flack said.

"True…very true. That was the last thing I ever expected. For her to give me another chance. Not just with her, but with life itself. And she gave me a son. And I love all my kids and you now that. But Daniel…" he shook his head and fought tears. "He's my heart, Flack."

"I know. And you see that boy over there," he nodded in Declan's direction.

Danny nodded.

"He's mine. Despite the doubts I had and the things I may have said about him when he was a baby."

"You were shocked, Flack. We all were. You were shocked and you were hurt and you lashed out. That's normal. And I admire you for stepping up and loving that kid when lesser men like me would have bailed when they got news like that. Your boy is special. And I mean that with respect. He's special and you love him."

"I'd defend that kid to the death, Danny. All my kids. But he relies on me more to do it. And you know what? That's okay. You think I don't see the way people stare at him? Notice that they're whispering behind my back? You don't think that hurts?"

"I know it does. I've been the one there for you through all of that."

"I accepted him and loved him in the end because of my wife," Flack said. "Because in the end, after she got over her shock and her grief and she was able to accept him, so was I. Because I knew if we did it together, we could get through anything. And we did. Thirteen years and counting. And I love that kid to the ends of this earth."

"Acceptance and love," Danny concluded. "That can get us through anything."

"I like to think so," Flack sighed. "Not that it isn't hard. 'Cause trust me, there's days where I don't know how in the hell I'll ever survive. And you know what gets me through to the next day? And the one after that?"

Danny shook his head.

"My wife. She's always been there. Through thick and thin. I've shit on her time and time again and she still sticks around. She's the love of my life, Dan-o. Just like Lindsay is yours. So whatever shit you're putting her through or whatever is going on between you do, knock it off and realize she's the best thing that's ever happened to you. She's your Montana. Just like Sammie's my Brooklyn."

The CSI smiled. "Feel like I should be stretched out on the couch and paying you an hourly rate," he quipped.

"You kidding? Me and my issues? I'm the last one that should be giving advice. Trust me."

"But you're dying to give it and I know you are," Danny grinned.

"Love her, Danny. No matter what. For better or for worse, for richer or poorer. In sickness and in health and all that other crap. Because when it's all said and done and your end gets here, that's going to be the woman that holds your hand and sees you to the bitter end. And when that happens, with me and Sam.." Flack sighed. "..and trust me I hope to God, I go before she does 'cause I don't think I could take life without her, I'm going to be up there waiting for her. 'Cause nothing can keep me from her."

Danny sat silently and considered his best friend's heartfelt words. "She's my everything, Flack," he said at long last. "Montana…she's my everything."

"Yeah? Than you best be telling her that before she starts second guessing it. Because I nearly made that mistake once and I don't want to see that happen to you. Understand me?"

"Absolutely," Danny responded. "How much longer you think? That either of us have with our wives in this life."

"I don't know," Flack sighed. "But I sure as hell wish it was forever."

"Nothing's forever," Danny reminded him.

"So than until she can't stand me anymore and finds someone else," Flack said. "I don't know how much longer. But what I do now, is that my daughter is out there handing kids' their asses and you're here yakking my ear of preventing me from watching her. And if I don't watch, she'll hand me my ass later and never let me live it down."

Danny looked out at the soccer field. "You're a damn good man, Donald Flack Jr," he informed his best friend. "Never thought I'd see you as soccer dad and a hockey dad. But you're a damn good man nonetheless."

A broad grin spread across Flack's face.

"A damn good woman will do that to you," he said.

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! Much appreciated! And thanks to all the lurkers. And I know there's lots of you. Please feel free to R and R if you are enjoying this folks!!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Brrtmclv**

**Hope4sall**

**muchmadness**

**Laurzz**

**GregRox**

**Forest Angel**

**Shopaholic20**

**ImaSupernaturalCSI**

**Laplandgurl**

**Soccer-bitch**

**wolfeylady**

**EvaFlack001**


	33. Unexpected

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND ALL THE FLACK KIDS**

**A/N: I AM BACK!**

**Unexpected**

"Back when I was a child, before life removed all the innocence  
My father would lift me high and dance with my mother and me and then  
Spin me around 'til I fell asleep  
Then up the stairs he would carry me  
And I knew for sure I was loved  
If I could get another chance, another walk, another dance with him  
I'd play a song that would never, ever end  
How I'd love, love, love  
To dance with my father again."  
-Dance With My Father Again, Luther Vandross

* * *

The last place Flack had wanted to be at ten thirty at night was on the Queensboro Bridge heading into Manhattan. Where he wanted to be was at home. Most specifically curled up on the couch in the family room with his wife. Eating junk food while they watched television and the kids were fast asleep. It was their usual Friday night activity for the past seven years nearly. Once Liam came along and having six kids made it nearly impossible to have any sort of social life, they had begun finding cheaper ways to have fun. When it was possible to relax long enough to have fun. It was difficult to take it easy with a family that big. Once the kids were in bed, that was usually the time they used to get things done. Dishes, laundry, paying bills, making meals that could last a couple of days and be stored in the freezer. Anything that made raising that many kids a little easier. Often he wondered what the hell they had ever been thinking to want a family that big. With each baby they had, or three in the case of the triplets, they had sworn up and down that that was it. No more babies. And each time, a few months later, discussions would begin about whether they really wanted to stop or not and in the end, they would decide that one more baby wouldn't hurt or break the bank. Mikayla had been their last one. Or so they had planned it that way. Only a course of unforeseen and somewhat bizarre events had led to Liam and added to their often out of control brood. It had been Sam who'd gone ahead with the decision to have her tubes tied once he was born. It was a reversible procedure but neither of them had ever considered having it reversed.

Until now apparently.

He would have much rather have been cuddled up on that family room couch, talking such an insane idea out with his wife. Instead he found himself behind the wheel of his SUV, driving Alessa Bainbridge home because her simple after school visit with the girls had turned into a rather long one. Sam had suggested that Alessa just stay over. She was going to be attending the slumber party the next evening anyway, so it made more sense to just call her parents and let them know she was staying until Sunday afternoon and that it was perfectly okay with Alannah and Reghan's parents. She could even borrow some of the girls' clothing and Sam kept extra unused toothbrushes in the linen closet for visitors that forgot their own. Only no one bothered to answer the phone at Alessa's and no machine picked up for her to even leave a message. And she was too afraid of her parents reaction if she didn't show up at home without telling them where she was, that Sam had offered to drive her into the city.

Flack had nixed that idea. He didn't want his wife driving at that time of the night regardless of what borough she was going to. Which was how he now found himself, yawning noisily and attempting to keep himself awake with the extra large black Starbucks that sat in the cup holder in between the driver's and passenger's seat while Alessa, sipping the Chai Tea Latte he'd purchased for her, stared out her window at the sparkling lights of Manhattan as they travelled the expanse of the bridge.

"So do your parents make it a habit of not answering the phone?" Flack asked casually. "Especially when you're out so late. You would think that they would want to know you're okay."

"They know I'm fine," she responded. "They know that Reghan and Alannah's mom and dad are both cops. Well, that their dad is. And that their mom works for the government. That she was a cop."

"And that's okay with your parents?" he asked.

"They don't care what my friends' parents do," Alessa replied.

"I don't mean that. What I mean is that they don't care you're out so late? Alannah and Reghan have to be in by ten on weekends. Kieran no later than midnight. Your folks don't mind you being out so late?"

"I don't have a curfew," the young girl informed him.

Flack arched an eyebrow and sipped his coffee. "You're like thirteen," he said, trying to not sound preachy or condescending.

"I just turned fourteen two weeks ago," Alessa told him.

"So fourteen…and you don't have a curfew?"

"My parents don't believe in them. They believe that too many rules and regulations hamper a child's quest for independence and personal security. And that a strict, controlling parent only damages their child's psyche."

Flack nearly spit his mouthful of coffee out at the sound of kid talking about damaging her psyche. "Well my kids must be really, majorly and totally screwed up than," he said, coughing noisily. "Because there's rules in my house and I expect them to follow them. And if they don't, than it's their asses on the line. I don't fool around with my kids. I'm the boss and I call the shots until they're eighteen and ready to move out and take care of themselves."

"Aren't you worried about them becoming too dependent on you and your wife?" Alessa asked.

"First off, I don't feel like discussing my parenting skills with someone you're age. And second, there's nothing wrong with rules. The world is made up of them. I don't want any of my kids running the streets and doing drugs and winding up in juvenile detention or actual prison when they're older. I want them to be decent, law abiding citizens instead of little jackasses causing all kinds of hell and getting into all kinds of problems. Maybe your parents have the green to bail you out of a tight spot, but I'm afraid I can't afford to extend the same courtesy to my kids. Not just financially, but professionally as well."

"Yeah…but you're a cop, Mr Flack. And maybe it's hard for you to separate being a cop and being a dad."

"What's hard for me to separate is the logic as to why I am discussing this with you and why it's any of your business."

Alessa shrugged. "I was just making conversation. You have a really nice family, Mr Flack. All your kids are really, really nice and your wife is so sweet. She's so different than my mom. My mom is all about her designer clothes and her spa days and her social circles. Your wife is so relaxed and free spirited and fun. She doesn't always talk down to her kids and make them feel worthless."

"Your mom does that to you?" Flack asked, sipping coffee.

"A little," Alessa admitted with a sigh. "They're all about my brother."

"Older or younger?" he inquired.

"Older. Kevin. He's dead. He died before I was born."

Flack's eyes widened and he cast a quick glance over at the young girl sitting next to him.

"He was in the army. An army Ranger. He was deployed to Iraq for Operaion Enduring Freedom and was two months away from coming home. It was his second tour and he was looking forward to being home because he was suppose to be getting married. Only the helicopter he was in got shot down. Everyone on board died."

"I'm sorry," Flack said sincerely. "So your parents had him really young or…"

"I'm adopted," she explained. "My parents are in their late sixties. My real parents were relatives of close friends of theirs that fell onto hard times and couldn't take me. And no one in that family wanted me so my mom and dad signed the papers and took me on as their own. But it's still all about my brother. They go on and on about him and how he was their pride and joy and sucked it up and became a man's man by joining the army when he got have had a free and easy ride from daddy. They still keep his old room as a shrine. It's sick. They haven't touched it in over fifteen years and they put a lock on it so no one can get in. It's totally screwed up."

"People deal with grief in different ways," Flack reasoned. "Guess they never dealt with theirs."

"Guess not," Alessa said with a snort. "Guess they saw me as some kind of stand in or something…"

"I'm sure your parents love you very much," Flack told her. "Sometimes, us parents, we don't show our kids or tell them as much as we should. I've one of the most guilty parties for that. But I love all my kids no matter what. Just like I am sure your parents feel the same way about you."

"Maybe," she said quietly and stared out the window once more.

* * *

It was five minutes to midnight when Sam heard the heavy footsteps coming down the stairs that led into the finished basement/family room. She was stretched out on the forest green plush sectional couch, her back tucked in the corner and her legs stretched out along the sofa. Freshly showered and in a pair of black satin pyjama pants with hot pink stripes and a curve flattering black t-shirt emblazoned with the words Hello Kitty across her chest in pink glitter and a picture of the cartoon character in white sparkles just below it. The remote control and a half finished Dean Koontz book beside her and a box of key lime meringue pie in her lap as she dug into the dessert with a fork while she watched CNN.

"Hey handsome," she greeted her husband as he came into view at the bottom of the stairs. "Alessa got home okay?"

"She got home just fine," Flack told her, disappearing into the utility room to snag a bottle of water from the fridge inside. And noticed that his wife had both washers going for laundry. Two washers and two dryers with eight people in the house was a damn necessity.

"Than I had to bring her all the way back here," he said, as he journeyed out into the family room, snapping the cap off the water and taking a sip. "She had forgotten her key at school. The doorman let her into the building, but no one answered her apartment door or all the calls she made from her cell phone. I walked her right to the door and I swear Sammie, she knocked for damn near ten minutes and called over a dozen times. Finally I said fuck it, and brought her back here. I couldn't just leave her there. I told her you'd take her back sometimes tomorrow afternoon to get her some fresh clothes of her own and what not for her party."

"Oh I will, will I?" Sam asked, turning her face up for a kiss before sliding sideways so Flack could sit in the corner and stretch his legs out and she could park herself beside him and put her feet under his legs to keep them warm. Those seating arrangements had become somewhat routine.

"Figured you wouldn't mind," he responded, and rubbed her shin softly.

"I don't," Sam said. "And the girls would probably love to come for the drive. And Declan. You know how much he loves his road trips."

"I'll keep him busy. I was going to take him and Kieran and Liam over to my parents to help grandma do some things around the house."

"Please be home for supper. Because Danny and Lindsay are dropping off Aiden and Danny Jr for the night."

Flack frowned. "Why?"

"Danny wants to take Lindsay on a date."

"All night?"

"It's a mommy and daddy type date. If you catch my drift."

"So they wanna do the nasty all night, huh? Lucky them. When do I get my mommy and daddy date with you?" Flack asked. "I want a mommy and daddy date with my wife. When's that gonna happen?"

"When you find a sitter for six kids," she replied. "And we're going away for a few days in May so that's an extended mommy and daddy date. You know," she pointed down at the pie with her fork. "This pie Linds made is awesome."

"I know. I had two pieces at supper."

"And what did the doctor tell you about your cholesterol?"

"That it's shockingly high. So what?"

"So what? I will remember that when you have hardening of the arteries and need a triple bypass."

"Be quiet, woman," Flack said, and kissed her cheek noisily. "I thought the two pies she brought over tonight were finished at supper?"

"They were. This is the third one that she made just for me that I so expertly hid from everyone. Especially your oldest son who can eat like no one I have ever seen."

"Gets it from his mother," Flack commented. "Can I have some of your pie?"

"Ummm….no."

"Why not?"

"Because," she dug the fork into the dessert and popped a piece into her mouth. "I don't feel like sharing."

"Will you go upstairs and make me something to eat? I'm starving."

"Let me think about it," Sam said, helping herself to more pie. "Ummm….no."

"You're such a witch," Flack sighed heavily. "For the record, I wasn't referring to the key lime pie. I was referring to your pie," he grinned and wiggled his eyebrows.

"You're such a perv," she complained, and scooped up a chunk of the pie and shoved it into his mouth and than kissed him sweetly.

"What are you doing down here?" Flack asked, as his wife used her fingertips to clean excess meringue and key lime filling off of his lips. "Hiding out from Liam the Demon and his endless requests for drinks of water?"

"That…and I am doing laundry. But what else is new?"

"There was only one load in the laundry room this afternoon. I'm the one who put it there. So why are both machines going?"

"Because you had six pairs of jeans in there, ten towels and my underwear," she informed him.

"And your point?"

"My point is that that is way too much stuff for one washer unless you want to break it and buy me another one. And I didn't want my underwear in with your jeans and towels. You know, Donnie, this is exactly why you're forbidden from doing laundry."

"Are you telling me you turned on the second washer just for your underwear?"

Sam nodded and licked meringue off the end of the fork.

"Tell you what," he said. "You pay the water and hydro bills when they come in next month. What is wrong with you?"

"Oh stop whining," Sam told him. "It's not like we're poor."

"And you know, Liam is right. It is hard to take a leak in a pink bathroom."

"Well, you could always paint it like you've been promising me you would for two years. I mean, you even bought the paint and it's been sitting in the shed collecting dust since."

"I'll get around to it," Flack assured her, sticking his finger in the meringue and licking it off.

"Sure you will. Just like it took you two months to get around to changing the light bulb in our bathroom."

"There were four other perfectly fine lights. You weren't in the dark or anything."

"That is not the point, my dear," Sam helped herself to some of his water. "The point is that it took you two months to do it."

"You're more than capable of changing a light bulb, Samantha. You get one from the utility room, grab a step ladder and away you go. You had to do all this shit for yourself when I wasn't around for seven months."

"Are you insane?" she laughed. "I never lifted a finger. I had my boyfriend do it all."

Flack frowned.

"Did you bring the empty garbage cans to the back of the house?" she asked.

He sighed heavily and closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the couch.

"You would think you're overworked," Sam mused. "What happened to you? You turned forty five and you fell apart. You hit that age and all your brains vanished. Or are they

hidden somewhere in your middle age spread?" she pulled one foot out from underneath him and tickled his stomach with her toes.

"Get outta here," Flack laughed at her good natured teasing. "I weigh the same as I did when I was thirty."

Sam snorted.

"I do. Well, give or take a few pounds."

"Or fifteen…or twenty…" she chided.

"Fuck you woman," he fought back. Than looked sideways at her, grinning as he rubbed her foot. "I love you," he said.

"Sure…sure. You love to hate me is what you do."

"Some days," he joked, than jumped as she dug her heel hard into his thigh. "Oww! Okay…okay…just joking, babe."

The buzzers for the washers sounded.

"Could you throw the stuff in the dryers?" Sam asked sweetly.

Flack groaned loudly.

"Christ, it's not like I am asking you to part the red sea, Donald."

"Might as well be," he grumbled and climbed off the couch and headed across the family room, past the small third bathroom and into the utility area. "You owe me!" he called.

"For putting things in the dryer?" she asked. "You're delusional."

"You owe me big time," he continued. "Like say…I don't know…you come in here and I'll bend you over the dryer and show you what I want in return."

"Sorry. You wish. My sex in strange places day is over. Now It's strictly the bedroom and that's it."

"Yeah…right…hey, Sammie…where's those things?"

"Things?" she asked. "What things?"

"You know, the things. For the dryer."

"Don, you are going to have to be more specific my love."

"The things!" he informed her. "You know…that make the clothes less staticy and smell good."

"They're called fabric softener sheets and they are in a box on the shelf on the wall to the left of the freezer."

"Box on the shelf…on the wall…left of the freezer," he muttered. "All right, gotcha. Two or three in the dryer?"

"One each, Donnie…Jesus, how did you survive without me for so long? And how would you manage without me on a permanent basis?"

"Quit happily and peacefully, actually," he replied, than shut the dryer doors and started the machines.

Sam heard the freezer door click open and her husband rummaging around.

"Damn I love you!" he called out as he closed the freezer.

"Why now?"

He emerged from the utility room unwrapping a popsicle. A three flavoured affair. Strawberry, key lime and mandarin orange.

"I bought three huge boxes just for you and the boys," Sam said, as he rejoined her on the couch.

"You are the best wife in the whole damn world," Flack declared. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him and pressed a kiss to her temple before starting to work on the popsicle.

"You couldn't live without me," she said with a sigh and snuggled into him, placing the pie box on his stomach so she could keep on eating.

"Kids are in bed?" he asked.

Sam nodded. "Declan and Liam fell asleep in that stupid pup tent that Kieran thought was a good idea to put up in Liam's room. You should see them. They have comic books and flashlights and a Kieran's I-pod and speakers in there and their sleeping bags and Declan made me bring them marsh mellows and cookies and glasses of milk. And you know what they did?" she giggled as she thought about it. "They took their rulers from school and put your camping flashlight, that big lantern type one, on the floor and stuck the marsh mellows on the rulers and pretended to roast them."

Flack grinned at the image.

"And than Kieran tiptoed in there while they were too busy talking to notice wearing that stupid Jason hockey mask he wore last Halloween and went to the side of the tent and started scratching at it and than let out this huge growl like a bear and Liam and Declan screamed blue murder. And they come running down the stairs freaking out that a bear is after them and Kieran chasing them with the pretend machete that went with his Jason mask."

"I told you, Sammie," Flack said, crunching the popsicle between his teeth. "I told you he'd be a serial killer when he was older. Starts torturing small animals or putting cats in microwaves than we really need to be worried. Or if he steals my gun to shoot poor defenceless squirrels like someone who will remain nameless."

Sam frowned, and grabbing a hold of his hand, yanked it close to her and took a huge bite out of his popsicle.

"Do you mind?" he asked, snatching his hand back. "You have your pie and you need my popsicle too?"

"I like sucking on hard, sweet stuff," she reasoned.

Flack grinned and shook his head and turned his attention back to the popsicle and the television.

"Aren't you so glad you married me, honey?" she asked, smiling up at him.

"Every day, babe," he replied, rubbing her arm softly and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Really?" she asked, helping herself to more pie.

"Really," he assured her. "You know I love you and would walk to the ends of the earth for you."

"God…I am so full," she said with a groan and dropped the fork into the box before shutting the lid and sat up. "So you'd really walk to the ends of the earth for me?" she asked, setting the box on the coffee table before leaning into him, laying a hand on his stomach and nuzzling his ear with her nose.

"I would," Flack responded.

"Seriously? All the way to the end of the earth?" she kissed the spot below his ear.

"Absolutely," he vowed.

"So I guess that means you wouldn't mind going up to the kitchen and making me a cup of tea?"

He chuckled. "You are so damn sneaky," he declared. "Here I was thinking you were going to ask me to throw you down right here and make an honest woman out of you and you turn around and ask me something like that."

She giggled and kissed him. "Please?" she asked, reaching up to comb her fingers through his hair.

"What am I going to get out of it?" Flack asked in response.

"My undying and unwavering love and gratitude?" she suggested.

"Sorry…that ain't gonna cut it."

"Wild, crazy, passionate sex right here on the couch?" she tried again.

"That's a little better," he said, his eyes not leaving the tv screen as he sucked on the popsicle. "You said you liked sucking on hard stuff, right?"

"Jesus, Donnie…blow jobs are not the be all and end all of civilization."

"I am telling you, Sammie. If women, yourself included, gave more blow jobs, the world would not have the problems it does. Men would be much happier and more relaxed. There'd be less crime, fewer unrest between the middle eastern countries, no wars…"

"I will make my own damn tea," she decided, and went to stand up, only to have her husband yank her back down. Sealing her lips in a long, toe curling, body tingling kiss as she landed on top of him.

"I will make your fucking tea, woman," he told her, and gently pushed her off of him and down onto the couch before getting to his feet. "You are so bloody demanding," he huffed as he headed for the stairs.

"I love you, sweet pea," she called to him.

"Whatever," he responded. "Smoochie-poo."

"Don't call me that!" she laughed and tossed a throw cushion in his direction.

"Don't call me sweet pea," he shot back.

"You realize in four and a half years you and I will have been married two decades?" Sam asked.

"Shit…don't remind me," Flack sighed as he trudged up the stairs.

"You'd leave me if you really wanted to," she informed him.

"That's just it, Sammie. I don't want to. Ever."

* * *

He returned with a large mug of steaming earl grey tea and a plastic tumbler of white milk and chocolate milk mixed together ten minutes later. He cast a glance at the television as he stepped past it. His wife was watching Bringing Home Baby on TLC. The damn show was still in circulation fifteen years later. Currently, a newborn just released from the hospital was damn near turning red from screaming so loud while its mother was in tears and frustrated and cursing and swearing at the husband who'd somehow mistakenly thought a baby's first day home was a good time to go out for a drink with the boys.

His wife was sending him a message. Flack wasn't stupid. Her watching a show like that, when she was forty seven and well past her baby making prime -and that was self admitted only six months ago when Speed and Carmen briefly considering trying for another baby- was her way of following up her decision earlier that she had changed her mind and was ready, and willing, to try their luck.

"You didn't want tea?" Sam asked, as she accepted the mug and her husband returned to his seat beside her.

"No…not now, not ever. You've been with me for nearly twenty years and you still don't get it that I'm not a tea guy?"

"People change, Don," she said. "I was thinking tonight was your night."

"Can't teach an old dog new tricks," he reasoned. "Jesus…can that brat possibly cry anymore? You seriously want to go through that our age? The bawling on ours, and the baby's part. Not getting proper sleep, having to feed every three to four hours, changing shitty diapers, colic…need I go on?"

"I don't get proper sleep now with the six we have," Sam pointed out.

"That's my point. We have six. Half a dozen kids, Sammie. Why do we need another one?"

"I don't know," she said with a shrug. "I just do."

"That's not an appropriate answer for anyone over seven," Flack told her. "You decide, when you're forty seven, almost forty eight, and I'm forty five, that you want another baby. So give me a reason to go along with it. Because right now, it just seems to me that you're fucking nuts for wanting one."

"I don't have a reason, Donnie. I just want one."

"How about I buy you another puppy?" he suggested. "Would that make you change your mind?"

She shook her head. "I just…I don't know. I just feel like we're not done yet. That we should have one more."

"Okay…so let's talk this out, than. You want another baby…"

"…and you don't."

"I never said that. I want you to see where I am coming from here, Sammie," he took her hand and held it tightly. "Hear me out for a second?"

"Of course,"

"When we found out about Declan, the geneticist told us that our chances, at the ages we were than, thirty-one and thirty four, that our chances of having a child with Down Syndrome were one in six hundred and fifty. And that the older we got, and seeing as we already have one Trisomy 21 kid, that our chances were pretty good that we'd have another one."

"I already checked the book," she said quietly. "Our chances at my age are one in five. And that's without having a child already with it. So in our case it would be more like one in three."

"Do you really want that Sammie?" Flack asked. "In all honesty? Do you really want to take that chance?"

"But we have Declan and we love him just the same as the others," she said.

"That's not what this is about. This is about us having a baby and taking the chance that that baby will have Down Syndrome too. 'Cause honestly, Samantha, I don't think I can do it again. And I love Declan and would do anything for that kid and you know that…"

She nodded.

"But I don't think I could raise another special needs child. And maybe I'm being selfish thinking that way. But I am also being honest with you when I say that I think that would destroy us and I don't want that happening to us or our family."

"So I'd have an abortion," she said. "I'd have an amnio and if it showed Down Syndrome I'd have an abortion."

He shook his head. "You could never do that. And neither could I. I couldn't let you do that."

"So we could give it up for adoption," she suggested.

"Samantha, you know you'd never be able to carry a baby inside of you for nine months and than simply give it up."

She sighed. "I just want to try," she told him. "It's all I want."

"Okay…so let's take this another direction. You're going through menopause."

"It hasn't hit fully yet. I am still getting somewhat of a period."

"And you've had your tubes tied," he added.

"It's reversible. You know that. And look," she leaned forward and reached under a magazine on the coffee table and pulled out a handful of papers. "I've done some research. On late pregnancies and stuff like that."

"When did you do all of this?"

"A few days ago," she admitted.

Flack didn't respond as he took the papers from her.

"There's a lot of outstanding fertility specialists in New York City, Donnie," she said. "I've printed some of the more well known names. Ones that are known all over the country."

"And how do we pay for that, Sammie? Stuff like that isn't cheap."

"Well I was looking through some of your NYPD files and I didn't see anything about coverage for fertility stuff so I called the union and…"

"You called my union?"

She nodded. "And they told me they covered sixty percent of the cost of visits and seventy percent for any meds or procedures I'd need, And DHS would cover the rest."

"You've been a busy, girl," Flack commented, flipping through the papers.

"I just want us to try, Donnie," she said. "That's all I want."

"I need to think about this, Sammie. I need to sit down and really, really think about this. Read through all of this stuff. Okay? I can't make a decision before I have all the facts. You know that."

"I do," she said and kissed him softly.

"I just," he sighed and ran a hand over his face. "I just don't want to make a mistake."

"None of our kids were mistakes," she told him.

"I never said they were, babe. Liam was a surprise but he wasn't a mistake or unwanted. But we're both crowding fifty and I don't want us jumping into having another baby and ten years from now, wondering what the fuck we were ever thinking. 'Cause we already have six. Declan is like having seven. And it's a lot of hard work for you. Let's face it, Sammie, you've done more of the parenting than me."

"Donnie, you underestimate yourself all the time. You're a great father. You know you are. I mean, you could use a little practice in dealing with Kieran…."

"He's fifteen, Sammie. I don't know how to deal with him."

"…but the way you handled Liam over that hamster thing was great," she finished.

"I can do the little kids. I can't do the teenagers. Most specifically the teenage boys."

"You need to just go a little easier on Kieran, Donnie. You're so hard on him. He wants nothing more than to make you proud. And to be just like you. And when you make him feel like an idiot over this whole academy thing…."

"I am not making him feel like an idiot. I just want more for him."

"But he doesn't see it that," Sam argued. "And honestly, neither do I. Because you are so harsh with him. He's not a perp in interrogation. He's your son. Your first born. I remember when he was a newborn and you couldn't get enough of him. And when he was little he was your best buddy in the whole wide world and you did everything with him and hugged him and kissed him and told him you loved him all the time."

"But he's not little anymore, Sammie. He's fifteen. You can't do that with fifteen year old boys."

"Says who?" she asked. "Because your mother didn't do it with you?"

Flack sighed.

"There is nothing wrong with telling your son you love him. I've seen you do it. And I've seen the way Kieran just lights up when you do. He idolizes and adores you and he just wants you to notice him and be proud of him."

"I am proud of him," Flack told her.

"Only when he's doing what you want him to do," Sam said. "Only when he's pulling in good grades and doing well in hockey."

"Because he's got talent, Sammie! He's got talent and he's got your brains and I don't want him tossing all that away by becoming a cop!"

"So what if he goes to university and gets into forensics?" Sam suggested.

"That won't fly with Kieran. He doesn't want to go to university. You heard him. He wants to be a cop. He wants to go into the academy out of high school. Just like I did."

"It was fine for you," Sam pointed out.

"But not for him!" Flack argued. "He's got more than I ever had. He's got a mother and a father that support him no matter what he does. He's got his mother's brains. And the thought of him chucking that out the window to be a cop makes me sick."

"But if that's what he wants to do, Donnie…"

"He's fifteen, Samantha. He doesn't know what he wants to do."

"Exactly. He's fifteen. He could change his mind ten times by the time he even thinks about applying for college. So in the meantime, can you please not drag him down and make him feel like shit?"

"I'm not…"

Sam arched her eyebrows and stared at her husband.

"I promise I'll be nicer to him. But I'm telling you right now, Sammie, that kid is smart with his mouth and he needs to knock it off. And this hearing thing…."

"He agreed to let me make him an appointment at audiology," she told him.

"He needs a hearing aid, he gets it. No ifs, ands, or buts. You hear me?"

"Loud and clear, Inspector," she said with a grin.

"I ain't fooling, Sam. He can't hear properly, he gets a hearing aid. If it's fluid in his ears, he gets tubes. Plain and simple."

"I heard you, Donnie. My hearing is just fine."

"Just making sure you understand. And that you know I'm the big boss around here."

She laughed and sat her empty mug on the coffee table. "You wish."

He grinned and leaned forward to kiss her. "Thought you like it when I got all bossy."

"I do," she said and curled her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately.

He returned the kiss. Hard and aggressive, his hands sliding down to her sides as he pushed her onto her back on the couch.

She sighed contently, circling his waist with her legs as he lips travelled down to her neck and his hands pushed up her t-shirt. His finger tips drifting along her soft, silky skin, feelings the goosebumps that pricked all over her, hearing the hitch in her breathing. He allowed his fingers to travel further, coming into contact with the undersides of her breasts as his tongue and lips burned a trail over her neck and collarbone.

She arched against him and moaned slightly as his fingers slipped up further to play with her swollen, aching nipples.

His cell phone, resting on the coffee table, rang noisily.

"Oh God, don't answer it," she groaned.

"I have to," he told her reluctantly. "You know the rules. Could be something important from the big brass."

"Let them call you back in fifteen minutes," she said, raised her head to kiss him passionately.

"Sammie…as horny as I am and as horny as you apparently are…"

"Don't say it, Donnie….please don't say it."

"I have to answer the call," he said, kissed her chastely than entangled himself from her embrace and reached for his phone. He checked the call display and frowned. "It's my mom," he said. "She never calls this late."

Sam pulled down her t-shirt as her husband moved away from her and sat down and flipped open his phone.

"What's wrong, mom?" he asked in way of greeting. "Are you okay? Why are you calling so late?"

Sam sat up as well, watching and listening.

"When did that happen?" Flack asked into the phone, putting a hand to his forehead and covering his eyes. "Where are you now?….I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?…I love you, too…bye…."

"Is everything okay?" Sam asked, already fearing the worst as her husband snapped his phone closed. "Is your mom alright? Where is she?"

Flack didn't respond at first. He sat with his hand over his eyes and his shoulders slumped forward for a couple of minutes before clearing his throat noisily and sitting up. When he removed his hand, Sam saw tears sparkling in his eyes.

"Donnie… what's going on?" she asked, alarmed by the look on his face.

"My mom's at the nursing home," he replied. "They called her a couple of hours ago."

"Donnie…what…?"

He sighed heavily and looked at her with sad, tortured blue eyes. "It's my dad," he told her. "He died half an hour ago."

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I have been away for a couple days but I missed all of you and are looking forward to hearing all of you and I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Brrtmclv**

**Aphina**

**muchmadness**

**laurzz**

**Marialisa**

**Bluehaven4220**

**ImaSupernaturalCSI**

**wolfeylady**

**Shopaholic20**

**GregRox**

**Forest Angel**


	34. It makes you realize

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND ALL THE FLACK KIDS. LET'S JUST CALL THEM THE VON FLACKS, SHALL WE? LOL**

**A/N: CERTAIN PARTS OF THIS GO OUT TO MY GOOD, GOOD PAL LAURZZ. YOU KNOW WHICH ONES, GIRL!**

* * *

**It makes you realize…**

"Front porch light would be turned on  
And I was always gone too long  
Curfew was at 10pm  
And I'd sneak in trying not to wake him when I got  
Home  
Daddy always said "Son, you're half a bubble off' a plumb Head-strong and stubborn", and maybe I was  
Yeah, I couldn't wait to leave  
Last place I in the world I wanted to be was  
Home

Now I'm flying down that old dirt road  
But it seems these wheels are spinning slow  
I'd never left that way if I'd have only known  
He's gone, so here I am  
Home

I sat in my car and cried  
Wished to God he was still alive  
Inside, mama wiped my tears She said,  
He would have been so happy that you're here at  
Home

Then I thought about my life  
And about my kids and about my wife  
And about how time just flies no matter what you do  
And every soccer game I have missed  
And every time I fight when I could forgive  
And how I can't let it come to this  
When I get home

Now I'm flying down that old dirt road  
But it seems these wheels are spinning slow  
And it's taken me a while but now I finally know  
Everything that matters most is at  
Home."  
-Home, Paul Brandt

* * *

Kieran woke from a sound, peaceful sleep by someone shaking his shoulder and the sound of a soft, angelic voice over top of him. He was disoriented and half asleep as he groaned loudly and shoved the hand off of him and rolled over onto his stomach with a curt "Go the hell away!". He wasn't in the mood for one of his sisters bothering him. He hated when they came into his room first thing in the morning, on orders from either of his father or his mother, to wake him up at any cost. Alannah had tossed a cup of ice cold water in his face once when, after shaking him and calling his name for a solid ten minutes, she'd lost her patience and resorted to drastic measures. He'd nearly beat her black and blue for that. He knew his father had no tolerance for guys that beat on women, but Kieran was pretty sure that annoying, bitchy little sisters were more than fine to knock around on certain circumstances.

"Kieran…" the voice, and the shaking, this time on his back, continued. "Kieran…"

"Fuck off, Alannah," he grumbled into his pillow.

"Kieran!" the voice was louder this time. The shaking more insistent. "Kieran!"

"I said fuck off!" he bellowed, grabbing his extra pillow and covering his head with it.

"Kieran Shaun Donald Flack!" the voice snapped back. "Wake up!"

His eyes snapped open at the sound of his full name. There was only one person in the free world that called him all three names and his last name at the same time. And as he flopped over onto his back, that one person was standing at the side of the bed with her hands on her slender hips.

"Uh…hey…mom…" he greeted with a sheepish grin.

"I need you awake," Sam told him. "Are you awake?"

"I think so….what time is it?"

"It's just after one in the morning. I need you to stay awake and keep an eye on the house and your brothers and sisters until your uncle Danny gets here."

"One in the morning?" Kieran sat up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Glad that he was a boxers and t-shirt kind of guy and his mother didn't walk in on him sleeping completely naked. "Uncle Danny?…what?…what's going on?…Are you okay, mommy? Is dad okay?…what's wrong?"

"Your dad and I have to go out," Sam told her son. "I don't know when we'll be back, but Uncle Danny is on his way as soon as possible and Aunt Linds will be over first thing in the morning to help get all the kids ready and out there door in time for your hockey game."

"What's going on, mom? Why do you and dad have to go out at this time of the night? And why don't you know when you guys will be back?"

"Your dad and I need to go to the nursing home and be with your grandmother," she explained. "We're going to take her home and make sure she gets some rest before helping her plan things."

"Plan things?" Kieran shook the cobwebs from his head. "What things? What's going on? Did something happen to grandpa?"

Sam sighed. Her son was fifteen. He knew what death was. He had been old enough to ask questions and have some concept of things when Sarge died. And he'd nearly lost his father at a very young age and only three short years ago, had gone to the department burial for Chester Lake, whom Kieran had considered an uncle. So holding the news back out of hopes of protecting him from the harsh realities of life was not the answer.

"Your grandpa died, Kieran," she told him. "I'm sorry. Your grandmother called a little while ago to tell your dad."

His blue eyes widened as the realization of what his mother had just said sunk in. "I'm going to come with you guys," he declared, and jumped out of bed and hurried over to his dresser.

"Kieran…" Sam watched as her son rummaged through drawers and snagged an old NYPD sweatshirts of his father's and than rushed over to his closet.

"I have to see grandpa, mom," he was saying as he found a pair of jeans and tugged them on. "I never got to see him the last few times that dad went over there and I wanted to tell him all about how good I was doing at hockey and the good grades I've been pulling down lately. I mean, I know he wouldn't understand most of what I was saying, but I wanted to tell him anyway."

"Kieran, son, listen to me…"

"And I want to see grandma," he continued. "Make sure she's okay. She must be really sad and what not. And dad…how's dad doing?"

"Your dad's in shock," Sam told him. "He wasn't expecting that kind of call after just seeing your grandpa this afternoon. He was sure that your grandfather had at least a couple of more months left."

"But he's okay, right? Dad's okay?"

"He's going to be fine," Sam assured him. "He's outside waiting in the car for me. I have to get going."

"Like I said, I'm coming with you," Kieran told her.

"K…listen to me. I need you to stay here with your brothers and sisters," Sam said, stepping in front of him on his way to the door. "I need you to be the man of the house until your Uncle Danny gets here. And I need you to help him and Aunt Linds with your siblings. Especially Declan. You know what he's like if it's not you or daddy doing stuff for him. And you need to be at your hockey game and…"

"Hockey? Mom! I can't play hockey after grandpa just died!" Kieran argued.

"Please, Kieran. I need you. I am asking you as your mother to help me out here. I don't ask for much from you unless I really, really need it and you know that. I trust you to keep things under control around here. And you will go to your game and you're going to kick some ass for your grandfather. You hear me?"

He sighed and shook his head and looked away from her.

"Kieran…" she laid her hand on his cheek and turned his face so he would look at her. "Son, please. I need you."

"Fine," he conceded. "But I want to be there for grandpa. And for grandma. And for dad."

"And your father knows that, sweetie. But he needs you to take care of things, too. Okay?"

"Okay…"

"Thank you," Sam said. "Do you want to walk me to the car? You can say something to your dad?"

Kieran nodded and followed his mother to the bedroom door. "What do I say to him, mommy? About grandpa?" he asked.

"Just say what's in your heart," she replied.

* * *

Flack sat in the passenger seat of his wife's gun metal grey Volvo SUV. The engine running, headlights on. It was unusual for him to not be the one driving places whenever they went out together alone of with the kids. It almost felt as if he was relinquishing power and control to her. Two things he didn't feel comfortable coughing up. He was old fashioned in the sense that he was the provider and the protector. He took care of things when it came to his family. It had always been that way it seemed. Somewhere along the line, while the jealousy and the possessiveness had long ago subsided -it still lingered somewhere just below the surface, but it was rare those two feelings reared their ugly heads- Sam had come to rely on him to be the solid, reliable and dependable one. The one who controlled the finances and paid the bills and made sure repairs were done around the house and that there was always food on the table. And the disciplining. She tended to be more lax with the kids. Overcompensating for her own crappy upbringing. So determined to make her children's lives so much better that they had begun to walk all over her and were attempting to get away with murder. Flack ruled with a somewhat of an iron fist. It was his way or the highway. And if they didn't like it and didn't want to tow the line, as soon as they hit eighteen, they were more than welcome to leave. Just don't expect any help from mommy and daddy.

Harsh, maybe. But he was damn well determined that his kids were going respect their parents- especially their mother who had sacrificed a hell of a lot for them and who had taken care of them single-handily during the separation- and that they were going to be decent, law abiding citizens, dependant one no one but themselves. He yelled at them. A lot. His temper had always been a major issue and despite numerous stints at anger management, he still found himself tempted to put a fist, or someone, through a wall or throw something because he was so irate or letting out a litany of profanity while raging on about everything and anything. He'd never hit his kids. Ever. He walked away when the temptation to spank an unruly, uncontrollable Liam pitching a fit in the middle of a grocery store aisle came over him. He left a room and closed his eyes and counted to ten when the frustration of dealing with Declan and all his issues sometimes became to much to bear. And he walked out on his wife when he just couldn't take the way she pushed his buttons sometimes. Because Sam never knew when to stop. She got on you about something and no matter how many times you begged her to stop or warned her to knock it off, she just keep right on needling. And it was better to take off and get his shit together in favour of knocking her around.

He loved her. He'd always loved her and would always love her. Despite the way she pissed him off and drove him absolutely mental. Because not having her around was too much to bear. That seven months away from her had nearly killed him he'd missed her so bad. The touch of her hands, the feel of her body against his, the smell of her hair. The way she whispered his name against his lips or looked deep into his eyes in those moments of quiet but intense passion that enveloped them in the middle of the night or the wee morning hours. Hell, he'd even missed the way she hogged all the covers and talked incessantly in her sleep and left her shit lying around every room and the way she'd let a small mess go for days, until it was a big, huge mess and he was subtly dropping hints about it maybe being time to clean it up. She continued to leave it until he actually demanded she clean it or he did it himself. She was wild and crazy and eccentric one moment and passive and quiet and subdued the next. There wasn't an in between with Sam. And he didn't want there to be. Because she was his wife and he loved her and wouldn't change a damn thing about her.

He had always been there for her. The strong one. Her pillar of support. She had always turned to him when faced with a crisis. And he happily accepted that role. When Sarge died and she was so overcome with grief at his funeral that she had to be taken from the room and given a sedative, it had been him that talked her down from her near manic state. Who had held her on the front lawn of that funeral home and rocked her back and forth like a parent soothing a child and kissed her and told her it was going to be okay. When she had trouble accepting Declan and was raging and angry and bitter about the cards they'd been dealt, Flack had been the one to help her while everyone else called her crazy. He had made the calls and gotten her meds and a shrink and had turned to the one person he never thought he'd rely on for anything. Devon didn't judge her or mock her or ridicule her and condemn her for not wanting to see her less than perfect baby. She'd simply sat on the edge of Sam's hospital bed. In silence at first. Holding the other woman's hands tightly. Devon got it. Her step-daughter was special needs and she got it. She got it because the only child Devon had ever bore with her husband had been diagnosed with rare, fatal birth defect and never made it past her first birthday. Devon didn't push her to talk about it. But by her silent and unwavering support, she had gotten Sam to open up to her. And it had been Devon who, three hours later, had brought Sam down to the NICU, pushing her in a wheelchair and surprising her exhausted, frustrated and despondent husband as he sat with his triplets in their incubators and contemplated the open heart surgery their son would need.

Everyone else had bailed on them. Everyone else save for Devon and Angell.

And his father.

Who'd come to the hospital to see the new additions to the family. Grinning and carrying with him armfuls of gifts. As proud as any grandfather. It had been his father who'd listened quietly as he expressed his fears and his anger and his sheer disbelief and shock and grief over having a child that was 'damaged goods'. His old man simply listened intently, and when, in the end his son had tears streaming down his cheeks as he raged at God for fucking him over so badly, drew his first born into his arms and stroked his hair and his back and told him if was going to be alright.

That God only gave people what they could handle. And that frail baby with his bad heart and a lifetime of struggles and victories ahead of him was a Flack. Plain and simple. He bore the last name Flack and was his father's son regardless of some damn extra chromosome. That was Sr's grandson and nothing changed that and nothing made him love that baby any less than the others. He treated Declan like a normal human being. While everyone else was offering up apologies for lack of anything better to say, his old man simply accepted that baby and that was that.

And now he was gone. The man that had tormented him growing up yet had held so much love and tenderness for his grandchildren was gone. And there was so much Flack still had left to say to him. Words that he had held inside for so long that he'd never had the courage to speak. That he would never get to speak. Apologies that he needed to give and ask for. Questions to ask. Explanations he still sought after all those years.

None of it mattered anymore. He would never get the answers he so desperately craved. He would never be able to tell his dad he was sorry for all the times he'd fucked up and disappointed him.

And that would eat at Flack forever.

Tears burned his eyes and squeezed them tightly shut. He will himself to get a grip. He was a man for Christ sakes. Not some blubbering, wimpy kid.

* * *

He heard the screen door squeak open and he opened his eyes just as his wife, in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from his side of the dresser and simple flip flops on her feet, came down the front steps accompanied by their oldest son.

Kieran wasn't a child anymore. It was hard to accept. He was a young man. A tall, strapping kid that was far past puberty now and had sex and probably drank underage. Hell, he was probably smoking up from time to time and skipping classes far too often and hanging out and goofing off too much. But he was a good kid that loved and respected his mother and had been the one, even as a little boy, who'd sat outside the bathroom door while his mother cried behind it. He listened to her sob. His mother, the first woman he ever loved, despondent over the break up of her marriage and facing the possibilities of being a single mother and maybe even a divorce. It had been Kieran, in his flannel pyjamas and sitting cross legged in front of that bathroom, attempting to soothe his mother and tucking Kleenexes under the bottom of the door.

"It's okay, mommy," he had whispered to her as he passed those tissues to her. "Daddy's not here but I'll take care of you. And all of the other kids. We'll be okay. Just us. I'll make sure of it."

Sam had told the story during one of their therapy sessions. She had cried during the recollection. Because a little boy should never had had to deal with something like that. And it was Flack's fault. She blamed him because he had walked away and not fought hard enough while his son had been left behind to face such a burden.

Flack wondered now, as he watched mother and son embraced by the driver's side of the SUV and Kieran kiss his mom's cheek softly, if his son hated him for putting him through that. For leaving him behind. He had gone. Just like Sam had asked him to do. She had originally suggested that she take the kids and leave, but he hadn't seen sense in uprooting them all from their home and all of their possessions and their friends. So he had gone. Because it was easier that way. And he hadn't wanted to. He had begged her for another chance. More than once that fateful night. And in the end, he'd walked away from them all because it was easier than fighting for them. He would have never taken his kids from their mother. He had no cause or grounds too. She was a great mother and treated them well. She wasn't abusive in any way, shape or form. And losing her kids would destroy her. And he had no desire to do that.

Kieran being his mother's confidant and shoulder to cry on all those years ago had solidified the bond he had with her. And had, in a way, turned father and son against each other. Because Flack knew he couldn't compete and didn't feel he should have to battle for his son's affections. So he and Kieran merely existed in the same house and things became more and more strained between them. They argued and never saw eye to eye. But there was never a time Flack didn't love his son.

The driver's side door clicked open and he glanced over as his wife climbed behind the wheel. Kieran crossed the front of the vehicle and made his way to the passenger's side.

"Talk to your son, Don," Sam said, as she clipped on her seat belt. "If you never do anything for him ever again, make the last thing this moment. Please."

Kieran rapped his knuckles on his father's window.

Flack hit the power button on the arm rest of the door to roll down the window.

"I'm sorry, dad," Kieran said, resting his forearms on the window ledge. "About grandpa. Don't worry about things around here. I've got everything under control, okay?"

Flack nodded.

Kieran bit his bottom lip. He didn't know what he was expecting from his father. His old man was hardly the poster boy for showing emotion. But something would have been nice. Relegating himself to that was as good as it got between them, he sighed and backed away from the door. "Give grandma a hug and a kiss for me," he said, and began to head away.

"Please, Donnie.." Sam practically begged. "Don't let him walk away. Please. Don't turn into your father."

Flack sighed heavily and unclipped his seat belt and opened the door and climbed out of the SUV. "Kieran," he called to his son. "Wait a second."

The fifteen year old paused with one foot on the bottom step and turned to face his father. "We're just different, dad," he said. "It's time we both faced it. We're just different and you and I will never get along and you'll never love me. We need to just accept that."

"No, Kieran. You're wrong. I do love you. I've loved you since you were still inside of your mother. There's never been a time I didn't love you."

Kieran shook his head.

"I've been a prick, K. I know that. I've treated the other kids better than you. I don't know why I did it. But I know that I'm sorry for that. And I know that you're my world. My first born. And I will always love you."

"Why, dad?" he asked, near tears. "Why did you get like this with me? What happened to us? What did I do wrong? What did I do that was so bad that you started hating me?"

"I've never hated you, K. Ever."

"But it's how you've made me feel!" he cried. "Like I'm not good enough. Like I'm not even fit to walk on the same sidewalk as you. What did I do? What did I do to you dad that you turned on me?"

"Kieran…"

"Is it because I was there for mommy? Because I wanted to come and live with you and you knew that! I begged you to take me back to grandma and grandpa's with you! I loved you and wanted to be with you! With my dad! And every time I asked you you told me soon, Kieran. Soon me and you will be together. That's what you told me! And it never happened!"

"Kieran, listen to me…."

"No! Listen to me! I know you and mommy haven't always had the best marriage. That you love each other regardless! But you promised me you'd come and take me with you and you never did!"

Flack sighed. He had no response or reasoning.

"Mommy was all I had! She was a mom and a dad and I was the one that was there for her! She needed me! You were shitting all over her and I stuck around because she needed me and she's my mom!"

"Kieran…"

"She's my mom!" he sobbed. "You abandoned her, dad! You walked out on her and all of us kids! I know she told you to go but you could have stuck around and fought for us! For her! For my mom!"

"What do you want me to say, Kieran! Tell me!" Flack implored. "What is if you want to hear from me?"

"I want you to tell me you're sorry! For what you did! For what you did to me! For what you did to mommy!"

"I'm sorry, K. I've always been sorry for that. I love you, you know that. And I love your mother. And I know this hurts to hear it, but she's not perfect either Kieran!"

"But she's my mom! And you won't talk about her like that in front of me!"

Flack held up his hands in self defence. "I wasn't going to say anything bad about her. I love her. She was my wife before she was your mother and I don't have to defend my feelings for her to you, Kieran!"

"Defend them to her, dad!" his son begged. "Tell her how you feel about her. Because I don't want to go through that all again."

"What do you want me to do, son? Scream it from the roof tops how much I love your mother? I tell her how I feel about her every day. How much she means to me and how much I appreciate her. And I'm sorry if that's not good enough for you."

"Was I that bad, daddy?" his son asked, sounding like a lost little boy. "Was I that bad that you gave up on me?"

"No…Kieran…no…" Flack replied, and drew his son into his arms and held him tightly. A hand on the back of Kieran's neck, the other on his back. "Christ, K..I never gave up on you. Ever."

"You hate me," he sobbed, and clung desperately to his father.

"No…never. I love you, son. So much. And I'm sorry I ever made you think or feel different."

"I'm sorry, dad. I've I did something wrong to turn you against me."

"Kieran…listen to me…" Flack drew away from his son and held the boy's face in his hands. "I never turned against you or hated you or gave up on you. You are my son. My first born. My baby. And I love you to the end of this earth and to the next no matter what. And I am sorry things are the way they are between us. I really am. But I promise you, you and I are not going to turn out like me and my father. Ever. We're going to make this better. Make us better. I swear to you we will. Okay?"

Kieran nodded and sniffled noisily.

Flack pressed a kiss to his son's forehead. "Now go inside and wait until your Uncle Danny gets here and you can go back to bed, okay?"

He nodded again and wiped his eyes on the shoulders of his shirt. "Tell grandma…"

"I'll tell her," Flack assured him and let his son go. "Now go back inside, K."

"Alright.." he said and offered a wave to his mother. "'Bye mom!" he called. "Don't worry, I have it all under control!"

She blew him a kiss and gave him a finger wave.

Kieran turned and headed up the stairs and disappeared into the house.

Flack sighed and headed back to the car. He climbed in, shut his door and did up his seat belt once more.

Sam said nothing as she put the SUV in reverse and back out of the driveway. She put the vehicle into drive and was several houses down before she spoke.

"I'm proud of you, Donnie," she said. "Thank you for doing that. He needed that."

"So did I," Flack told her. "So did I."

* * *

Sam stayed out in the hallway while her husband went inside of his father's room to bid one last farewell to him and to comfort his mother. Sam didn't do well with dead bodies. Which was strange, considering she'd once worked around death on a daily basis and never felt squeamish at the sight or smell of full decomp or someone burnt to a crisp or missing a head and a couple of limbs.

But since both Sarge and Sid had passed away, she was unable to go into a room that held the body of someone she loved. She shook and felt nauseous and became light headed and in the case of watching Sid take his last breath, had almost collapsed and had to be kept on her feet by her husband. Sid had been like a second father to her. A grandfather of sorts to her kids. Especially to Kieran, and watching him suffer and waste away had been difficult and trying. And had permanently cemented a fear, and abnormally difficulty, of seeing loved ones at rest.

She could hear her husband speaking in soft, comforting tones and her mother in law's sobbing. It wasn't easy to listen to and she didn't feel proud of herself that she couldn't get over her fears for a moment to at least go inside and see her father in law one last time or try to be some source of comfort during such a hard time. But those who loved her the most understood and didn't pressure her or force into the situation. And she was grateful for that.

Flack's cell phone, clutched tightly in her hand, rang noisily, causing her to jump from the unexpected, obtrusive noise. The halls were empty and silent. The other patients fast asleep and the nurses doing paper work at the front desk or on breaks. And the sound of the phone sounded ten times louder in the peaceful environment.

"Shit…" she cursed and flipped the phone open to answer it. Embarrassed that the noise had perhaps disturbed others. "Hello?" she asked into the phone.

"Sam?" the familiar , gentle voice asked.

"Hey, Linds," she said in response.

"Sorry for calling at a time like this," her close friend apologized. "I just wanted to see how everyone was doing. I wasn't expecting you to answer Flack's phone."

"I left mine at the house and he's in the room with his mom," Sam explained.

"I wanted to let you guys know that Danny and I are at the house now."

"Both of you?"

"I woke the kids up and packed them some changes of clothes. Chloe's in with Mikayla and Aiden and Kieran are together. I put Danny Jr in yours and Flack's bed with me and Danny if that's okay."

"That's fine," she said. "And don't worry. The sheets are clean. Don's got this bizarre obsession with changing the sheets every day. You didn't have to pack all the kids up at this time of the night, Linds."

"We wanted to," Lindsay assured her. "How's Flack?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "You know what he's like, Linds. He closes himself off. Even to me and we've been married fifteen years. He'll talk about it when he's ready. Sometimes you have to wait forever and a day, but he does eventually do it. He's a stubborn bastard that man."

"He is," Lindsay agreed. "But you love him and wouldn't give him up for anything in the world."

"I wouldn't. He's my everything. And the only thing I've been thinking about since we got that call is…forget it. I won't even tell you because you'll think I'm some sick and twisted person."

"I already think that," the other woman teased with a slight laugh. "So? What have you been thinking? Tell me. It's what friends do. Tell each other things that other people may find weird and obscure."

"This is going to make me sound so selfish for thinking about this given what's going on. But I can't help it. I have such a screwed up brain."

"Sam…you're sounding like Adam a little too much. What is it?"

"All I can keep thinking about is what it would feel like if I got that kind of call and it was me sitting at my husband's bedside watching him die. Because the staff here called Don's mom just before midnight and said that his dad was struggling to breathe and he didn't have a DNR so if he did go, well that was it. So she got over here and by the grace of God was able to spend the last five minutes of his life with him. And all I keep thinking to myself is how in the hell would I be able to do that if it was Donnie?"

"I think we all think about our husbands at some point in time," Lindsay said. "It doesn't make you sick or twisted. It makes you human."

"I just…I mean, we're not getting any younger. He's forty-five now. He's no spring chicken and I think about how the hell I would cope if he had a heart attack or got cancer and he either upped and died on me suddenly or I watched him wither away to nothing. And shit, Linds.." she brushed away tears that trickled down her cheeks. "I don't think I could deal with that."

"Jesus, Sammie, don't think about stuff like that. Don't dwell on it. You'll drive yourself nuts, girl."

"I can't help it. Because I almost lost him once and I'll be damned if he's going anywhere just yet. I'll let him go when I'm done with him and than God can have him. But I am not nowhere near done with my husband so the Lord better keep his hands to himself for a while."

"Than just hold onto him extra tight and look up at the sky and stick your tongue out and say, Nah-nah, he's mine, all mine."

Sam couldn't help but laugh.

"Flack's not going anywhere," Lindsay assured her. "And neither are you. Trust me, I know the two of you very well and I know both of you won't let the other one go without a hell of a fight. So try and not to think that way. Put your arms around him and squeeze him as tight as you can and tell him you love him and than take each and every day as it comes."

"When did you become such a motivational speaker?" Sam asked, wiping her tears on the sleeve of her t-shirt.

"Around the same time you and I got our heads out of our asses and realized what a bunch of freaking bitches we were to each other the first time and that we were way better off as friends than enemies."

"If the two of you had even one brain between ya you'd be lethal," Danny said in the background.

"Tell him that I can kill him with just my baby finger," Sam told her friend.

Lindsay passed along the message.

Danny chuckled. "Don't doubt it one bit, Brooklyn!" he called out. "Now can you two finish your gabbing so I can have my wife back? The two of you don't talk enough on the phone during the day you have to do it at one thirty in the morning?"

"It's ten to two," Lindsay informed.

"One thirty, ten to two. Who cares? It's damn late is all I know," Danny said. "You two spend enough time together gossiping and yakking, Montana. Give it a rest at this time of night."

"What a damn grump," Lindsay mumbled. "I should go, Sam. It's late and he needs his beauty sleep."

"Montana…" Danny said in a warning tone.

"I'm coming…I'm coming. Keep your pants on."

"Especially in my bed," Sam said with a shudder.

"Do you want us to tell the kids anything?" Lindsay asked her.

"I've told Kieran. I think Don wants to tell the others himself."

"Fair enough. I called Carmen to tell her and Speed. She says she will call you first thing in the morning. And don't worry about hurrying home. Danny and I have everything under control. Okay?"

"Thank you, Linds. Don and I really appreciate this."

"I know. Danny knows too. We love you guys, you know that. Give Flack a hug and a kiss and a big I'm sorry from both of us."

"I will," Sam said. "Thanks again. Good night."

"'Night, night," Lindsay said softly, and hung up.

* * *

Sam pressed end on the cell phone and snapped it shut. She went to wipe her face on the front of her t-shirt when a hand suddenly appeared in front of her face, clasping a handful of tissues. She looked up, and into the warm, compassionate green eyes of a tiny red headed nurse approximately the same size as her. In a stark white scrub set that set off her fiery tresses and the freckles she sported on her face, and most likely from head to toe.

"Thank you," Sam said and accepted the Kleenex.

"It's hard to lose someone we love," the nurse, bearing a name tag on her left chest that read Teresa, said softly.

Sam nodded.

"Mr Flack was your father?"

"Father in law," Sam told her. "My husband is inside with his mother."

"Is he the oldest or youngest son?"

Sam arched an eyebrow. "How'd…"

"I was Mr Flack's personal nurse the last six weeks on the night shift. I saw pictures, on his dresser. One is off him with a young man in a graduation gown and the other is of him with another young man that looks just like him in a police dress uniform."

Sam nodded. "That's my husband. Don Jr. He's the oldest. That picture was taken when he was promoted to captain. He's the one with the six kids. There's a picture in there of all the kids together taken at Coney Island a couple of years ago."

"You have a lovely family," Teresa told her.

"A big family," Sam laughed. "My father in law always wanted us to keep having more kids. Even after the triplets were born. He loves big families. The more the merrier he thinks," her face fell. "Thought," she corrected herself.

"It's just fresh," Teresa told her. "No need to speak in past tense before you're ready. I've called the funeral home listed in your father in law's files. I need someone to sign over the body to them."

"My husband will do it," Sam said. "He's in charge of all of that stuff. He's the executor and power of attorney and all of that. So it's best we wait for him to be done in the room and let him take care of it."

"There's no rush," the nurse assured her. "Whenever everyone is ready."

The door to the room across from them clicked open softly and Flack, accompanying his mother with a steady, supportive arm around her waist as she cried noisily into his side, slowly walked out. He used his free hand to close the door behind him. Sam didn't know what to say. Emotion caught in her throat at the sound of Patricia's grief and the tears that threatened in her husband's eyes. Always the strong one. The pillar of strength for everyone. And it wasn't fair to him to be that way all the time. He needed the time to shed his tears and grieve for his father. Holding the sorrow back would only damage him. And enough damage had been done to him mentally and emotionally over the years.

"It's okay, mommy," he spoke to his mother in a gentle tone that very few people ever got to witness. "It's time to let him go. It's time to leave."

"He was such a bastard all his life to you!" Patricia sobbed against her oldest son. "He was such a bastard yet he still loved you, Donnie."

"I know, mom. It's okay. That's a long time ago. No need to talk about it now."

"I'm sorry…that he wasn't there for you…and I know you two made up and…"

"Mom…shhh…it's okay…Sam and I will take you home and stay with you and help you plan things, okay? You don't need to talk about stuff like that."

"He was such a bastard," she continued. "To you and your brother and to me! He was such a bastard and I love him so much."

"I know, mommy. I know. But it's time to go. Sam and I will take you home."

"Donnie," Sam said softly. "You need to go with the nurse and sign some papers. Someone needs to…you know…sign over the body to the funeral home and I just figured you'd like to do it."

He simply nodded. "Mom," he said. "Can you go with, Sammie? She'll take you to the car and I'll be right out, okay?"

"Come on, mom," Sam reached for her mother in law's arm. "Donnie just needs to take care of some paper work. It's a nice night and you could use some air. He won't be long."

Patricia didn't respond. Not verbally at least. She simply held out her arms and wrapped them around her daughter in law's slender frame and sobbed into Sam's shoulder.

"She's okay," Sam assured her husband, seeing the pained expression on his face as he passed his mother over to her. Their fingers touched briefly and Sam grabbed a hold of his hand and squeezed it tightly and gave him a soft smile. "You're okay?" she asked.

"I will be," he replied.

She brought his hand to her face, holding his palm to her cheek before kissing it. "We'll be outside," she said, and letting go of his hand, led her mother in law down the hall.

Flack sighed heavily and watched them go. The woman who had given him life and brought him into the world. And the woman he loved more than life and he hoped to leave the world with.

* * *

Flack glanced up as his wife entered the room as was in the middle of as he straightening and tidying the sheets on the rarely used twin bed in his old room back home. His parents had long ago painted the former light blue walls, covering it with a creamy beige. Long gone was the small desk in the corner and the book shelves that had once housed sports trophies and books and hockey and baseball cards. The walls were relatively bare save for an empty dresser and night stand. The battered carpet had been ripped up and the hardwood still shone and was relatively unblemished. Navy blue venetian blinds had been replaced with a simple roller shade. The only thing that still remained from his growing up years, despite his first pee-wee hockey jersey still hanging in a garment bag in the closet, was that damn twin bed.

"What the hell are you wearing?" he asked, eyeing her from head to toe. Her previous clothing having been replaced by a rather hideous cotton night dress. Black with massive orange and blue butterflies decorating it. It was gross. Just plain gross.

"It's a nightgown," Sam replied simply.

"Why?" he asked. "Seriously…why?"

"I wasn't going to sleep in my clothes. We didn't bring anything with us. So your mom leant me something of hers."

"Sleep naked," he said, tossing pillows towards the head of the bed.

"I never sleep naked," she reminded him. "I haven't sleep naked more than three times in sixteen years. You know I had stuff rubbing against my ass and my legs and what not."

He smirked. "If I wasn't so tired, I'd have a litany of perverted comments for that. My mom's asleep?"

Sam nodded and yawned. "It was nice of Hawkes to answer his phone so late and run a script for some tranqs to the pharmacy and bring them all the way here. I gave her a couple and tucked her in and when I went and checked on her about five minutes ago, she was already out like a light."

"Nurse Flack," he mused. "You're good at that whole tucking in routine. And bringing people meds and chicken noodle soup and OJ despite them telling you to piss off and leave them alone."

"Just because you're a whiny, stubborn bastard when you're sick," she teased. "You've been out of the house for what? Almost thirty years and your parents still have the same little bed you spent your nights in?"

"Among other things," he said with a grin.

"Please…I do not want to hear anything about you jerking off in this bed or you fooling around with all your little teenage girlfriends."

"Wasn't allowed to have girls in my room. Fooling around was what the couch in the basement was reserved for."

Sam held up a hand. "Spare me. Please spare me. Here," she reached into one of the pockets and pulled out a prescription bottle and tossed it at him.

Flack caught it easily. "What's this?" he asked, looking down at the bottle in his hand.

"A present," she replied. "Just for you."

He frowned at the sight of his name on the label.

"I got Hawkes to write you a script too," she said, yanking down the covers on the bed.

"Why?" he asked, as she slipped into bed. "What do I need tranqs for?"

"They aren't tranqs," she told him. "They're sleeping pills."

"Whatever. I don't need sleeping pills. I'm fine. I'm coping and I'm fine and doping myself up isn't going to do me any good. I know you mean well, babe. I really do. But sometimes…" he sighed heavily and tucked the bottle into the pocket of his jeans. "Sometimes you need to just mind your own business and not treat me like a child."

"You know what I think?" she asked calmly. "I think you saying and thinking that you aren't my business is the most childish thing I have ever heard."

He smirked.

"Now come to bed, Donnie. You're making me extremely nervous watching you pace. You don't want to take a pill, that's fine. Okay? I was just being a concerned wife. But you being like this…so…I don't know…so you? It's okay but you need to know that things will hit you soon and…"

"And when they do, I will deal with it. Alright?"

"That's fine," she said. "But you don't have to deal with it alone. That's all I'm saying. I'm your wife and I'm here."

"You need to be here for my mom," he told her, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. He slipped out of them and tossed them aside. Than did the same with his shirt. Leaving him in just his boxers as he approached the bed.

"I'm here for you," she corrected him sternly. "Okay? You're my husband. Not just some guy off the street. You lost your dad and I'm here to see you through it. Is that so difficult for you to understand?"

He shook his head. "Shove over," he said. "Make some room."

"Where am I going to go? On my ass on the floor? This bed is only so big."

"Get out for a second and I'll get in and you can lie on top of me if you have to."

"You would so love that," she said and climbed out of bed.

"You obviously would or you wouldn't have said it like that," Flack laughed and slid into bed, lying on his back. "And what? Have we suddenly started sleeping with the lights on after sixteen years sharing the same bed?"

"Quiet!" she snapped and went to the door to not only shut it, but to flick off the light.

She returned to the bed, lying on her side with a leg and an arm draped over her husband's body and her nose tucked into the side of his neck as he wrapped an arm around her. They lay in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Sam's eyes closed, Flack's wide open and staring up at the ceiling.

"Donnie?" she asked in the darkness of the room, softly trailing her fingertips over the faded scars that marred his stomach and chest.

"Hmm?"

"This is going to sound like a weird question."

"How weird is weird?"

"Nothing that you haven't hear before or haven't had an answer to."

"Okay…ask away."

"This is the bed you slept in when you were gone for those seven months?" she asked. "I mean, I know this is your old room and what not but there's on other bedroom and pullouts in both the basement and the living room, so you could have slept anywhere."

"This is the same bed," he confirmed. "Why?"

"I don't know…I just felt the need to ask it."

"Honestly, Sam," he said with a sigh and rubbed her arm and side and kissed the top of her head. "I didn't do much sleeping those seven months."

He felt her smile against his neck.

"You missed me hogging the covers and talking in my sleep, huh? And my occasional night time jaunts around the house?"

"You mean like the time you got out of bed, circled the room three times and than went to the closet and opened it? And when I asked you what you were doing you said going pee and I had to jump out of bed and stop you from using the thing as a bathroom? Or the time I woke up and couldn't find you and you were curled up in a ball at the top of the stairs at our old house? Because you'd gone to the bathroom and said you were too tired to come all the way back to the bedroom?"

She giggled. "Yeah. You missed all my crazy little things?"

He nodded. "And all your snoring."

"I don't snore," she argued.

"Yes, babe," he pressed his lips against her forehead. "You do."

"It can't be as bad as you," she said. "You snore loud enough to wake the dead. You better watch it or I might smother you with your pillow one night."

"Hon, you've slept in my bed for nearly two decades. And you're just going to kill me for my snoring now?"

She shrugged. "You never know. I might hit fifty and go on a murderous rampage."

He chuckled. "You and your squirrel killing shotgun."

"Would you leave that alone?" she laughed, propping herself on her elbow to look down at him. "Will you ever let me live that down?"

Flack smiled and shook his head, rubbing her back softly.

"Meanie," she said, and leaned down to kiss him tenderly.

He returned the kiss, his hand on the back of her head, holding her to him.

"I'm sorry, Donnie," she whispered as she pulled back to look down at him. She stroked his face and combed her fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry. About your dad. I know things weren't always great with the two of you and I am so proud of you for handling things the way you did after Kieran was born. And for how you're handling things now. And I love you. So much. And I don't want to ever lose you."

In the moonlight sneaking in from under the blind, he saw her near tears. Emotion choked at him. At her words and at the sadness in her eyes. And he drew her into his strong and capable arms, and all but pulling her on top of him, held onto her.

For dear life.

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! And thanks to anyone who is reading! I know there's lots! Show me some love folks! PLEASE?**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**Brrtmclv**

**Hope4sall**

**Laplandgurl**

**Shopaholic20**

**Bluehaven4220**

**wolfeylady**

**GregRox**

**Forest Angel**

**Soccer-bitch**


	35. Can the past ever be the present?

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ALSO DO NOT OWN THE BBC PROGRAM 'IN THE NIGHT GARDEN', CHESTER LAKE OR ANYONE ASSOCIATED WITH LAW AND ORDER:SVU. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND KIERAN FLACK**

**A/N: THIS IS A PAST CHAPTER. I WANTED TO BREAK UP THE DOOM AND GLOOM SURROUNDING FLACK'S DAD AND WELL…THIS CHAP INCLUDES SAM AT HER OFTEN ZANY BEST. ENJOY!**

* * *

**Can the past ever be the present?**

"Picking up the pieces of a love that I once knew  
What will tomorrow bring?  
Grey skies all around me  
I don't know where to turn  
Can you help me with this pain?  
A shooting star, A ray of light  
A breeze that calms me in the night  
I got your message yesterday  
I feel you here, I wish that you could  
Stay with me, two hearts forever  
You were the spark that lit the flame  
Oh if you  
Stay with me, this love's forever  
And in my heart you will remain'  
til we meet again."  
-Unity (Stay with Me) Kelly Rowland

* * *

Flack woke up to an empty bed.

That didn't happen often. Usually he was the one getting call outs in the wee hours of the morning and leaving behind his peacefully sleeping wife and baby. It was rare that Sam worked nights or was paged to a scene. It had happened only twice in the past six months she'd been back to work. Once when Hawkes had taken a couple of days off to spend some quality time with Angell down in Vermont at some hidden away bread and breakfast she'd found on the internet, and most recently, with the whole sordid Natalie Cormier and her band of natural born killers case. Mac had been damn good about keeping her off of nights and weekends. He tried his best to work around Kieran's day care schedule and the days his grandparents were caring for him. Flack was grateful for that. He wanted his wife and baby together as much as possible.

Babies now. The thought of her being pregnant again never failed to bring a broad grin to his face. Since they had found out, there'd been times he'd spaced out at work and he'd be at his desk, staring off at nothing in particular, and he'd think about the new baby an break out in a massive, shit eating grin. First couple of times Scagnetti had witnessed it, he'd asked his partner what in the hell was up with him. What drugs he was smoking. Now if happened so often that the other detective ignored and told anyone who asked what was going on with Flack, why did he have that stupid look on his face, that his partner was simply having a space case moment.

There was no telling what had woke him up that morning. He'd simply rolled over onto his side and reached out for that warm, inviting body beside him only to find nothing but cold, empty sheets. Finding that surprising and a tad alarming, his eyes had snapped opened and he'd groggily sat up and glanced around the moonlit bedroom, trying to orientate himself while wondering just where in the hell his wife had gotten to. It wasn't like her to just up and leave. And she wasn't the type, until her later months of pregnancy, to make nightly trips to the bathroom. He briefly thought maybe she was sleep walking. It wouldn't have been the first time and he knew it wouldn't be the last. That bizarre behaviour was one of the reasons he put extra bolts and chains on the front door. To prevent her from wandering out of the apartment in her pyjamas and finding her way down the elevator and into the lobby or God forbid, outside.

He yawned noisily and wiped sleep from his eyes and looked over at the bedside clock. It was scarcely quarter after four in the morning.

And that was when he smelled it. A delicious aroma he easily identified as chocolate, drifting into their bedroom and permeating his senses.

Jesus Christ, what now, woman, he thought, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His bare feet hit the ice cold floor and he drew in a hissing breath. Hardwood sure looked nice, but damn, it was murder in the wintertime. He was just happy that he and procured his own bed from his in laws, who had decided to stay overnight at Adam's considering he was the one taking them to the airport the next day because Sam had to work. The goodbyes had been short and sweet, on Sam's part anyway. Flack didn't mind Sarge. His father in law was welcome to visit anytime he wanted. But the monster in law? Forget about it.

He walked on his toes to the dresser to prevent putting his feet through more agony and snagged a pair of socks from the top drawer. He just couldn't bare the cold on his damn feet and didn't care how stupid it looked to be walking around in a t-shirt and boxers and a pair of athletic socks. If his wife didn't insist on doing odd things at all hours, he'd still be warm and snug in his bed and maybe working his way to getting himself some twice in one night. But no, he had to look like a moron because his curiosity was once again getting the better of him. He knew it was impossible to fall back asleep while his mind was besieged by thoughts about what the hell the love of his life was up to in the kitchen at four in the morning.

The answer was quite apparent as he stood in the doorway of the kitchen watching her. Bare foot and in a pair of flannelet cartoon character pyjamas. White with patterns of some yellow creature he assumed was Tweety Bird all over them, her hair in braided pig tails and her I-Pod tucked in one of the pocket and the ear phones blasting music into her cranium as she shimmied and swayed back and forth to the tune she was listening to. The hand mixer and an empty box of Duncan Hines chocolate cake mix and a large mixing bowl on the counter behind her. The oven on and sending off something that smelled akin to heaven. And he couldn't hear the music, but he recognized the song by the words she was singing quietly to herself. A song called Do It All Again by Chad Hatcher that she couldn't get enough of.

"_Do what we need so we can get by. Drink a little smoke a little, feel alright, and at the end of the day and we don't know why, but we do it all again. I know I'll do it all again. Some times I feel that I could never deal with the hand that I've been dealt, I know I ain't by myself so maybe we should just go with the flow and just see how it goes, don't react if things get tense, go and smoke one with your friends." _

She's a little odd, he thought. She's eccentric and crazy. But she's my wife. And I love her.

Sam caught sight of her husband watching her with a bemused, perplexed expression on his face and she smiled brightly and removed the ear phones.

"Hi, baby," she chirped happily. As if it was the middle of the afternoon and she was coming off the best twelve hour sleep of her life. Or her fifteenth cup of coffee.

"Uh…hi…what are you doing?"

"Baking cupcakes," she responded, as if it was the most logical thing to be doing at such an absurd time of the day.

"Okay…why?"

"Because I forgot that Kieran has to take the snack to day care today," she said, taking the I-pod from her pocket and turning it off before wrapping the ear phones around it and sitting the device on top of the microwave.

"He's twelve months old. Why does he need to take a snack for other twelve month olds?" Flack asked.

"He's not the only baby in the place, Donnie. There's kids from six months to five years there. And the place is separated into pods. Twenty-four kids to each pod."

"I know all of that. But why do babies or toddlers need cupcakes for a snack?"

"They don't," she said. "But it's what I wanted to make."

He shook his head in disbelief.

"Each mom has to bring a snack once a week," she continued, snagging a wooden spoon from a canister of utensils on the counter by the sink and using it to stir the mix. "It's my day and I've known for a week and I forgot. And I woke up an hour ago in a blind panic remembering and well…" she stick her finger into the bowl and than proceeded to lick off the hunk of mix. "..here I am."

"Yeah…here you are. You are aware it's just after four in the morning, right?"

She nodded and picked up a glass of milk resting nearby and took a huge sip.

"Unless we suddenly live in a different time zone all together and it's like four hours later than it really is and the sun isn't out for some reason and I forgot to set the clocks to the proper time."

"I know what time it is, smart ass. But I needed to get two dozen cupcakes baked and decorated by the time we all have to be on the road."

"Samantha…it's four in the morning, babe. It's dark out still. And you're here in baking! For a bunch of one year olds."

She shrugged. "And your point?" she asked.

"My point? My point is that it's four in the morning and you're making damn baked goods."

"You're a man, Donnie. Men don't get these things."

"Maybe not. But you know what I do get? I get you're seriously mental and I should be thinking about committing you."

"I don't know…I like to think I'm relatively normal."

He laughed. "Normal? Normal is not getting up in the wee hours of the morning to play Betty Crocker. Normal is not listening to, and dancing and singing along to, a song about a bunch of friends smoking dope together. And normal is not a thirty-three year old woman walking around the house in pig tails and Tweety Bird pyjamas."

"It's Woodstock," she corrected him. "You know…the little bird that was friends with Snoopy and sat on Snoop's dog house?"

Flack stared at her. His hands on his hips. Dumbfounded at her behaviour. Torn between wanting to grab her and toss her over his shoulder and carry her back to bed, and laughing his ass off. He chose the later. The start of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips and it soon turned into a huge grin.

"You've got problems," he informed her.

"Do I?" she asked innocently, dipping her finger in the bowl of batter once again before walking over to where he was standing and holding her hand up towards him. Standing on her tiptoes, she traced her fingertip, chocolate mix and all, over his bottom lip, smiling triumphantly when he took her finger into his mouth and licked off the ingredients. "You love me, Donnie," she said and went to check on the contents in the over. "Why don't you just admit it?"

"Never," he said and wiped the excess chocolate from his lips before going to the fridge and opening it.

"It's futile, you know. Resisting me."

"Yes," he sighed. "I know."

"What are you looking for?" she asked.

"Something to eat," he replied.

"It's four in the morning," she said.

"You can bake at this time but I can't eat? What's up with that? We seriously need to go and get some groceries. Kieran's eating us out of house and home."

"Somehow, my love, I don't think Kieran is to blame."

"Okay…so you and that monster child you're carrying."

She frowned and tossed an oven mitt at him. "It's you that doesn't stop eating!" she exclaimed.

"I'm a growing boy," Flack said and grabbed the Tupperware container that held left over Sheppard's Pie his wife had prepared that evening for dinner.

He shut the fridge and popped the lid of the container as he carried it to the microwave for re-heating. Shutting the door, he set the timer for two minutes and pressed start.

"You going to make me something to take for lunch?" he asked curiously as he leaned up against the counter across from the store.

Her eyes widened over the rim of her milk glass. "Uh…let me think…no…"

"You know, most wives do nice things for their husbands. Do their laundry, pick their shit up at the dry cleaners, pack them a lunch."

"Yeah? Well than you go and find a nice wife to do those things for you."

"But I like the wife I have," he said. "She just needs her hard drive re-programmed a little."

"Pardon me?" she laughed. "My hard drive re-programmed? Is that your plan? Put some little chip inside of me and turn me into a damn Stepford wife?"

"No…I just was going to make you a little nicer to me."

"And you say I have problems," Sam said. "When have I not been nice to you? I bore a child for you. I'm bearing another one as we speak. I cook for you, I clean for you, I do do your laundry and pick up your dry cleaning. I give you sex! All the time! And we're not talking just run of the mill, missionary style on and off sex either! So don't give me this shit that I am not nice to you."

"Kidding, honey. Kidding. Man, that baby is already messing with your hormones and making you bitchy as hell."

She frowned, grabbed the wooden spoon and smacked him hard on the ass with it.

* * *

"Shit!" Flack nearly shrieked, tears welling in his eyes as he grabbed at his injured cheek. "What the hell, woman! I'm all for a little pain! Some biting and nail gouging and what not in bed. But was that necessary?"

"Yes," she said and tossed the spoon into the sink with a clatter. "It was."

"Get over here and kiss it better," he demanded.

"I am not kissing your ass!"

"Come here for a second, Samantha," he said, slowly walking towards her. "Just for a second."

"No way," she told him as she backed away. "I know what you're going to do to me."

"What am I going to do?"

"You'll get me and pin me down and tickle me until I pee my pants."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because it's what you do!" she exclaimed, backing up through the kitchen and out into the small foyer and towards the door of the apartment. "You've done it before! Lots of times! You weigh a hundred pounds more than me nearly and you pin me down and get me right in the side under my ribs and tickle me until I piss myself!"

"Sammie, I promise you I will not tickle you until you wet yourself. Just come here for a second."

She shook her head vigorously.

"Babe, I swear to you I will not inflict torture on you of any kind. Quit acting like a baby and come here."

"Uh-huh," she remained firm. "I don't trust you."

"You don't trust me? Since when? Was that not trust you had in me the other night when we gave that whole erotic asphyxiation thing a go? You trusted me enough than. Look at the size of your neck compared to the size of my hand. I could have snapped your neck. But I didn't and you didn't worry about it, did you?"

"Of course not. Because you love me and I know you wouldn't hurt me."

"Exactly. And I'm not going to do anything bad to you now. I won't tickle you until you pee. I promise."

She shook her head.

"Jesus Christ, woman," he said with a sigh, advancing on her.

She shrieked as he quickly closed the gap between them and than found herself pinned to the front door. Held there with his body weight. "Don't Donnie!" she wailed when she felt his hand drifting up the front of her pyjama top. "Don't! You promised!"

"Calm down. I am not…"

"I will knee you in the balls. Seriously. I will."

"No you won't. You want more kids don't you?"

"I have Kieran. And a baby on the way. I don't need anymore than that! So in essence, I don't need that part of you anymore!"

"Keep your knees to yourself. I prefer my family jewels where they are, okay?"

"Than keep your hands to yourself! Donnie!" she squealed when she felt his fingertips on the spot just below her ribs. "Don't! Please! Don't!"

"Samantha…" he said in a warning tone when he felt, and saw, her knee go up.

"I said don't!"

"I wasn't going to do it," he told her, slipped his hand around to the small of her back and yanked her against him as he covered her lips with his in a searing kiss.

"You're mean!" she cried, after the kiss ending and she shoved him away from her and went back into the kitchen.

"But you love me," Flack said, an amused grin on his face as he followed behind her. "You love me madly and desperately and passionately and would die without me."

She snorted and checked on the cupcakes.

"You would," he concluded and removed his food from the microwave. "I'm sorry, babe. I shouldn't have got you worked up like that."

"No, you shouldn't have," she agreed and returned to her glass of milk.

"I couldn't help it though. You're just so damn adorable when you're all Brooklyn bad ass."

She went to the drain board by the sink and grabbed a fork and handed it to him.

"What?" he asked. "I can't eat with my fingers?" he stuck a finger into the mashed potatoes and licked it off.

"You are so gross," she declared, and got the ketchup from the fridge and proceeded to squirt his usual disgusting amount of the condiment onto his meal. "And just so you know, that there was your lunch."

"How can this be my lunch?" he asked, mixing the Sheppard's Pie with his fork. "This is a snack for a boy my size."

She rolled her eyes.

"Hey, you wanted someone puny that ate less, you should have hooked up with Messer or Hawkes or even Mac."

"Mac could kill you with one finger," Sam reminded him. "Go all Marine Mac on your ass."

"Next time I want to turn you on quickly I'll ask him to do just that. I know you have a huge crush on him. How it makes you go all warm and tingly when he goes all Marine, soldier boy with people."

"Actually, there's only one person that makes me go all warm and tingly."

"That's so sweet babe, thank you."

"Not you. Danny. When he does his BOOM thing. That just makes me wet when he does that."

Flack nearly choked on his food. "You are never working with Messer again," he declared.

"He'll be so disappointed," Sam sighed. "You know, considering we've been carrying on this rather delicious affair for over a year."

"Don't tease me, Sammie. I don't want you walking out on me and than getting a call from the Maury Povich show about two years down the road saying they want me and Mess to take DNA tests for that baby you're having. Can you imagine? Don Flack Jr…"

"You are not the father!" they exclaimed at the same time.

Flack smirked. Sam dissolved into giggles.

"We are some strange fucking people," Flack sighed.

"Maybe," Sam said, standing in front of him and laying her hands on his sides. "But we love each other and we're happy."

"That we are," he agreed, and scooping up some Sheppard's Pie, deposited into her mouth.

"I was thinking," she said. "About your birthday party…"

He groaned audibly.

"We have to have a party for you. It's Kieran's first birthday tomorrow and the two of you are only twelve days apart and I was thinking that seeing as we are having his party next weekend because the entire team is off…"

"Than just have a party for him. I don't want a party."

"You have to have one."

"Why?"

"Because I love you and want you to have one."

He sighed.

"It will mostly be for Kieran, mind you. Cake and ice cream and balloons and party hats and…"

"Hang on a second. Party hats? When did I agree to that?"

"You said to go ahead and get whatever I wanted for his party. So I did. And one of the things I got was party hats. They're so cute, Donnie. They're multicoloured and have those In the Night Garden characters on them! And so do the plates and the napkins."

"What? Whoa…slow down. Plates and napkins? An In the Night Garden themed party? Are you kidding me?"

"It's what Kieran likes."

"What?" he laughed. "He's a year old. He doesn't know what the hell he likes."

"Well he watches it all the time and he's got that singing and dancing Iggle-Piggle and all the Tombliboos so I just figured he'd like that kind of party."

"He doesn't even know it's his birthday, Sammie! He's only a year old."

"But I know," she reasoned. "And I wanted his first birthday to be special."

Flack sighed. "Fine. We'll have an In the Night Garden themed party. But I draw the line at wearing a goddamn party hat with a Wiggle-Jiggle on it."

"Iggle-Piggle," she corrected. "He's the blue guy that carries the red blanket and travels in the boat at the beginning and end and.."

"I know who he is. But I am not wearing a damn hat."

"Everybody is," she argued.

"Who is everybody?" Flack asked.

"Everybody that's coming. Your parents, Adam and Gus, Mac and Stella, Carmen and Tim and Addie. Danny and Erica and Hawkes and Angell. And Sid and his wife. Scagnetti. Everybody."

"And you told these people that they have to wear party hats? In the Night Garden party hats?"

She nodded. "No one argued with me. And you shouldn't either. You're his father."

Flack sighed heavily. "Party hats, napkins, paper plates with these freaky little creatures on it," he shook his head.

"And a pinata," she added.

"What?" he nearly bellowed.

Sam stood on her tiptoes and clapped a hand over his mouth. "You'll wake the baby!"

"A pinata, Samantha!" he said in a harsh whisper after she removed her hand. "Come on! Give me a goddamn break!"

"It's awesome!" she giggled. "It's the Pinky-Ponk! You know, that crazy thing that flies through the air and goes PONK PONK PONK and looks almost like a boob?"

"Jesus Christ," Flack breathed and closed his eyes. "A pinata for a one year old?"

"Well us grown ups will have to whack it around of course."

"Now you want me to wear a party hat and beat the shit out of a pinata?"

She nodded excitedly. "Wanna hear the best part?"

"I'm almost scared to," he said.

"Danny's going to bring his old night stick from his uni days and we're going to use that to bash him!"

Flack's eyes widened and he simply shook his head.

"I've got a surprise for you, too!" she exclaimed.

"Please tell me there's a stripper coming to my part of the party," he said,

"Perv. If you want though, I can buy some sexy little number at La Perla or Victoria Secret and do a little private show once every one leaves and the baby is in bed."

He grinned. "I'd like that very much. I'll even shove some money down your panties."

"Do I get to keep the money afterwards?" she asked hopefully.

"Don't you always? We have a joint account. What's yours is yours and what's mine is yours."

She grinned. "You have learned so well in the last year. Do you want to hear your surprise?"

"I guess…"

"I am baking you a cake," she announced proudly.

"A cake? What kind of cake?"

"A birthday cake."

"I know that, babe. But what kind?"

"A Hello Kitty one!" she cried happily.

Flack spit food clear across the kitchen.

"Don't you just love it! It's going to be so cute!"

"No! No it's not!" he exclaimed. "A thirty-one year old man with a Hello Kitty cake? That is not cute!"

"I think it is," she said.

"Sammie, you need to give the Hello Kitty a break, okay?"

"I can't," she sighed. "It's my shtick."

He laughed. "Your shtick?" he asked in a faux Brooklyn accent, mocking hers. And he held onto it while he continued to speak. "Hello Kitty is your shtick?"

She nodded.

"Is that how you want to be remembered?" he asked, speaking in his normal voice. "As Flack's crazy wife with a bizarre obsession with Hello Kitty?"

"Will you write that on my head stone?" she inquired. "Flack's nutty Hello Kitty Loving Wife. Will you write that?"

"Sure…better yet…I will bury you in your favourite Hello Kitty jammies with your little Hello Kitty barrettes in your hair and in a pink coffin with a Hello Kitty done in white sequins on the top."

"I love you," she gushed, as he grabbed the dish cloth and some paper towels to clean up the mess he made.

"Yeah? Well you are damn lucky I love you back or you'd be cooling your heels in Bellview right about now."

"So you'll wear a hat?" she asked hopefully.

"I will wear a hat," he replied, as he stood and dumped the garbage into the bin under the sink and than went to her and kissed her forehead. "I will wear a hat and whack the shit out of a fucking pinata."

"Thank you," she said.

"On one condition."

She frowned. "Uh-oh…"

"Me and you afterwards, when everyone is gone, me and you are going in that bedroom and locking ourselves in there and you're going to let me do every sick and perverted thing I like for my birthday. Understand me?"

"You ask a lot," Sam said.

"You want me to wear the hat and whack the pinata?"

She nodded.

"Than guess what," he kissed her. "You'll be whacking something yourself. A lot."

"You are one dirty minded perv," she complained. Than sighed when he captured her mouth in a long, toe curling kiss.

"How long to those cupcakes?" Flack asked, his forehead resting against hers, his fingers already working on the buttons of her pyjama top.

She glanced at the timer on the stove. "Twenty minutes," she replied.

"Perfect," he said. Finishing with the buttons, he pushed her shirt open and blazed kisses along her collar bone.

Than left her momentarily to pick up the container of vanilla icing that sat near the mixing bowl. He peeled off the lid and the protective seal underneath and tossed them both aside. He scooped some of the icing out and returned to his wife and held his finger out to her.

"How about I show you just what kind of dirty minded perv I am," he suggested.

She grinned and grabbed his hand and proceeded to lick the icing off the sides and bottom of his finger before taking it into her mouth and sucking on it seductively.

It turned Flack on completely. Not that that was a hard thing to do.

"How about you do just that," she said.

* * *

Homicide was a major change of venue from what he was used to.

Rape victims, assaults, kidnappings and forcible confinements, child porn, just to name a few. Special Victims was a mixed bag of goods that he had once prided himself at being damn good at. Sure, there were DB's to work with every now and then, but homicide was strictly death and nothing but folks.

He considered himself compassionate and empathetic. Maybe sometimes to a fault. There were times maybe he got a little too personally attached to people and events. Times that he was nasty or vindictive when things didn't go his way or he had felt the unbearable urge to defend a victim from questions and criticism. He wasn't able to ask the hard questions. That was the reason his CO had given him before announcing he was being moved not far up the street to the twelve precinct to work homicide. He wasn't able to separate himself and his personal feelings and beliefs from the job. And that prevented him from doing said job professionally and to the best of his ability.

That was a crock of shit and Chester Lake knew it. He was being booted because he had had the balls to stand up to some of the absurd bullshit that went on it that place between the employees. They were alright people to work with a damn good and effective team. When they managed to pull their heads out of their asses long enough to be one. But the bickering and the backstabbing were outrageous. The pigheaded ignorance that was sometimes Elliot Stabler and the way Olivia was always so quick to defend his sometimes ridiculous decisions and actions and refused to hear any other opinions other that hers and Stabler's. She got downright defensive and nothing short of whiny and bitchy when you didn't agree with her and had the guts to stand up for yourself. And the way those two looked at each other sometimes. Shit, it was all Lake could do to keep himself from screaming "RENT A FUCKING ROOM AND JUST BANG EACH OTHER ALREADY!" or going and coughing up some of his own money for a room and coming back and slamming the key down on Stabler's desk along with a handful of condoms and telling him to put them to good use.

Fantasies of course. He would never have actually done that. Or would he have? Maybe one day he would have just snapped and done it. Who knows? It was all water under the bridge now and he would never know, as he pushed his way through the front doors of the twelfth precinct, what he might have done when push came to shove. The move had been made and while he would miss certain people, he was damn grateful to be out of there. See some new scenery, hear some new sounds. Meet new people.

Start a new life.

He went to the duty captain's desk first. Waited in line patiently and quietly behind all the normal folk with questions, more often useless than not, for his turn. He was in no hurry. He was more than twenty minutes early for the start of his shift and he wasn't expecting any fan fare or warm welcome. He was new there. And that's the way Lake liked it.

"Can I help you, kid?" the duty captain asked as Lake stepped forward.

He reached under his black thermal style shirt and pulled his badge off of the waist of his jeans. "Detective Chester Lake," he said. "First day here. I'm signing in and looking for Detective Don Flack."

The duty captain glanced down at the large journal in front of him and grabbed a pen. Using the tip to scroll down the list of names until he found the one he wanted. "Lake, you say?"

"That's what I said."

The older man put a check mark beside Lake's name and wrote down the time that the younger man had arrived at. "End of your shift you come back here and sign out," he instructed.

"I know the drill," Lake assured her, and put his badge back. "Detective Flack?"

"Go through the bullpen towards the elevators. Desk to left, right next to the window. I don't think he's there right now. He's clocked in, but I think he took his kid up to the day care on the third floor."

"Thanks," Lake said and stepped through the large double doors and into the already noisy, boisterous bullpen.

Being a new face attracted some attention, but not much. Other detectives and civilian employees briefly glanced his way but no one stopped to ask questions or introduce themselves. This was New York City. No one took the time to be warm and friendly. To make friends. It was business and nothing but and that was okay by Chester Lake too. Friends would be nice, but not a necessity. That was his mentality. He was just there to work. Take home a pay cheque.

He found the desk easily. It was empty but there was a half empty sippy cup of what looked to be apple juice sitting on it, a Sesame Street colouring book and chunky crayons amidst the mess of files and paper work, and a suit jacket slung on the back of the chair. Lake grinned at the sight of the family/fatherly things tossed in with the hard and cold facts of their job.

He took a seat in the chair next to the desk and waited. Taking in the sights around him. Picking up bits and pieces of conversations going around him. Getting a feel for the people and the place and what was in store for him. His eyes soon fell on the two framed photographs that sat on the Detective Sargeant's desk. One of a little boy with rosy cheeks and an infectious grin and a head full of nearly black hair. The other of whom he assumed was his new supervisor and a young woman with her brown hair done up and wearing a navy blue dress. Bridesmaid's dress, maybe? That didn't matter. What mattered was that that woman looked strikingly similar to someone he had known, and loved, many years before. Who had simply walked out of his life and never looked back.

He leaned forward and picked up the picture. Same smile, same golden eyes, same freckles on her nose. But in his mind, he knew that there was no possible way that this woman and the one he had known were one in the same. When she had left for Phoenix with her family, she had vowed she would never come back.

* * *

"Chester Lake?" a deep voice suddenly appeared at the side of his chair. Queens accent. Or was it Yonkers? Sometimes it was hard to tell.

He looked up. The man before him was tall and big. Easily standing six foot two and going at least two hundred and ten pounds, if not more. Short dark hair tinged with grey. Cornflower blue eyes. Dark grey suit pants and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a red, black and white stripped tie.

Lake stood up and sat the picture back down on the desk.

"Detective Don Flack," the other man said and offered his hand.

"No Sargeant?" Lake asked as he shook the man's hand.

Flack waved it off. "No one calls me that except for the big brass or my colleagues and friends when they're goofing off. And my wife when she's pissed at me for something. How long you been waiting?"

Lake shrugged. "A few minutes."

"You're pretty early," Flack said, motioning to the chair by the side of his desk, waiting for the other detective to take a seat before sliding into his own chair.

"Didn't know what the traffic was going to be like with all of that snow out there," Lake responded. "The drive from Brooklyn was better and easier than I thought it would be."

"That's good. I think the city forgot to send plows to my neighbourhood and I only live in lower Manhattan. Sorry about the mess," Flack shook his head and gathered up the crayons and shoved them in their box.

"It's no problem. How old's your boy?"

"A year tomorrow. Kieran. He's a terrorist," Flack responded, as he tossed the crayons and colouring book in the bottom drawer of his desk. Picking up the sippy cup, he looked at it and sighed and shook his head and at it off to the side. He'd definitely have to running that upstairs soon. "His godfather calls him Osama."

Lake chuckled.

"Don't laugh," Flack said with a grin. "It's true. He's something else that's for sure. Gets it from his mother."

"That's your wife? In the picture?"

Flack nodded. He was going to sit on what Sam had told him Christmas Eve. About her history with Lake. And he was going to wait to see what this guy had to say for himself.

"She's very pretty," Lake said.

"Thanks. Been married just over a year now."

"You know? She looks exactly like this girl I knew way back when. When I was a teenager and living in Crown Heights. Samantha Ross."

"Yeah? You want to hear something funny?"

Lake nodded.

"That's Samantha Ross. From Crown Heights."

Lake's eyes widened. "Last time I saw her she was sixteen and moving with her family to Phoenix. Her mom had just gotten married to some ex-Air Force guy who flew for American Airlines and he was shipping them off back to his hometown. Getting them away from the evils of the city."

"Well, certain circumstances saw her finding her way back to the city," Flack said.

"How long has she been back?"

"March '08."

"It's a massive city. How did the two of you ever manage to meet?"

"She works here. Not here, as in this precinct, but upstairs in the crime lab. She's a crime scene investigator. That's how I met her. Through the job. Saw her sitting outside the front doors there on that bench just before her first day on the job and…well, you know what they say. The rest is history."

"She's with the NYPD?"

Flack nodded. "She was with the Phoenix PD but like I said she left and she's here now."

"Never imagined she'd become a cop. Teacher or a lawyer or something like that. But never a cop."

"Wonders never cease to exist," Flack said. "She's got herself a Masters in forensics and a BA in profiling. Not bad for a girl from the projects in Crown Heights."

"I always knew she'd make something of herself. I just never thought it would be police work. I always thought she'd do something with kids. Considering the way she grew up and all."

"I guess she was able to put that all behind her," Flack said. "But she's still helping people in a way. If it wasn't for them crime lab people, we wouldn't solve cases. Her brother Adam works here, too. Up in the lab."

"No shit?"

"No shit. He's the jack of all trades, master of none. But the guy can do wonders in the computer and AV Lab. I've seen him work his magic."

"Kinda weird," Lake said, slowly shaking his head. "You don't see someone for nearly seventeen years and than all of a sudden they're right there in front of you. She was sixteen when she left. I never heard from her again. I certainly didn't come here thinking she'd be working here, though. That's a little…"

"Freaky?" Flack offered.

"For lack of a better word."

Scagnetti slapped Flack on the shoulder with a case folder as he passed behind Flack's chair on the way to his own desk. "We got an interrogation in ten, Flack," the older man said as he dropped into his chair. "Bonasera and Taylor just hauled in a possible perp for that Central Park stabbing yesterday."

"How come we didn't catch the call to pick him up?" Flack asked.

"You were upstairs taking your kid to day care and I was in with Gerrard going over some bullshit for court next week. Whose your buddy?"

"Detective Chester Lake," Flack said. "He's our new guy."

"The one from SVU?" Scagnetti inquired.

"One and only," Lake replied.

"I'm Tony Scagnetti," the older, much bigger man leaned sideways in his desk and offered a hand. "The good sargeant here is my partner. Lucky me, huh? Get to stare at his ugly mug all damn day?"

"Lake's going to be working with me and you for a bit," Flack told his partner. "Shadowing, Gerrard calls it. Than he's going to get his own partner. Probably Angell."

Scagnetti whistled. "Lucky you, kid. She's got a much nicer mug and ass to look at than Flack does."

"That's sexual harassment, Scagnetti," Flack pointed out.

"Come on. You're just jealous I don't like your ass better. You got an alright ass, Flack. But I prefer female asses much better."

"I'll consider myself lucky, than," Flack said before turning back to the new guy. "You prefer Chester or Lake?" Flack asked the new guy. "Or both?"

"Whatever," he replied. "Doesn't matter to me."

"We're last name people around here," Scagnetti said. "We don't do first names. Flack tell you the one important rule when it comes to him?"

Lake shook his head.

"Shall I?" Scagnetti asked his partner.

"By all means," Flack responded.

"It's Flack," Scagnetti told Lake. "It's not Don or Donnie or Donald. And it's especially not Junior. Call him one of those four, especially the last one, and he's knocking your block off or putting you through a wall. In case you haven't noticed, my boy is one big sonofabitch. So it's Flack. That's what we call him. We've never called him anything but. Wait, I lie. Sometimes asshole or bastard or prick suits him and his lovable and cuddly personality just fine."

"You're starting to sound like my wife, Scagnetti," Flack chuckled.

"That poor innocent, angelic soul has to live with you," his partner said. "I feel damn sorry for her and my invitation to hook up with a real man is still open."

"Well lucky for her," Flack said, attempting to put his desk back to some resemblance of order. "She doesn't find anything wrong with me. She's perfectly happy and staying right where she is."

"Well for a girl with a master's she's damn stupid than," Scagnetti snorted.

Lake couldn't help but chuckle at the good natured teasing between the two men. These guys were alright. He was looking forward to working for, and with, them.

"Like I said," Scagnetti spoke to Lake once again. "He's just Flack. And you know, he's got this sarcastic, mean and harsh and brash way about him, but he's a pussycat. He really is."

Flack snorted.

"His wife keeps him in line. Wears the pants in the family," Scagnetti added. "Wanna hear about the time he tossed his cookies 'cause his kid got his diaper off and smeared shit from sun up to sun down and everywhere in between?"

"I don't think he wants to hear about that," Flack said.

"Or the time he nearly barfed his guts out at a scene? I told him to leave the room and pull up his big boy pants and get on with it. So trust me, he comes across as all conceited and mean and shit, but he's a hell of a good guy. He's the one you want watching your ass going through a door and having your back at all costs."

"I'm touched, Scagnetti," Flack laid a hand over his heart. "I had no idea you had such a boy crush on me."

"Screw you, Flack. You couldn't handle this."

"Bigger and better, Scagnetti. Bigger and better."

"You wish."

Flack's cell phone, resting on the top of his desk, rang noisily and he scooped it up. "Shit…" he sighed when he saw the familiar number. He flipped open his phone and put it to his ear. "What did he do now?"

"Kid's a biter," Scagnetti explained to Lake. "Flack and his wife must get called at least three times a week to go up and deal with him."

"I'll be back," Flack told the two men, as he snapped his phone closed and jumped to his feet. He snatched the sippy cup from the top of his desk.

"You're a bad, bad, bad father," Scagnetti informed him. "Forgetting the kid's damn juice."

"Amount of money we pay to have him in that day care, you would think they could afford to have extra sippy cups lying around. And diapers. Last week, I picked him up and I guess he already had gone through the six Sam had packed, and those stupid bitches had let him sit in a crappy diaper for nearly two hours."

"This shit is exactly why I don't have kids," Scagnetti declared. "Ten minutes, Flack!" he called, as the younger man hurried through the bullpen.

Flack gave a way over his shoulder to acknowledge he'd heard his partner. "Show Lake his desk!" he shouted before he got onto the elevator.

Scagnetti gave a mock salute and turned to the new detective. "So?" he asked. "What do you think? You going to like working in homicide with us, or what?"

Lake smiled. "I think I'll like it just fine," he said.

* * *

Danny stood in the doorway of their shared office, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest and an amused smirk on his face as the fiesty Brooklyn girl sat behind her desk and gave someone complete and utter hell over the phone. When she was upset and in the middle of a rant, her accent became thick and pronounced and nearly reduced Danny to uncontrollable fits of laughter.

"Look, maybe you didn't hear me the first five times," Samantha snapped into the phone. "Or maybe you're just hard of understanding or your brain doesn't get the English language. But I am not asking you to bring your daughter down for questioning, I am telling you to bring her down. ASAP. And in case you don't get what that is, it means as soon as possible!"

Danny smirked.

"We have been nothing but professional and friendly with you and your family," Sam continued. "You've done nothing but yank our chains and screw us around over this. So let me make this all very clear for you. Your daughter's DNA, specifically her blood and saliva, was found at a murder scene this morning. My partner, Detective Messer, who you spoke to only a couple of hours ago, was able to match your daughter's DNA because she was already in the system for assault. I don't get what is so difficult about all of this."

"Because they're fucking stupid," Danny whispered as he entered the office.

Sam grinned at him. "I am going to spell this out for you one more time," she said into the phone. "I am telling you to bring your daughter down for questioning. Because if you don't, I will call some very capable and competent homicide detectives and they'll be on your doorstep quicker than you can say the Pledge of Allegiance."

"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America…" Danny began as he slipped into the chair behind his desk.

Sam swung her chair around so her back was to Danny. Because if she looked at him or listened to him any longer, her resolve would crumble. Danny just had that way of making your laugh no matter what.

"I am sure you would rather cooperate with the NYPD in favour of having my detectives hauling your daughter out in handcuffs," she continued into the phone. "That's fine. Call a lawyer. But I promise you any attorney will tell you the same thing. That your daughter's innocence is much more intact if you cooperate and not give our department a hard time."

"You fucking tell 'em, Brooklyn," Danny said, flipping open a case file. "Let 'em know who the fucking boss is."

"Two hours," Sam demanded. "I will give you two hours to have her down here or I am sending two of my biggest, burliest bad ass detectives there and I promise you they will not be as nice and sweet and sugary as I am."

Danny snickered behind her.

"Thank you so very much for your cooperation," Sam's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You have a very nice day now."

"And kiss my ass while you're at it," Danny added.

Sam swung her chair back around and slammed the receiver of the phone back down on the cradle with a flourish of curse words. "Fucking morons!" she cried and put her face in her hands and let out a scream.

Danny watched her with amusement.

She finished her meltdown and removed her face from her hands and smoothed down her hair.

"Feel better now?" he asked.

"Much," she replied and smiled brightly. "How are you?"

"Better than you apparently. So I was just talking to your brother and he told me you were in here grilling these jackasses so I had to come and get some entertainment."

"My brother?" Sam frowned. "Adam isn't working today. He's taking my parents to the airport."

"I meant your other brother. Flack."

"That sonofabitch!" Sam exclaimed. "He told you about that?!"

Danny nodded and laughed. "You are sick girl, Brooklyn. Dreaming that you're married and carrying on an incestuous affair with your own brother."

"That's not what the dream was about! I can't believe he told you! The dream was that he had a sister Samantha who looked remarkably like me. An older version of me, actually. And not as hot. But I wasn't the sister. She was!"

"Sure…sure, Sammie. You could go on Jerry Springer with this story. I am having a wild affair with my brother."

"I will be on there right alongside of you and your living with and having a kid with one girl and having nasty, dirty MSN sex with the love of your life whose back in Montana."

"Hey! It's not MSN sex, alright. It's phone and email sex."

"Whatever. Same damn thing. You know what I am going to buy you for your birthday, Daniel?"

Samantha was possibly the only person who could get away with calling him that.

"What's that?" he asked.

"A plane ticket to Montana. Yep, that's what I am going to get you. So you can get your ass there and hunt her down and either settle down and live happily ever after there or bring her back here."

"Thought you hated Lindsay."

"I didn't hate her," Sam said. "We were just two totally different people that couldn't seem to gel. And who never gave each other a chance. We were both stupid ass bitches for that. But immaturity aside, if she's the one you want, what the hell is the problem?"

"I'm living with someone. Expecting a baby with them. And she's your cousin."

"Who gives a shit? When has she ever been loyal or close to me? Christ, Danny, Don and I both know you're as miserable as all shit. And we don't want you to be miserable. Lots of guys don't stay with the mother of their children. There's nothing wrong with paying child support and getting visitation."

"I know," Danny sighed. "Trust me, I have weighed every option out there. But none of those options matter now."

Sam frowned. "Why not?"

"Lindsay's met someone. She told me last night."

"What?"

Danny nodded. "Guess she got tired or waiting for me and decided it was time to move on. She doesn't want me contacting her anymore. It's too painful for her."

"Danny, I'm sorry…"

"Guy's a big shot down there in Montana, too. The governor."

Sam's eyes widened.

"My reaction exactly. I mean, how can I compete with that? The governor, for Christ sakes?"

"How'd she meet him?"

"I don't know. I didn't think to ask. Doesn't matter. She met him. End of story. Boom."

"You're going to give up just like that?"

He nodded.

"You're a goddamn pussy, Danny!" Sam scolded him.

"What? What do you want me to do? Go there and drag her back kicking and screaming?"

"Yes!" Sam exclaimed. "Exactly."

He shook his head sadly. "It's over, Brooklyn. Face it. It's over. That part of my life," he sighed. "It's over."

"Whatever," Sam huffed and jumped out of her chair. "Be a whiny, stubborn ass."

"And don't you go off buying me no plane ticket!" he warned her, watching as she yanked open the top drawer of her desk and pulled out her wallet.

"I wasn't. I was going to go and get some lunch. You want to come with?"

"Nah…not hungry. I think I will just sit here and feel sorry for myself a bit."

"Only you can change that, Danny," she said, and standing behind his chair, put her hands on his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. "Remember, if you love someone, set them free. If they come back to you, they're yours. If they don't, they never were."

Danny sighed heavily and watched as his best friend's wife headed from the room, her pony tail bouncing and swinging as she went.

He leaned his head back against his chair and closed his eyes.

Only time would tell if what she said was true.

**Now I don't know if folks in the U.S. have In the Night Garden, but it's big here and over in the UK where it originated. So I took the liberty of using it in this story.**

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! A thank you to even the lurkers and I know there's lots of you! Cheer me up, folks! Drop me a line if you like my shtick, as Sam would say. Cheers, BEG75**

**Special thanks to:**

**laurzz**

**Brrtmclv**

**Hope4sall**

**muchmadness**

**laplandgurl**

**Forest Angel**

**Bluehaven4220**

**Shopaholic20**

**GregRox**

**ImaSupernaturalCSI**

**Soccer-bitch**


	36. Operation:Bozeman aka is Sam crazy?

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN**

**A/N: SPECIAL THANKS TO LAURZZ FOR THE SONG AND ALL HER CHATS! **

* * *

**Operation: Bozeman (aka is Sam crazy?)**

"I used to reach for you when  
I got lost along the way.  
I used to listen.  
You always had just the right thing to say.  
I used to follow you.  
Never really cared where we would go,  
Fast or slow, to anywhere at all.  
We used to have this figured out;  
We used to breathe without a doubt.  
When nights were clear, you were the first star that I'd see.  
We used to have this under control.  
We never thought.  
We used to know.  
At least there's you, and at least there's me.  
Can we get this back?  
Can we get this back to how it used to be?  
I look around me,  
And I want you to be there  
'Cause I miss the things that we shared.  
Look around you.  
It's empty, and you're sad  
'Cause you miss the love that we had."  
-Used To, Daughtry

* * *

The main cafeteria of the New York City crime lab was located on the twenty-second floor and was an absolute zoo. Sam usually wasn't brave enough to venture down so close to noon hour. She just couldn't take the hustle and bustle of the crowds and the nearly intolerable buzz that all the loud voices together created. To her, that sound was akin to nails on a chalk board for other human beings. Her doctor had once told her that she had a sensory processing disorder with noises. That anything sudden or piercing was a hundred times louder to her than it was to the average person. Her response to that had been "Well I know my brain is a little messed up, but come on. Can't something just be damn annoying to you without you being diagnosed with something?" She hadn't bought that line of shit for a second and had said as much to her husband when she'd come home from the audiologist grumbling about what a loony tune the guy was. Especially the supposed specialist's brilliant deduction that to cut down on the discomfort, to avoid those types of certain situations.

Yeah, right. Easier said than done. You couldn't avoid noise in a house with a toddler who shrieked and bellowed and carried on because he had his own hearing issues and was only so loud because he was struggling to actually hear himself. And you certainly couldn't tell the kid to shut the hell up no matter how tempted you were to do so. Everywhere that seemed remotely essential to her life was wrought with noise. Work, home, the grocery store. There was no escaping it. So she had learned to take her I-pod where she went in order to just block everything else out. Which in turn, gave off the impression that she was just some rude bitch wanting to ignore everybody.

Life certainly was a no win situation sometimes.

She placed an order for French fries and gravy and macaroni and cheese at the busy grill. Waiting in line before her turn to order had arrived, she'd checked out the menu mounted on the wall and decided since she couldn't decide between her two favourite comfort foods, she was just going to go ahead and order both. No since skimping when she was just going to get fat over the next several months anyway. The way she looked at it, extra pounds now only meant extra padding and safety for the baby growing inside of her.

She was still somewhat in shock over the whole thing. Since they had found out she was expecting nearly two weeks ago, there were times that that night and that moment when she'd placed that pregnancy test in he husband's hand seemed like a dream. As if it had never happened. To talk about trying for another baby and than actually finding out you're having one so soon were two entirely different things. And for the most part, although it was just the beginning, this pregnancy seemed to be entirely different than the first.

With Kieran, once she had found out she was having him, all her thoughts and movements were consumed by him. She couldn't recall a moment when she wasn't thinking about being pregnant. Even long before she showed any physical signs that she was. She had been nervous and terrified and excited. She had never done something like that before. She'd never carried a child or given birth or been a mother. It was one big holy shit moment that last nearly nine months and sometimes still crept up on her.

This time around seemed different. First, she didn't dwell on it as much. She didn't worry about every single thing she put in her mouth and the adverse affects it would have on her or the baby. This time she knew exactly what to stay away from and didn't have to carry around a copy of What to Expect When Your Expecting that she could refer to before she made every decision regarding her health or body. She felt more relaxed and confidant with this pregnancy. She knew what to expect. If she got massive heartburn, she knew that it was okay. If she had to get up in the middle of the night and pee ten times, well that was okay too. And when her back ached or her feet swelled or her gums bled while brushing her teeth, she didn't go running to call the doctor in a blind panic.

She was enjoying it this time. Although still nervous and anxious about the responsibility of carrying a new life entirely dependant on her inside of her body, she wasn't as paranoid and uptight and felt so at ease and comfortable with herself and how she would deal with issues as they arose. Something inside told her that the next several months were going to go smoothly and easily. She could just feel it. And she was going to relish every appointment and every ultrasound and every movement and every kick.

Her cell phone, inside of the pink holder clipped to the waist of her black dress pants rang noisily. Tired of the standard rings that accompanied all NYPD issued cells, she'd gone on the internet and downloaded some unique and colourful ring tones that suited her often unusual and interesting choices in music. So instead of a boring old ring, the sound of 50 Cent's Candy Shop emanated from her phone.

She plucked the ear phone from her I-pod out of one ear and snagged her phone, checking the caller ID before flipping the cell open to answer it.

"Detective Flack," she said into the phone in way of greeting.

Even after a year of marriage, it still seemed out to say that name. She had tried hyphenating it at first for work purposes only. Answering her phone and introducing herself as Detective Ross-Flack. But it sound became way too much of a mouthful and she gave up and just used her married name. Which was as confusing as hell within the department. People just couldn't seem to wrap their heads around the fact that there were two detective Flacks. How hard was it? One was male and one was female.

It wasn't rocket science people!

"Samantha? It's Reed. Reed Garrett," came the familiar voice. The young man sounded excited. He obviously had big news to share.

"Hey, Reed," she said, holding her phone to her ear with her shoulder in order to take the two overflowing plates of food from the grill chef.

She placed them both on her tray and slid it down the counter top towards a small table holding condiments and plastic cutlery. It was one of those days she had wished she'd taken her brother's advice and gotten a hands free device for her phone. Usually she argued with him about how stupid it looked because it appeared you were talking to yourself in public. But now she saw the necessity for the damn thing.

"I just wanted to let you know that the story is going to run tomorrow!" Reed exclaimed, obviously proud of himself. "My editor thought it was absolutely amazing! A fantastic human interest piece. He said it was funny and thought provoking and heartbreaking all at the same time."

"That's great," Sam gushed. "Good to hear. I'm glad all those tears were worth it."

"Absolutely," he said. "It's going to run on the front page! Can you believe it? How awesome is that? It's my first front page article! I'm going to have a by-line on the front of the Times!"

"It's great, Reed," Sam told him, setting her tray on the condiment table and drowning both her gravy covered fries and her mac and cheese in ketchup. "I'm proud of you."

"Well I'm proud of us," he said. "I didn't have a story without you, Samantha. This is all because you were willing to talk and so open about everything. So it's as much your article as it is mine."

"I wouldn't go that far," she laughed, grabbing a bottle of white vinegar and adding the tart liquid to her gravy and ketchup soaked fries. "I'm not the journalist," she pointed out. "I'm just a lab jockey."

"I just wanted to give you a heads up about it," Reed told her. "So you knew to expect it. And so you'd run out and grab it first thing in the morning."

"Oh don't worry about that," Sam said. "Don always goes down to this Korean deli on the corner by our place first thing in the morning for my green tea and some croissants and he always comes back with the Times. Tomorrow should be no different unless he gets an early call in."

"So now you guys really have something to look forward to. It's a fantastic article, Samantha. You and Detective Flack will just love it. I know you will. I wanted to let you know about it. I'm going to call Mac too, so he knows what's up. And so I can brag a bit about the whole front page thing."

"Well you have every right to," Sam said. "Like you said, it's your first. Wish I could say that about some things in my life. It's been a while since I've had a first anything."

Reed chuckled. "It was good talking to you, Samantha. I better go. I want to call Mac and my editor has me on the city desk permanently now that I've proven myself. Talk soon, hopefully?"

"Anytime," she said. "'Bye for now."

"See ya," Reed chirped and hung up.

Sam pressed end on her phone and snapped it shut and slipped it back into its holder. She had just grabbed a handful of napkins and a straw for the apple juice and carton of milk she planned on picking up on her way out of the food service area when someone sidled up beside her and began doctoring up his own plate of macaroni and cheese with enough ketchup to rival what was on her meal.

He had nice hands. Large and strong with smooth looking skin. And whoever he was, he smelled damn good. And oddly familiar.

It was a scent that she hadn't smelled in years but was embedded in her memory. A fresh soap and water mixed with the faint trace of cologne. And there'd been only one person that had carried that scent. A scent that had once made her stomach go crazy and her heart flutter. Which, despite being pregnant and married, still happened.

It had been sixteen, almost seventeen years since she had experienced that smell. And standing there, in that busy cafeteria, it seemed as if they were the only two people that existed. That no time had passed and she was a sixteen year old fresh face girl again shedding tears out in front of her run down abomination of a home. Feeling those hands on the sides of her face and staring into those intense, dark brown eyes that seemed to look into her very soul.

Those same eyes that she now found her own locked intently with.

* * *

"You're still eating that stuff, Karahkwa?" Chester Lake asked, an amused smile on his face as he glanced down at the food on her tray. He had never forgotten the nickname he had given her nearly two decades ago. Karahkwa. Mohawk for sunshine.

And she'd never forgotten it either.

Sam forced herself to look away from him. She felt uncomfortable. Embarrassed and ashamed at the old feelings and memories that besieged her. Guilty that such things had even taken over her when she was madly in love with the man she was married to. Who she had a child with. Who she was expecting a second child with.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," she said, studying his own plate. "Looks like neither of us got over our mac and cheese fetish."

"Comfort food," Lake said. "Isn't that what you always called it when Betty made it?"

Betty Thomas. His foster mother. He had gone to live with her when he was ten and his younger brother was seven. She had been the only foster parent he'd ever had who had loved him and his sibling as if they were her own. Sam remembered her fondly. She was a short and somewhat chubby woman of Native descent that always had a kind word for all and stories and legends of her ancestors to tell. And she had been a phenomenal cook who had opened her doors for Sam and Adam and treated them better than their own parents ever had. Betty's speciality had been macaroni and cheese. The Ross kids just couldn't get enough of it. And that had stuck with Sam all those years. Hence her penchant for the boxed Velveta mac and cheese and Kraft Dinner. Although nothing could ever come remotely close to Betty's.

Sam nodded. "But Betty's was like dying and going to heaven," she said.

"You don't seem surprised to see me, Samantha," Lake commented.

"Honestly? I'm not. I knew you were coming to work here. I saw your employee file. On my husband's desk. So I was somewhat prepared."

"Your husband seems like a really great guy," Lake told her.

Sam smiled. "He is. Not to mention he's your boss, technically."

"I guess you can imagine how surprised I was to see your picture on his desk. And to find out that you'd come back to New York almost two years ago. And that you were a crime scene investigator. That's a lot to find out all at once when you haven't seen someone in nearly seventeen years."

"I guess a lot has changed," she reasoned. "I was sixteen years old when I left. Now here I am. Thirty-three."

"And someone's wife," Lake tossed in.

"And someone's mother," she added. "That's my greatest achievement yet."

Lake smiled. "It's good to see you again, Samantha," he said, and reached out to pull her into a tight, warm hug.

She froze silently. Unsure of how to react. Had it just been an old friend, returning the embrace would have come easy to her. But with the history that existed and still bubbled under the surface, she realized the best thing to do was nothing. She gave nothing more than a brief one armed hug.

"It's good to see you, too, Chester," she said in return.

He frowned at her cold reaction.

"It is," Sam assured him and picked up her tray. "It's just that…this place is a huge ass rumour mill and my husband has some issues that…he just has some issues that will only get blown out of the water if it gets back to him that I'm hugging some strange guy. I love him. We're happy and I want us to stay that way. And I respect him and I don't want to be doing things that I know would only piss him off."

"Hugging an old friend would piss him off?" he asked, grabbing his own tray and following her across the cafeteria.

"No…but if he knew that you weren't just old friends it would. He doesn't know that you and I dated. He knows nothing about it and I kinda want to keep it that way. So if he ever asks you…"

"My lips are sealed," Lake promised. "He'll never hear it from me. Is it against the rules to have lunch with me? In a busy public cafeteria?"

"Of course not," she scoffed, and stopping at a beverage cooler, snagged a can of apple juice and a milk before the man already rummaging inside of it had a chance to close the door. "And they're not rules. They're just…they're respecting the person you're in love with and not purposefully doing things to piss them off. My husband's a great guy and he has a heart of gold but he also has some things when it comes to me that drives him nuts. And I try to not upset his apple cart if you will. It's just the whole me being physical with another man. That just doesn't sit well with him."

Lake grinned. "Haven't gotten over that whole rambling thing when you're nervous, huh?

"I'm not nervous. What do I have to be nervous about? I'm defensive. About my husband and my marriage especially. I don't know," she shrugged. "I guess I love him too much to intentionally do something that will burn his ass."

"You don't have to get defensive with me, Samantha. I'm not going to judge you or your husband or the way the two of you run your marriage or the decisions you make. And if certain things piss him off, than avoid them. It's no big deal. That's your guys' business. I was just really surprised. To see your picture on my boss' desk. I certainly wasn't coming here to work expecting to see someone I haven't seen in nearly seventeen years. Especially when you said you were never going to come back here."

"And I wasn't going to come back here," she said, as they headed for the check out. "But I ran into some trouble in Arizona and I needed to get away and my brother was here and he was the person I needed to be with at the time. Adam always made things seem better. But you say you were surprised to see my picture? Well ditto for the fact that I never imagined that in one year of coming back here I'd be a wife and a mother."

"God works in mysterious ways," Lake mused. "Things happen for a reason. How's Adam? I hear he works here too."

"He's great. He's a criminalist. He just got married on New Years Eve. Eloped. In Atlantic City. He called us at midnight to wish us a Happy New Year and dropped the bomb on us. Gus, his wife, she's amazing. She's a department psychologist."

"Sounds like Peanut's doing pretty damn good."

Sam laughed. It was a musical, warm laugh that even to this day brought a smile to Lake's face. That laugh was infectious. She was infectious. It was nice to see some things never changed.

"I can't believe you remembered that," Sam said, giving a friendly smile to the cashier ringing up her purchase.

"Is this together?" the young woman asked, gesturing to the two trays.

"No," Sam answered.

"Yes," Lake spoke up at the same time. "Here," reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, he pulled out two tens and held it out to the cashier. "That's for both."

"Chester, you don't have to…" Sam began.

"I want to," he cut her off. "I haven't seen you in seventeen years. Cut a guy some slack and let him buy you lunch, okay?"

She nodded and gave that smile that made her eyes sparkle and her nose crinkle. "Okay," she agreed. "Thank you."

He waved it off and took his change from the cashier and dropped two bucks in the tip cup sitting next to her register. "How could I not remember that nickname?" he asked, as they began the search for a table. "I always thought it was so funny that you called him Peanut when you were the one that was so damn tiny. And your mom and Clint?"

"They're good. Adam's just driving them to the airport. They visited over the holidays."

"That must have been a treat. Spending Christmas with the mother from hell."

Sam snorted. "It was a goddamn nightmare. She'll never change unfortunately. She's just mean spirited and bitter and thinks the whole damn world owes her a living because of the way my father was. She plays the victim card well when she was just as much to plan for things that happened as he was. Don can't stand her. They're always at each other's throats. It's quite amusing, actually. Because she tries to pull bullshit with him, and well, Don doesn't do bullshit."

"Yeah…I've somewhat discovered that already."

"Not that I'm trying to scare you or anything," Sam laughed. "He comes across pretty harsh and sarcastic but he's relatively harmless. You'll like working with him. He's a damn good cop."

"And outside of work?" Lake asked curiously.

"Outside of work he's just Don," Sam replied. "He's a great husband and an amazing father. And he tries hard. And that means more to me than anything."

"Spoken like a woman in love," Lake said with a smile.

* * *

They had found a table near the back of the cafeteria. Next to picture windows that offered up a rather stunning view of mid-town Manhattan. They sat and ate slowly, enjoying their lunch and each other's company. Laughing easily about old times and getting caught up on what they had done with their lives in the past seventeen years. Sam talked about earning her masters and BA and taking a job at the Phoenix Crime Lab. She briefly touched on Zack. She left out the traumatic events, instead just mentioning that she had been engaged to be married and had called off the wedding the night before due to circumstances she no longer wanted to put up with. Lake accepted that explanation and didn't push. Judging by the look in her eyes and by the tone of her voice, this Zack was still somewhat of a soft spot. He'd created wounds that weren't yet fully healed. Than her mood brightened when she talked about how she met her husband and the small wedding they had and the son they had welcomed into the world less than two weeks later. Her husband and child were no doubt the loves, and lights of her life. And it was good to see her that happy knowing what had happened to her many years ago.

Lake told her about going into the academy straight out of high school and never looking back. He talked about his early days as a beat cop and than a uniform in a squad out of the 86th in Brooklyn. He had never wandered too far from home and upon becoming a detective, had initially gotten into the special victims unit in Brooklyn proper before taking the huge leap to Manhattan. Sam could tell that not all his memories and his experiences in the unit, especially Manhattan, were pleasant ones. She had worked alongside of a couple of the SVU detectives on rape and assault cases and she had found them brash and straight to the point but damn good at what they did. And she respected that. But not everyone could take that kind of environment and it was apparent that in the end, it was best that Chester put SVU behind him and move on to other things.

He talked about Betty and how she was still alive and kicking in Brooklyn and still taking in foster kids even at her age and that she would know doubt either love to see Sam and Adam, or at least hear from them. He told her about his brother Michael becoming a steel worker and following in the footsteps of their ancestors, and about how Michael had battled the demons of alcohol for many years and seemed to have put them to rest at last. Thanks to not only Chester's support, but that of Michael's wife Elaine, his high school sweetheart and mother of his five children.

"And what about you?" Sam asked after a lull in the conversation.

"What about me?" Lake asked.

"Are you with anybody?" she inquired curiously, sipping her milk.

He held up his left hand and wiggled his fingers to show he wore no wedding band.

"Well that doesn't tell me anything," Sam said. "Because a lot of cops don't wear wedding rings. A lot. And if you're not married than you could have a girlfriend or a fiancee or be living with someone."

"There's no one," he told her. "And sometimes, that's just the way I like."

"Sometimes?"

"Sometimes it's best just having me to take care of, other times it's lonely and miserable and I'd like to have someone to come home to. Have a family with. Stuff like that."

"Having someone isn't the answer to everything," Sam told him. "But it makes things easier that's for sure. I wouldn't give up Don for anything in the world. The man drives me nuts and I could strangle him sometimes, but…" she sighed and shrugged. "He's my everything and I'd much rather have him in my life driving me insane than not have him in it."

Lake smiled.

"That being said, I'm sure I drive him mad too," she laughed. "In fact, I know I do. The stories that that man could tell you about the things I do."

"But he wouldn't give you up either."

"I like to think he wouldn't. But who knows? Maybe when I'm fifty he'll trade me in for two twenty five year olds."

Lake laughed. "Something tells me that isn't going to happen. I saw the look in his eyes when he talked about you. You've got his heart, Samantha. No doubt about it. I doubt there's nothing he wouldn't do for you."

"Well I wouldn't go that far," she said. "But who knows, Chester. Maybe you coming to work here while have the same magic has it had for me. I didn't expect to come here and meet someone and fall in love and get married and start a family. So if could happen to me, it could happen to you."

"Always the romanticist," he chuckled.

"Always the optimist," Sam corrected him. "A little optimism goes a long way, believe me."

He nodded slowly, considering her words. "Have any single and available friends?"

"Friends? No. But there are a couple of lab techs that are really cute and peppy and would just love someone like you. I would have offered up my friend Jess. She's a detective, too. But she's practically living with a friend and colleague of mine and they're disgustingly happy. So she's out of the question."

"I think I am more than capable of finding my own way with the women," he said. "But thank you."

"Hey, we all need a little help sometime. When you come up to the lab later to meet everything, take a gander at what's to offer and I'll put a bug in the single girls' ears about you."

He laughed. "Even when you were a teenager you were always meddling in peoples' love lives."

"Which reminds me!" Sam exclaimed. "Do you know any good web sites that offer deals on airline tickets? Specifically to say…I don't know…Montana?"

Lake arched an eyebrow. "Montana?"

"It's a long story, trust me. But do you? Know any?"

"Not off the top of my head. Sorry."

"I'll just have to go on the 'net and do the dirty work myself," she sighed.

* * *

Danny walked into the cafeteria. The crowd had cleared out considerably. After he'd done a little soul searching and a whole lot of thinking and regretting, he'd pulled up his big boy pants as Scagnetti was so fond of saying, and decided to make the past just that. The past. There was no sense sitting around wondering what might have been when you were the one that caused things to go south in the first place. His relationship with Lindsay had disintegrated because of him. There was no one else to blame. He'd pushed her away and closed himself off after Ruben when all he should have done was just accept her offers of help and support. But no, the stubborn and selfish and proud bastard that he had prevented him from letting her be there for him. And his immaturity and foolishness had let him turn things around and twist and contrive them so that Lindsay looked like the bad person. He blamed her inability to handle emotions. He had called her clingy and possessive and whiny. He'd treated her like a child when he should have been treating her like what she was.

A grown woman whom he had very grown up feelings for. Feelings that far surpassed anything he'd felt before, or since.

He loved Erica. He was having a child with her. But he wasn't in love with her. He owed it to her to stick around. For the baby's sake. She'd stuck by him through a lot of bullshit and he couldn't hurt her by just walking out and leaving her for another woman. And he was afraid. Afraid that if left, he'd never see his own baby. Because that was the type of woman Erica was. Hurtful and spiteful when she didn't get her own way. And he just couldn't risk missing out on his kid's life.

Why's everything gotta be so fucked up these days? Danny thought, as he grabbed a burger and some fries and a fountain drink before paying for his meal and than heading out to search for his partner.

His assumptions that something and everything was wrong with the world were confirmed at the sight of his partner, his best friend's wife, having lunch at a table for two with a guy Danny had never seen around there before. And her face was glowing and her eyes were sparkling as she laughed and talked as if that person in front of her, a little more than friendship in his own eyes, were some long lost friend. Or lover.

Danny was insanely protective of SamFlackie as he commonly and affectionately referred to them as. And he was even more so with latter half of that equation. Flack had bailed him out of many a tight spot. Offered up a sympathetic ear or a should to cry on or well meaning advice many times in the years that they'd been tight. And this guy here, this stranger, posed a threat to his best friend's happiness as far as Danny was concerned. And he just wasn't going to put up with that kind of shit.

"What? You're already cheating on me, Brooklyn?" Danny asked as he approached the table. "I thought I was your lunch buddy when Flack couldn't bring the goods."

"You normally are, Danny," she smiled sweetly. "But seeing as you stood me up for some whine and cheese."

He snorted. "Very funny…"

"Call the wambulance, he's whining," Sam said with a giggle. "You're done you're moping? Just in time to see me finish my lunch?"

"Just in time to save you from the evil clutches of strange men," Danny said, only half joking as he slid into the chair alongside of Samantha. "What has your husband told you about not talking to strangers?"

"He said it was okay as long as I didn't accept candy or ride homes from them," Sam responded, snatching a fry from her friend's plate.

"Keep your paws off of my food," Danny told her. "Please don't tell me you ate mac and cheese and fries and gravy," he commented, as he observed the remnants of the meal in front of her.

"I most certainly did. And milk and apple juice."

"Don't be asking me to pull the car over for pit stops if we're on the road later," Danny said. "And how do you eat all that?"

"I'm squirreling it away. For the rest of the winter. So I have enough padding to keep me warm. And so you know, this nice young man here is not a stranger. We grew up together in Crown Heights. Detective Danny Messer, meet Detective Chester Lake."

"Detective?" Danny asked curiously, as he reached across the table to shake the other man's hand.

"Homicide," Lake replied. "Today's my first day."

"He works for Don," Sam explained. "He's one of his guys, as Don so lovingly refers to his cronies as."

"That must be pretty weird," Danny said. "Coming here to work and finding out your new boss' wife is your ex…whatever she is."

"Chester and I were very good friends growing up," Sam told her fellow CSI.

"Right…" Danny said, nodding slowly and digging into his friends. "Friends….right…"

"Not all guys are disgusting pervs like you who want to get into every girls pants they pass by on the street. Chester and I were friends. Nothing more. And this is the first time we've seen each other in nearly seventeen years."

"Small world," Danny said. "Come to work for homicide and hook up with your ex…friend."

"Give it a rest, Danny," Sam sighed. "Chester and I were just having lunch. We didn't jet off to Vegas to elope. We're not having champagne and strawberries at a romantic, candlelit table or anything. It was lunch. Don't read into it."

"Who paid?" Danny asked curiously. "You pay that's lunch. He pays that's a date."

"Be nice," Sam said in response as she slipped out of her seat. "I want you two to be on your best behaviour while you get to know each other. Because as much as I'd like to stay and chat, I have a small errand to run before I get back to work. Danny, please tell me you didn't leave me a stack of shit to do in trace."

"You want the truth or do you want me to lie?" he asked and popped a fry into his mouth.

"You bastard," she grumbled. "Chester," she smiled at her old friend and laid a hand on his shoulder as she headed around the table. "It was really nice seeing you again. I am sure we will work together very soon."

"Take care, Samantha," he said, and watched over his shoulder as she headed through the cafeteria.

"Hey!" Danny snapped when that look became far too personal as he was concerned. "Eyes off the prize, kapish!?"

"What was that?" Lake asked, turning his attention to the CSI.

Danny smirked. "Just old friends, huh?"

The detective nodded.

Danny snorted. "Right…."

* * *

Sam strode off the elevator and through the large double doors marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. The bullpen of the twelfth precinct was crowded and loud. Phones ringing off the hook, detectives and plainclothes officers bickering with handcuffed prisoners, perps yelling from behind the bars of holding cells, carrying on about how they had the wrong guy and the unfair treatment they were receiving and how they 'oughta sue the NYPD's asses'. The crime rate had shot up considerably since Christmas. The seemingly unrelentless battering of snow and sleet and high winds was driving everybody mad.

Her eyes instantly zeroed in on her unsuspecting target and she quickly hurried over. Laying her tiny, warm hands on his shoulders and lightly massaging the tense muscles. Leaning over him so that her cheek was pressed to his ear and the front of her blouse brushed up against the back of his shirt and he could smell the soft, baby powder scent on her skin.

"Honey…" she said in a whiny, childish voice.

"Whatever it is, the answer is no," Flack responded.

She immediately ceased rubbing his shoulders and huffed loudly and dropped into the chair next to his desk, a dramatic pout on her face. "You don't even know what I was going to ask," she said.

"I know that when you use that little girl tone and that little honey thing, that whatever it is, isn't good."

"This happens to be fabulous," Sam informed him. "Or at least I think so."

He arched his eyebrows.

"How's your day going?" she asked. "Is it going good? Do you need me to get you anything? Cup of coffee? Foot massage? A pillow to put at the back of your chair to help your aching back feel better? A few tablets of that Hilly-Billy Heroin stuff? How about lunch? I can go back upstairs and buy you something for lunch. I just ate but I can still treat you."

He smirked in amusement and dropped his pen on top of the case reports he was finishing off and leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. "What do you want, Freckles?"

"I will ignore that only because I want something from you," she said.

"When don't you want something for me? What's it today? My left arm? Right leg? Liver? A kidney?"

"Nothing that major," Sam assured him.

"Okay. Than what…"

"I need to borrow your MasterCard."

He laughed heartily. "I'd rather give you one of my limbs or internal organs. It's less painful than opening up the credit card statement when it comes in and seeing what you've racked up."

"Well you're the one that married me even after you knew how damn expensive and demanding I was," she pointed out. "So if you ask me, you're a glutton for punishment."

"Why should I give you my credit card when you have your own?"

"Because I don't bring mine to work. You know that. And it's not like we don't have the money in the bank to pay the bills when they come in."

"That money, the extra money you're talking about, that's in the savings account. Remember?"

"I know. But we can always dip into it just a little bit."

"Than go to the bank and dip into it and buy whatever it is you want," he told her.

"I can't!" she cried. "It's on the 'net. So I need a credit card. I need your credit card."

"For what? What the hell could you possibly want off the internet?" Flack asked.

"Oh I don't know. Tiffany's jewellery sold cheap, something from or E-Bay. Plane tickets to Montana."

She said it so quickly and smoothly and effortlessly that at first Flack didn't even hear the last part. But when the words finally did register in his brain, along with that sugary sweet, alluring smile his wife was giving him, he smirked and released his hands from behind his head and went back to his paperwork.

"You need to mind your own business," Flack told her.

"It is my business," she argued. "Danny's my friend. He's your best friend. And we both know that he's as miserable as all shit with Erica and.."

"She's your cousin," Flack reminded her.

"And your point is….?"

"My point is, is that she's your cousin. And he got her pregnant."

"So? Just because you knock someone up doesn't mean you have to stay with them and play house when your disgustingly miserable with them."

"Wish someone had have told me that ahead of time," he grumbled.

"You love me!" she informed him, directing a kick at his shin. "Don't be like that. You like being married and being all domesticated. Most of all, you like being married and being all domesticated with me. So cut your shit before you find yourself on the couch for the rest of your natural born life."

"Okay, so I love you and I love being married to you and playing house and raising kids and whatever the hell is it is that we do together. But what goes on with Danny and Erica and most of all with Danny and Lindsay Monroe, is none of our business. I gave him my opinion and some advice and it was up to him to do whatever he wanted with it. I am not going to physically help you, help Danny, walk out on his pregnant girlfriend or whatever the hell she is."

"But you know he's not happy, Donnie!" Sam argued. "You know he's miserable and you also know that my cousin is a nasty, mean, spiteful bitch who, if he does choose to leave, will never, ever let him see his child and that is the only reason why he sticks around."

"Sammie, that is his bed. He made it, now he has to sleep in it."

"Why are you being so difficult and hard headed?" she asked.

"Why are you so hell bent on breaking up your own cousin's relationship and shipping Danny off to someone you hate?"

"It's not that I hated her. I explained this to Danny already. I didn't hate Lindsay. I don't hate Lindsay. We just clashed. Plain and simple. And I am sure, if we both had wanted to, we would have pulled up our big girl pants, grew the fuck up and became great friends. But we were both stubborn, selfish, immature bitches and that's the goddamn way the cookie crumbled for us. Now Danny's madly in love with her, he's miserable with Erica and I am going to do something about it!" she leaned forward in the chair, her hand outstretched, palm out. "So give me the goddamn credit card!"

He sighed, leaned forward and took her hand in his and brought it to his lips to kiss it softly. "I love you," he said. "But no."

"Men!" she huffed and tore her hand away from his grasp.

"Anything else, Sammie, and I would have done it. You wanted something from Tiffany's or Gucci or Prada and I would have done. Shit, you wanted a new car and I would have found a way to get you one. But I can't help you do that to Erica. Okay?"

"Okay? What? You're suddenly tight with my bitch of a cousin? When did this happen? Or is that why you've been working so late some nights and wandering in at two and three in the morning. Because you're getting acquainted with the Park Avenue Posse. Or should I say pussy."

He snorted and shook his head. "I am not even going to dignify that with a response," he said.

"What? I hit too close to home? Touch a nerve? Set off your guilty conscience?"

"Don't come down here, to my work and start a fight with me because you can't have your own way for once. Don't do it. Don't come down here, in front of my colleagues and my bosses and start some little girl, immature, spoiled brat bullshit. You want to push my buttons? You want to drive me crazy? You want us to have it out so that in the end you get your crazy assed, borderline violent makeup sex that you're so fond of? Fine. We go home and have it out. We don't do it here."

"Oh fuck you, Don," she snapped, stomped her feet on the floor and stood up. "You like Erica so much, I'll ship you off there. And than you won't have to put up with my little girl, immature, spoiled brat bullshit ever again. You can just put up with her crazy, Exorcist, Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction bullshit. But don't think for a second your son will be anywhere near that mean, spiteful bitch. Have a think on that."

He caught her hand as she went to walk away. "Samantha…" he said with a heavy sigh. "Don't be like this."

"I have to go back to work," she informed his coolly.

"Don't walk away from me angry. Okay? I'm sorry if you think I'm being a prick for not helping you out. But I don't want to have any part in this and I don't want you having any part in this. Let Danny worry about his own problems and let us, worry about ours."

"I didn't realize we had problems," she said, attempting to pull her hand out of his.

He tightened his grip on her. "Fighting like this isn't a sign that we have problems?"

"We fight, Don. It's what we do. I don't know why we do it or why we seem to get such enjoyment from saying things that hurt each other, but we do. We're screwed up. You know it and I know it. I'm sorry I get the way I do when I don't get things I want. But I really thought I was doing something to help Danny out."

"Helping Danny out is letting him grow up long enough to solve his own problems," Flack told her. "And we're not screwed up. We're just…I don't know…so much alike we butt heads all the time. You're stubborn and I'm stubborn and this is what happens when you get two stubborn, smart ass, temperamental people together I guess. But as far as me fooling around with your cousin…"

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to come out and say it. We both know that's what you meant."

She sighed.

"I'd never do something like that and you know it. So please, don't accuse me of things. Okay?"

She nodded. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm hormonal, I think. I'm tired and hormonal. That's my excuse."

"You need to get more sleep. I know for a fact you spent most of the night tossing and turning. And than you get up at four in the morning to make cupcakes? I mean, come on, Sam. That's not normal."

"It was three thirty actually. When I got up and started preparing everything."

"So three thirty. Babe, that's not normal. You need to go and ask your doctor if you can take sleeping pills or something."

"She already told me that I need to take pre-natal vitamins and folic acid. I just haven't felt like getting my lazy ass to the store."

He checked his watch. "I'm going to break for lunch soon and I'll go to the CVS around the corner and get you some. Okay?"

She nodded.

"Come on," he said, and let go of her hand as he stood up. "I'll walk you to the elevator."

"What? You actually think we're friends again? You think you can say things like that and everything's okay?"

"No," he said, laying a hand on the small of her back as he escorted her towards the back of the precinct and out the double doors. "But I'm not the only one who says shitty things, am I?"

"Damn you for always being right," she sighed heavily. "We have to stop that, you know. Talking out of our asses like that. Because one time, one of us are going to say something that we can't take back and than something bad is going to happen and we'll have that on our conscience for the rest of our lives."

"Don't be going all fatalistic on me again," Flack said, as he reached out and hit the up button for the elevators. "You start doing that and something always happens to one of us. Or us period."

"Now whose being fatalistic," she said, as the elevator doors opened and passengers filed out, leaving it empty for her to step into.

"Fatalistic, realistic, same damn thing," Flack told her, laying a hand on the door to keep it open. "It's true. Every time you get onto this kicks, one of us gets into some kind of trouble. And we don't need that."

"Well than you better be extra careful when you're out doing your job than. And me? Well I will just wrap myself in bubble wrap and keep myself safe that way. We're just doomed, Donnie. Face it. Must be our mixed astrological signs or something. We are just doomed."

"You're just crazy," he said, and leaning into the elevator, kissed her quickly. Grinning at her as he backed away at the feel of her hand on the front of his shirt.

She laughed. "Did you see that? I almost got you there. I almost pulled you right in. I would have hit the stop button and had my way with you somewhere between here and the thirty-fifth floor."

"You need to keep your mind out of the gutter and get back to work," he told her, and reaching into the elevator, pressed the button for the crime lab's floor. "I'll get you those vitamins." he said.

"I'll be waiting. If I'm not in trace, I'm in lay out. If I'm not in lay out, I'm in the lounge or my office. And if I'm not there, I'm in ballistics."

"Hell no, no ballistics," he caught the elevator door before it could shut. "Promise me no ballistics."

She sighed heavily. "Ruin all my fun."

"I'm watching out for you. For both of you," he informed her.

She smiled, crossed the small space between them and motioned for him to bend down. Pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Sometimes I do love you," she told him, as she backed up and pressed the close door button.

"And the other times?" he asked.

"The other times I really, really, really love you," she replied.

The elevator door closed, separating them. Leaving Flack standing there, grinning like a damn fool.

* * *

Sam found her second target sitting in the lounge area. Dark framed glasses on his handsome face as he surfed the internet on of the provided computers while sipping a steaming mug of Chicken Noodle Cup of Soup. She hated getting someone so kind hearted and with such a gentle soul sucked into her little covert operation, but he was the only person she trusted enough to not go back and tell her husband just what she was up to.

"Are you still nursing that cold?" she asked, as she snatched a bottle of apple juice from the employee fridge and twisted off the top.

Hawkes nodded and swallowed a mouthful of the broth in hopes it would ease his sore, scratchy throat.

"I won't come to close than," Sam said, and slipped into the chair at the station across from him. "Are you at least feeling any better?"

"A bit," he responded, his voice a near whisper.

"You poor thing. Had I know you were this bad off, I would have brought in some of my Echinacea tea from home and nursed you back to health myself. Is Jess at least taking good care of you?"

Hawkes nodded.

"Yeah? Is she making you soup and bringing you OJ in bed? Fluffing your pillows and warming your sheets? Wearing that sexy little naughty nurse outfit I know for a fact she has shoved in the back of her closet?"

He laughed heartily and than starting coughing.

"You don't know about the nurse's outfit? You should ask her about it. We were out shopping once and we walked past this adults only store and well, because the two of us are just dirty, dirty girls, we went in. I saw her buy it. With my own two eyes. She's holding out on you. You need to ask her. Call her up on it."

"What did you buy?" Hawkes managed.

"It was cute. Next time you see Don, say the words French Maid and see how red his ears go. Have you ever noticed that about him? How his ears go red when he's embarrassed? Funny, huh? Big and tough homicide detective being like that?"

He shook his head. "You are something else."

"Yes, yes I am. And he wouldn't want me any other way. I have something to ask you."

"Okay.."

"Actually, I kinda, sorta need a favour from you, Shelly."

He arched an eyebrow.

"I need you to put something on your credit card. I forgot mine at home and I couldn't find Don to ask to use his and time is of the essence. So I was hoping that maybe, you could buy this certain thing that I need and than I could just give you the money back for it. It's not that expensive and I can have the cash as soon as your bill comes in."

"What is it?" Hawkes asked.

"It's an airline ticket. Return fare. There's a seat sale going on at American Airlines right now but it ends in three days. Which is why I need to do this ASAP. Think you could help me out?"

"Whose going on a trip?"

"Danny. But he doesn't know it. It's a surprise. Can you help me out, Sheldon? Please?"

He sighed and nodded.

"You're the best!" Sam cried. "I am starting to wish I had went out with you that time you asked me many moons ago. May I use your computer?"

"Sure," he croaked and pushed his chair away from the desk and motioned for her to go ahead.

Sam bounced out of her chair and hurried over. Quickly searching for, and finding the website she had briefly visited between leaving Chester and Danny in the cafeteria and going to see Flack in the precinct. While she typed in the necessary information, Hawkes got to his feet and pulled his wallet from his back pocket.

"If it's okay, I'm having the ticket delivered here, in Danny's name," Sam told him, fingers clicking on the keyboard. "But they'll have you paged to sign the purchase slip."

"That's fine," Hawkes told her, as she stepped away from the computer so he could enter in his credit card information. The flight was set for February second, leaving JFK airport at three in the afternoon. Arriving at quarter to eight at night, their time, at Gallatin Field in Bozeman… "Montana?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at Sam, who was bouncing excitedly up and down on her heels behind him.

"That's a problem?" she asked.

"Not a problem…but does Danny know you're doing this?"

"Like I said, it's a surprise. You know how he and Lindsay have been, what's the best word, communicating over the past year and a bit and she'd really love to see him and he'd love to see her. I wouldn't be doing this if I wasn't sure I was in the right."

"What kind of hell am I going to catch for this?" Hawkes asked her.

"None. None, I swear. I will take any fall out that comes with it. If any comes with it. This is a good thing, Shelly! We are contributing to the greater good, I promise you! Don't back out on me now. I really need your help."

He sighed, contemplated it and went back to filing out his information.

"But you just have to promise me that when this gets back to Don, that you will tell him I had nothing to do with this."

Hawkes head snapped around to look at her once more.

"Trust me, Shelly. Keeping Don out of the loop is the smartest way to go for all parties involved. He does not need to know about this. Okay? I mean, he will naturally put two and two together eventually and figure out it was me, but I will cross that bridge when it comes to it."

"You're insane, girl," he declared, but returned to the task at hand.

"Insane but oh so cute and lovable," she pointed out.

He finished what he was doing, hit enter and than stepped away from the desk to put his credit card and wallet back. "All done," he announced.

"Thanks!" she squealed. "You really are the best!" she told her friend, and standing on her tiptoes, pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Now I better get back to work. Someone has to make a living around here."

Hawkes watched as she hurried from the room, a bright, joyful grin on her face.

_What in the hell have I gotten myself into it? he thought. _

**Thanks to all of you who are reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers! And I know there's a lot! Please, please drop a line if you like this, or even me, folk. LOL. **

**Special thanks to:**

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	37. Regrets, I've had a few

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN**

**A/N: SPECIAL THANKS TO APHINA**

**SOMEONE ASKED FOR A SAM AND LINDS RECONCILIATION. SO IT'S ON IT'S WAY! SHOUTS OUT TO LAURZZ AND MUCHMADNESS AND ALL MY DL GALZ!**

**AND THANKS TO ALL OF YOU WHO HELPED ME REACH 400 REVIEWS! XXXX BEG75**

* * *

**Regrets, I've had a few**

"He and I had something beautiful  
But so dysfunctional, it couldn't last  
I loved him so but I let him go  
'Cause I knew he'd never love me back  
Such pain as this  
Shouldn't have to be experienced  
I'm still reeling from the loss,  
Still a little bit delirious  
Near to you, I am healing  
But it's taking so long  
'Cause though he's gone  
And you are wonderful  
It's hard to move on  
Yet, I'm better near to you.  
You and I have something different  
And I'm enjoying it cautiously  
I'm battle scarred, I am working oh so hard  
To get back to who I used to be."  
-Near to You, A Fine Frenzy

* * *

There were twenty-seven Monroe's in Bozeman, Montana.

Sam's eyes had widened when she had seen the total come up on the screen when she'd typed in the surname in the on line directory. In a place like New York City, where the general popular was well over eight million, a measly two dozen plus Monroe's was a damn drop in the bucket. But somewhere with just over thirty-five thousands inhabitants, twenty-seven seemed like a staggering amount.

Keeping her activities from Danny had proved somewhat of a challenge. They had been relegated to the trace lab and in between running samples and comparing them, she had been switching back and forth on the screens on the computer in front of her. When he was talking to her and actually looking in her direction, she had the screen on the tests results she was supposed to be studying. When he moved to GC/MS or a microscope, she switched back to the Bozeman, Montana home page. Taken back by the stunning simplicity of the Rocky Mountain community. The charm of it's downtown area and the beauty of it's parks. The allure of Story Mansion. A gorgeous, massive Tudor home that sat on picturesque property and boasted splendorous gardens.

She was seriously considering to hell with Danny and taking the trip herself. She could only imagine how quiet Bozeman was. How friendly and down to earth the people were compared to the often arrogant, obnoxious citizens of New York City. She would have given anything to wake up in a charming, quaint bed an breakfast and step out onto a private patio in her pyjamas and sit down with a cup of tea while listening to the birds chirp and the wind rustle the trees all while looking out at the Rockies in the distance. A little slice of heaven that she would more than welcome into the zaniness and hustle and bustle of her life.

Danny had nearly caught her a couple of times. When he'd suddenly glanced over to ask her a question or ask for her assistance with something and she almost hadn't closed the window on the screen soon enough. She'd seen the quizzical way he'd arched his eyebrows. And had been quick to interrupt him when he attempted to open his mouth to ask her what the hell she was up to.

In the end, she'd made an excuse that she needed a breath of fresh air while her samples ran through the mass-spec and quickly logged off the Bozeman site so he wouldn't get too curious while she was gone and check out what she'd actually been up to. Instead of going outside however, she'd hurried down to their office, googled Bozeman once more and looked up their phone directory and typed in the name Monroe. Logging off once more and than snatching the results from the printer on her way out the door.

She retreated to the relatively barren employee lounge and made herself a snack. A bowl of Fruit Loops - God love Adam for leaving a box of his favourite cereal in the cupboard- made with chocolate milk and an overly ripe banana and yet another can of apple juice. She hunkered down on one of the couches with her food and her list of names and got out her cell and went to work.

She had called eleven of the numbers on her list. And no one had heard of a Lindsay Monroe. Sam highly doubted that and pressed somewhat aggressively. She even mentioned the Lindsay Monroe in question was dating, or whatever it was you wanted to call it, the governor. She still didn't get any information she wanted or needed. And even if they did know the Lindsay she was referring to, they certainly weren't giving out her whereabouts to some girl claiming to be a New York City detective even though her voice made her sound no older than thirteen.

On number thirteen she thought she hit pay dirt. The woman on the other end of the phone was bubbly and cheerfully and called her 'Hon' a number of times before finally telling her that sure she could talk to Lindsay. Lindsay was right in the next room. Fucking A, Sam had thought, than ran through a few greetings that would sound plausible and friendly to the young woman she'd treated like shit and often felt like she'd been responsible for driving out of town. She didn't want to seem too eager and nice. Because that made her sound like a major ass kisser. And no one could ever accuse her of having a brown nose. But she wanted to be warm and sincere enough that Lindsay Monroe wouldn't tell her to fuck off and hang up on her.

So with her heart pounding in her chest and her legs shaking nervously, she heard the phone being passed from one hand to the other and she mentally prepared herself for the coming events. Only once Lindsay got on the phone, it was clear that it wasn't the right Lindsay.

"Hello?" a voice had answered that sounded no older than ten.

"Whose this?" Sam had asked, startled.

"This is Lindsay. Whose this?" the child responded.

"How old are you?" Sam inquired.

"Seven," came the chirpy, happy voice.

Sam had hung up without even a good-bye, farewell or kiss my ass.

The fourteenth and fifteenth number were busts. Both went unanswered and eventually clicked onto machines. She left her name and a brief explanation of who and what she was looking for and her cell phone number.

* * *

She had just dialled the the sixteenth name on her list and it had rang twice when all hell threatened to break lose. She heard a familiar deep voice and tiny footsteps in the hallway outside of the break room, and now sooner did someone pick up at the Monroe home, she heard her husband instructing their son to turn left. Turn left, Kieran. No, your other left. In a near panic that she'd been busted, she slammed her phone shut, disconnecting the call in the process and jumped to her feet and sloppily folded the list and shoved it into her pocket before sitting back down again.

Feigning surprise, and innocence, when the two most important men in her life came wandering into the room. Kieran entered first. Showing off his walking skills with a proud, ecstatic look on his face. He looked like a small slice of heaven. A typical boy n his black, white and blue sweat suit with a baby Cookie Monster on the back and a Rangers cap turned backwards on his head and Go Diego Go running shoes with soles that lit up with every awkward step he took.

"Mommeee!" he squealed when he saw her sitting on the couch and clapped his hands excitedly and smiled brightly, his blue eyes sparkling as he moved as fast as his little legs could take him.

Sam held her breath at the same time she held out her arms to him. Praying to God the kid wasn't going to catch a foot in the carpet and go flying. Not that that would slow him down or stop him. Kieran had taken many a tumble in his quest for two legged mobility and each and every time he simply got up without even the slightest whimper and just continued on his way. But the last thing she wanted was him having a split open forehead or busted lip or mangled face on the break room coffee table.

He went down hard twice on the short trip from the doorway to the couch. The kid definitely didn't have the best balance and coordination in the world. And while Sam refrained from rushing to him and scooping him up into her arms and kissing his wounds better, she resisted and simply waited for him to recuperate and continue with his journey. He was never going to learn if she jumped in each time he had a fall or got a bump or a bruise. And she certainly didn't want to hear her husband's bitching and moaning that the more she cuddled their son and kisses the boo-boos all better, the more she was turning him into a wimp. Or a cupcake, as Flack preferred to say.

"Mommee!" Kieran cried happily as he finally reached the couch and held out his arms out to the sides as if to say, Look what I did!

"You did a great job!" she praised him. "You walked all that way by yourself?"

He nodded enthusiastically.

"What are you doing up here?" she asked, leaning forward to cup her son's chin in her hand and press a kiss to his lips.

"Dunno," he said and shrugged. "Juice!" he exclaimed, and pointed to the can sitting on the coffee table.

"I think your dad has some juice in your cup," Sam told him. "Wait for daddy to finish whoever it is he's talking to in the hallway and he'll give you your juice."

Kieran shook his head. "Dat juice!" he said adamantly. "Mommy juice!"

"That's right. Mommy's juice. Daddy's got your juice."

"Mine?" the toddler asked, reaching for the can.

"No," Sam intercepted it. "Daddy has your juice. This juice is bad. Too much sugar in it."

"Wat dat?" Kieran asked, pointing towards the cereal bowl.

"Fruit loops," Sam replied.

"Mine?" he asked hopefully.

"No. It's not yours. It's mommy's. Go and get your daddy and get your juice and mommy will find you a snack."

"Eat?" Kieran asked, putting the fingertips of his right hand to his lips and taping twice.

"That's right. I will get you something to eat. Good boy for remembering to use your sign. Kieran? Where's daddy?" Sam stretched the fingers out on her right hand as if making the sign for five, than turned her hand vertical and tapped her thumb to her forehead twice as she said daddy.

"Daddy?" Kieran asked, repeating the sign. He turned and pointed to the familiar face finally coming into the room. A tattered and faded blue and yellow striped blanket in one hand, a Sesame Street sippy cup with apple juice and a plastic bag from CVS in the other. Quite a sight when tossed in with the badge clipped to his pants and the gun resting in the holster on his right hip. "Dat's daddy!" Kieran informed his mother.

"He knows more signs than you do," Sam told her husband, as he leaned over them both to greet her with a kiss.

"He's got a bigger brain than I do," Flack retorted. "He already knows more words too."

"Who were you talking to?" she asked, dipping into her cereal.

"My girlfriend. Do you mind? I have to talk to her sometime before she dumps my ass."

Sam cleared her throat at the curse word and looked down at Kieran.

"What?" Flack asked. "Ass is not a curse word. It's a part of the human body. And what in the hell are you eating?"

"Fruit loops," she replied.

"In chocolate milk?" he grimaced. "God, must you? I gave up all those icky habits when I was like, I don't know, eight?"

"Apparently not all of them because you still pick your nose and eat it," she teased.

"Why do I love you?" he asked. "Tell me again? Because it's moments like this when I question my sanity."

"You love me because you just do," Sam told him. "There's no rhyme or reason to it. You just love me."

"Yeah? Well commit me now than," he said with a sigh and sat the sippy cup and the bag on the coffee table and gently laid the blanket on the back of the couch.

It seemed odd to an outsider seeing him handle a piece of fabric with gentle loving care. But no one outside of Sam knew that that was the blanket his mother had brought him home from the hospital in almost thirty-one years ago and that sometimes, although he'd passed it on to his son, the big bad homicide detective sometimes still slept with that blanket covering his feet.

"Sorry," Sam said and spooned cereal into her mouth. "I'd miss you too much."

"Want up, Kieran?" Flack asked his son, and went to lend the kid a hand as he struggled to hoist himself up onto the couch beside his mother.

"No!" he bellowed at the feel of his father's hands on his. "No, daddy! Me!"

"Fine…fine…" Flack held up his hands defensively. "Do it yourself than. If that's what you want."

"Me!" Kieran insisted, and after a minute of grunting and groaning and huffing and puffing and his parents watching somewhat impatiently, he finally managed to get himself up onto the sofa. Beaming broadly as if he'd just conquered Mount Everest. "Momeee!" he cried and threw himself at her.

"Kieran watch your mother's…" Flack began, terrified at the sight of his son's knees coming into contact with his wife's stomach.

"He's fine, Donnie," Sam assured him. "I'm fine. You need to relax a little. He doesn't know any better."

"I just don't want him kneeing you in the stomach or jumping on it," he said, sitting down on the couch across from her.

"I'm fine," she insisted, and wrapped her arms around her son's tiny body and tipped him sideways so he lay across her thighs as she tickled him and showered him with kisses and lifted the bottom of his shirt to blow noisy raspberries on his bare stomach.

Kieran laughed heartily, his face turning bright red as he squirmed and squealed in pure delight.

"You got an outtie!" Sam informed him, and pinched his belly button. "Like your daddy. Everything is like your daddy! Drives mommy nuts! You got your daddy's hair and your daddy's eyes and your daddy's ears and your daddy's lips and your daddy's chin and your daddy's love handles!"

Kieran shrieked and giggled as she tickled his sides.

"And your daddy's belly button and your daddy's knobby knees and his big feet and his funny looking toes and his potato patches!"

The baby screamed even louder with happiness as his mother lightly grabbed the inside of one thigh and tickled it aggressively.

"Potato patches?" Flack asked. "What the hell are potato patches?"

"The inside of your thighs. The extra little chubbiness there. You've got it and so does Kieran."

"Are you insinuating that I'm fat?" Flack asked.

"I am insinuating you have put on some weight and have potato patches. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I love you regardless. You're still the sexiest guy in the world to me. Potato patches and love handles and grey hair and all."

"Some grey hair, Sam. Some. And they all have your name on it."

"You had grey in your hair when we met I'm afraid to tell you. I wouldn't worry so much about it. It didn't stop me from falling madly and deeply and passionately in love with you, did it?"

"Aren't I just the luckiest sonofabitch on earth that you even gave me the time of day," Flack said sarcastically and took a swig of her apple juice.

"Yes…yes you are, actually," Sam told him, sticking her tongue out at him before tipping Kieran right side up and settling him beside her. "Can you find him a snack, Donnie? He's hungry."

"He's always hungry," Flack sighed and stood up. "What am I suppose to give him?"

"There's some of those Goldfish crackers in the cupboard above the sink," Sam told him, leaning forward to grab the sippy cup and handing it to her son. "What are you doing with our son, anyway?" she asked, watching over her shoulder as her husband rummaged through cupboards.

"He's our son. Am I not suppose to have him?"

"He's supposed to be in day care until five and your mother picks him up."

"Well, Kieran is going to be expelled from day care if he doesn't smarten up. They called me to come and calm him down because they decided, because they are so much smarter and better at child rearing than we are, that they would take his diaper off and attempt to sit him on the potty."

"Potty or big boy toilet?" Sam asked.

"The big boy toilet. And we both know Kieran's insane paranoia about the big boy toilet. Well, I guess those stupid mother…"

"Donnie…" Sam warned.

"Stupid bitches downstairs decided we didn't know what we were talking about and thought they'd break him of said paranoia."

"And?"

"And Kieran lost it, bit the stupid bitch who than dropped our son ass first into the freezing water. A major meltdown ensues on his part and before you know it, I'm the one drying him off, putting him in a fresh diaper and getting his clothes back and on and trying to calm him down."

"And they called you because…"

"Because it seems as if you either had your phone off or were on it yapping to someone and they got the voice mail."

"Ooops," Sam said.

"So here we are," Flack told her. "I said I'd bring him back down in half an hour. I am telling you, Sammie, those people are morons. Is there not any other day care he can go to?"

"Waiting lists are huge, Donnie. I've told you that a hundred times."

"Well than put his name on them and wait."

Sam flipped him the middle finger behind his back.

"Whose Twinkies are these?" he asked curiously.

"I don't know. Is there a name on the box?"

"Jeff."

"That's the lab tech who told me I had a nice rack last week. They're his."

"Well they're mine now," Flack declared and grabbed them and the box of Goldfish and returned to the seating area.

"I thought you hated Twinkies," Sam commented, opening the box of crackers and taking out a handful. She held her palm open in front of Kieran so he could choose the ones he wanted.

"I like anything that's free and comes from some moron who tells my wife she has nice boobs," he told her and winked at her playfully as he sat down. "So I got them prenatal vitamins and some folic acid but it was the store brand crap. It's all they had and I wasn't sure if they were okay."

Sam leaned forward and scooped up the bag and reached into it and pulled out the two bottles. "They're fine," she told him. "It's all the same anyway."

"Can't be or there wouldn't be different kinds."

"Don't be so difficult," she huffed and sat the bottles down on the coffee table.

"I am just saying…."

"I know what you're saying. And you've become a damn nag."

"You're rubbing off on me," he chuckled and unwrapping on of the Twinkies, took a bite. "So I hear a rumour that you were on a date."

Sam sighed and closed her eyes and shook her head. "Danny…."

"Something about how you and Chester Lake looked really cozy and I quote, more than old friends."

"Jesus…what is wrong with you men? You have to gossip like old hens?"

"Hey, I am just telling you what I heard. No guy wants to hear his wife was having a lunch date with her old boyfriend."

"He is not my old boyfriend. Friend, Donnie. He was my friend. Nothing more, nothing less. Friend."

"Don't get so defensive. If you didn't have something to hide you wouldn't be so defensive," he teased.

She opened her eyes and scowled and tossed one of the Goldfish at him. "Reed Garrett's article comes out tomorrow," she told him. "On the front page of the Times."

"Yeah? Good for him."

"His editor says it was a fabulous human interest piece I will have you know."

"I gotta admit. You're a pretty fabulous piece of a human being," he chided and took another sip from her juice.

"I am being serious here," she scolded.

"So am I," he said, and belched noisily.

"You are so goddamn gross!" Sam cried. "Why do I love you is what I should be asking myself."

"You love me because you love me. Because I'm smart and funny and charming and I make you laugh and I make you want to pull your hair out and I make you want to scream. And that last part I mean in a good way. On top of all that, the blue eyes. The dark hair and the blue eyes. Look at the child I gave you, woman! What more do you want?"

"Oh I don't know. One of them Audi's the cost eighty thousand, a summer home in the Hamptons, a credit card that has no limit that I don't have to pay back, a massive pool with a little water fall and a sparsely tattooed, hot Latin boy to take care of said pool at my home in the Hamptons."

"Whatever," he snorted. "Face it, your happy with our lives. You're happy driving a Pontiac G6 and living in lower Manhattan in the controlled chaos that is our apartment. You're happy with the guy you have even if he is a thirty year old slightly greying guy from Queens with knobby knees and an outtie belly button and potato patches."

"You're just the sunshine in my life, baby," she said with a warm, genuine smile.

He grinned and leaned across the space between the two couches to press a soft kiss to her lips. "You got some white stuff right here," he said, settling back in his seat and pointing to the left corner of her lips.

"Like that's never happened before," she laughed, and cleared the filling from the Twinkies off of her mouth with a fingertip. "You never told me if that mother I talked to earlier today brought her daughter in."

Flack shook his head. "We gave them an extension until five o'clock and than we're going to break their goddamn door down and drag her out."

"And your interrogation earlier?"

He snorted. "Guy passed out halfway through. All tweaked out on something. He's mellowing out now in a holding cell."

"You've just had quite the exciting day so far. All that and than your son falls in the toilet at day care. Just a mixed back of wackiness."

"Well, I look at it this way," Flack said with a sigh and leaned back in the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table and closed his eyes. "I am already used to it because living with you is just a whole load of crazy."

"I keep you on your toes, Donnie. I keep you young and vibrant and oh so lovable and cute."

"Daddee!" Kieran chirped noisily.

Flack cracked open one eye to look at his son.

"'Ish, daddee!" he announced, holding up the cheese flavoured fish shaped cracker for his father to see. "'Ish!"

"I see the fish, buddy," Flack responded and yawned noisily and closed his eyes once again.

"Daddy's tired," Sam told their son. "He was up really, really early this morning."

"Because some crazy little half pint was up baking damn cupcakes at four in the morning."

"Kieran!" Sam gasped dramatically. "Did you learn how to make cupcakes and use the oven and your only one!? One year old tomorrow! You're getting to be a big boy now. Pretty soon mommy and daddy can get you a big boy bed and we can pass your crib along to your new brother or sister."

"Sister," Flack said. "Let's make it a sister." He gave another long, loud yawn.

"Are you that tired, honey?" Sam asked. "Would you like a warm glass of milk to help you relax? Would you like to stretch out on the couch? Just you and your blankie?"

"Come here for a second, Sam. And bring the blankie so I can tie it around your neck and strangle you with it. And do you ever work? Seriously. Why are you always on a break?"

"Because I was hungry and I am a woman of leisure. And because I am waiting for some test results. And you know how long that can take. I wish we had the magic machines like on the crime shows on television and we got results in thirty seconds."

"That would be nice," Flack agreed.

* * *

He groaned loudly when his cell phone rang noisily. "Why?" he asked. "Why me? Why is this my life?"

"Because you love your job!" Sam exclaimed. "And if you weren't a cop, we never would have met."

"Now there's the plus side to it all," he said sarcastically as he pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and flipped it open. "Flack," he answered simply. "When?…Where?…alright, I'm on my way."

"Let me guess," Sam said, as he snapped his phone closed and stood up. "You have to go."

"I have to go," he confirmed with a heavy sigh. "Want me to take him back down?" he asked, nodding down at Kieran so comfortably snuggled into his mother's side.

"I'll take him in a little while. He's fine. I'm supposed to be off at six, but you just never know. If you're going to be later than that, will you at least call me or come up here and tell me?"

"Oh I'll be later than that. Much later. I can guarantee it. But I will still let you know," he bent down and kissed her softly.

"Daddy's got to go to, K," Sam told her son. "He has to go and catch some bad guys. Give him a hug and a kiss."

Kieran sat the sippy cup between his legs and turned his face up to kiss his father sloppily and noisily and curl his tiny arms around his dad's neck.

"Be good," Flack said. "And that goes for both of you."

"Be safe!" Sam called to him as he headed for the door.

"Always," he assured her, than turned to face her. "And take some of those pre-natal things. I didn't buy them for no reason and I…"

"Whose taking prenatal vitamins?" Carmen asked, as she squeezed in between Flack and the door frame to gain access to the lounge.

Flack's eyes widened. "Uh…hey…Carmen…" he looked over at his wife who was staring daggers at him.

"Busted," Sam mouthed at him.

"You mean you guys?" Carmen asked, as her eyes flicked back and forth between her friends. "You guys are having a baby?"

"What?" Flack responded. "What are you talking about? No one's having a baby."

"I heard you tell Sam to take prenatal vitamins. That you didn't buy them for no reason."

"I never said that," Flack argued. "You're hearing things. I gotta go."

"Nice try, Don," Carmen said and grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. "You guys are pregnant?"

"Actually, she's the pregnant one," he confirmed, nodding in Sam's direction.

"Seriously? When did you guys find out?"

"We've known since Christmas Eve," Sam admitted. "But we were waiting until the ultrasound to tell everyone. You know, in case things didn't work out like last time."

"This is awesome news!" Carmen shrieked, standing on her tip toes to hug Flack in congratulations before rushing over to the couch and throwing her arms around her best friend. "You guys must be so excited! And you two certainly don't waste any time. Congrats! How far along are you?"

"I gotta get to work," Flack told the two women. "You two do your squealing and carrying on while I make a living."

"Congratulations, Don!" Carmen called him to before he slipped out the door. "So?" she asked her friend, beaming as she plopped down on the couch across from Sam. "Are you excited? You must be really excited. I know you guys were starting to try after my wedding but I never expected you to be telling me this soon."

"I'm sorry you found out this way, Carmen. It's nothing personal. We just weren't going to tell anyone until the ultrasound or until I got past the first trimester."

"It doesn't matter how I find out. You guys had your reasons to keep it back and I totally get that. What matters now is you and Don and the new baby you guys are having together. This is amazing, Sam! A new life! A little brother or sister for K! You and Don must be thrilled."

"We are…and a little scared and nervous too."

Carmen nodded in understanding. "I know…considering what happened not long ago…but it will work out this time. I promise. This time everything's going to go perfectly and you guys will have a precious, adorable baby in seven or so months. And I mean, look at Kieran. You two obviously make some good looking kids."

Sam nodded.

"But….there's a but in your mind, Sammie. I know you all too well. There's some negative, not so nice thoughts going around in that pretty little head of yours."

"They're not negative," Sam said with a sigh, curling her arm around her son and drawing him tighter against her side. "They're just…I don't know…cautious."

"What are you guys being so cautious about?"

"We're just nervous, Carmen. Because the first time that I got pregnant after Kieran, things didn't go so well and I think Don carries around this guilt that I had that miscarriage because he came right out and admitted he didn't want that baby. Because he wasn't ready for another one. And I've told him that he doesn't need to feel that way. That things didn't happen because he said something or thought something."

"And? What did he say?"

"Nothing. Which is so typical of him. You know what he's like. He doesn't talk about stuff like that. About how he's feeling. He tries to…but he just shuts himself off and changes the subject. And I think we've both a little bit of fear that because we want it so bad this time, that something terrible will happen."

"Which you both know is a completely stupid and immature way of thinking, right?"

"Right. But we just don't want things going bad. Because if there's a chance of things going down the shitter, trust me, it happens to us."

"Which is why you need to relax and take it easy," Carmen told her. "Not just for that baby but for Kieran and you and Don. Because getting yourself worked up, Sammie, that's going to cause problems."

"I know," she sighed. "And than there's the financial side to the whole thing. We're going to need a bigger place because we're already tripping over each other in our apartment now. And Don's talking about maybe trying to get a mortgage and than using some of the savings to get a house in another borough and than there's the issue of when and how to tell Mac and what his reaction is going to be considering I haven't been back to work that long. On top of that Stella will be going on mat leave in less than three months…"

"Jesus, Sam. How do you have all of this stuff in your brain all at once?"

"There's all that and more, trust me. It's just trying to sort it all out and figure out which is the most important."

"You are. You're the most important. You and your family. Nothing else matters. Just you guys. And if I was to tell Don you're thinking about all of this…"

"Oh he knows. Trust me. He knows I'm nuts. He woke up at four this morning and I was baking cupcakes for day care."

"So that's whose turn it was. When I went down to check on Addie all these kids were running around with icing smeared all over them and squished cupcake all over their hands. I nearly threw up. How I am ever going to deal when she has a sticky hands and face…" Carmen shuddered at the thought.

"At least you have a girl," Sam laughed. "Kieran will be the little boy that pokes at dead birds and squirrels with sticks and brings worms home to mommy as presents. Who eats mud and glue and anything else he can get his hands on."

"You're not that bad, are you , K?" Carmen asked her godson, reaching out to pinch his stomach. "You're not as bad as mommy says you are, are you?"

"Yeah," he responded.

Both Carmen and Sam laughed, which in turn caused the little boy to beam from ear to ear, the dimple in his left cheek prominent.

"At least he's honest," Carmen said. "He doesn't deny it. He knows he's a terrorist. And what's he doing up here anyway?"

"Incident at day care," Sam sighed. "They tried to put him on the big boy toilet and I guess he got angry and bit one of them and they dropped him in it. Nice, huh? Talk about traumatic. I won't get him toilet trained until he's ten now. Whatever. I am leaving toileting duties to his father. They have the same equipment so Don can deal with it. As long as it gets down before he starts school, that is all I'm worried about. In the meantime," she yawned noisily and leaned forward to pick up the bottle of vitamins from the table.

"I'm really happy for you guys, Sammie. And everything will work out this time around."

"I hope so," she said, and swallowed a pre-natal vitamin and than a folic acid tablet with some apple juice. "I guess it might be a good sign that the nausea isn't as bad as it was last time. I still feel sick and throw up but it's nothing like when I was having Kieran."

"Than maybe the entire thing will be less of an ordeal."

"Maybe," Sam said and held up her hand to show her fingers crossed. "I need to get this place tidied up and take Mister Man here back to day care. Grandma will be picking him up soon. Can you watch him for a second?"

"You have to ask that?" Carmen inquired, and moved over to the spot Sam was now vacating.

"Mommy?" Kieran asked, a despondent look on his face as he watched her start cleaning things up.

"She'll be back," Carmen assured him. "She's just cleaning things up a bit. So whose this new guy that's working for Don, Sam?" she asked curiously. "The one that's your ex boyfriend."

Sam groaned. "Danny is such a moron. Chester Lake is not my ex. He's an old friend of mine. What is so hard about that to understand?"

"Apparently Danny said there was something there that was way more than just old friends meeting up."

"Well Danny's delusional," Sam said, as she rinsed out her cereal bowl and left it and the spoon in the sink with the other dirty dishes that had been left behind. "We had lunch. Caught up on old times. That's it. No huge deal."

"Don't get so defensive," Carmen told her best friend, as she came back to the seating area and shoved the bottles of vitamins back in the bag.

"I am not getting defensive. I just don't like people accusing me of something I didn't do, and would never do."

"No one is accusing you of anything, Sammie. We're just surprised that the you and the new guy have history. That's it."

"It's not history, okay? We were friends. That's it. Nothing scandalous about it. I'm not allowed to have friends that are guys? You're starting to sound like Don."

"You're overreacting, Sam."

"Maybe I am," she said, and gathered up the old blanket and tossed it over her shoulder before scooping Kieran up into her arms. "But I don't appreciate you people talking about me behind my back and surmising things that never happened. I don't have anything to hide and you people need to just step off and leave me alone about it."

"You need to take a pill, Sam," Carmen called to her friend as she stomped across the room and out the door.

And you wouldn't be so bent out of shape if you didn't have something to hide, Carmen thought.

* * *

Nine o'clock at night.

Number twenty-five on the list of Monroe's in Bozeman, Montana.

Sam had arrived home from work at quarter to five and promptly took a shower and tossed something into the oven for supper. Now she sat on the couch, in a pair of her most comfortable flannel pyjamas, the television tuned into a re-run of Boston Legal and her cell phone in hand and list of names sitting beside her on the couch.

Everyone else in the house was asleep. After a long, trying day at day care and than an outing with grandma to FAO Schwartz that had seen grandma purchases way too many toys for her grandson's birthday, Kieran had had his supper and a bath and was out like a light before the clock hit seven thirty. Flack hadn't been far behind. He'd trudged through the door at eight in foul mood, grabbed a quick bite to eat and a shower and retreated to bed where he promptly passed out on top of all the covers. Face down and his arms and legs spreadeagled, snoring loudly.

How's that for romance? Sam had thought, before grabbing an extra blanket from the closet and tossing it over him and turning off the lights and shutting the blinds before leaving him there, the cat curled up and purring contently next to his head.

The clean dishes still sat in the drain board and a fresh load of laundry still sat in the basket next to the couch. As far as Sam was concerned, all of that could wait. She had a job to do. She was a woman on a mission.

She had dialled the twenty-fifth number and waited for six rings. She was just contemplating hanging up when she heard the click of someone picking up followed by a soft voice. One she hadn't heard in nearly two years, but recognized immediately.

"Hello?"

"Lindsay?" she asked.

Silence.

"This is Lindsay, right? Lindsay Monroe who worked in New York City as a Crime Scene Investigator?"

"It is," she confirmed.

"It's Samantha…Samantha F-"

"I know who it is," Lindsay said coolly. "Only it's not Samantha Ross anymore. It's Samantha Flack. Danny told me. About you guys getting married and having a baby. I guess I should say congratulations."

"You don't have to," Sam told her.

"Good. Because I really didn't want to."

"I guess I deserved that," Sam sighed. "I mean, I didn't exactly make things too easy on you when I first got here. But at the same time, you weren't exactly head of the welcoming committee when I first arrived, either."

"I guess not," Lindsay said. "I guess we both have regrets and crosses to bear with the way things went down in New York. Why are you calling me now? We haven't talked in almost two years. You just suddenly decided to give me a shout or…"

"This isn't about me, or you," Sam cut her off gently. "And look, I'm sorry I was shitty to you and you felt a reason to be that way with me, but we're adults and I think we can both put that behind us and start things off on a better foot. Don't you?"

"That might be a good idea," Lindsay agreed. "So what is this about if it's not a social call?"

"It's about Danny."

Panic registered in Lindsay's voice. "Danny? What about him? What happened to him? Oh my God, is he okay?"

"Nothing's happened. He's fine. This is about Danny. And you. And the fact that the two of you belong together and…"

"Sam, I don't know what Danny's been telling you but…"

"I know about the phone calls. And the emails. I know that the two of you have been carrying on like that for more than a year now. Just before Don and I got married. And I know that he's miserable without you Lindsay and he kicks his own ass every day for pushing you away and that he'd give anything to take back how he treated you after Ruben Sandoval. And I know that if you just gave him a chance and.."

"I gave him lots of chances, Samantha. And he never took them."

"I know, I know. But please listen to me, Lindsay. He's sorry. He feels bad. If he didn't he wouldn't have been corresponding with you for all this time. And if you didn't care about him you wouldn't have been carrying on with him either. So you can't tell me that there's nothing there. I know he loves you. And I know you love him."

"Love has nothing to do with this," Lindsay informed her.

"Love has everything to do with this," Sam corrected her. "This doesn't make any sense. If you love each other, than there shouldn't be anything standing in your way."

"There is. He's living with someone. She's having his baby. She's your cousin."

"And believe me, Lindsay, I hate myself for ever encouraging those two. But that's water under the bridge and what's happened has happened. The only thing we can change is what happens from here on out. And I know you're seeing someone…"

"Engaged, actually. We're engaged."

"I want to congratulate you. I really do. But you know that this isn't the right thing to do, Lindsay. Not when you're still in love with Danny."

"This isn't any of your business, Samantha," Lindsay informed her. "I know Danny's your friend and you love him and he adores you and Flack and your son, but.."

"It's not my business. You're right. But I feel the need to do something now to make up for the shitty things I did back than. Sounds stupid, I know. And I can't stand seeing him so miserable. Danny would do the same thing for me and I know he would."

"I've already told Danny that it's over. That I can't talk to him anymore. I need to make a break from this. From us. It's not healthy and he has a life and now so do I and us being involved with each other…it's not good, Samantha. For anyone involved."

"Danny's coming to Montana," Sam revealed.

Silence.

"Lindsay?"

"I'm here. What do you mean he's coming to Montana?"

"It's a long story. But I'm sending him there to get this all sorted out and I wanted to call you and give you the heads up."

"When? When's he coming?"

"February second. The flight leaves here at three in the afternoon from JFK and arrives there at Gallatin Field at quarter to eight your time."

Lindsay sighed heavily. "I asked him not to do something like that. I asked him to just let me go. That it would be easier for both of us if he just let go."

"Letting go isn't that easy," Sam surmised. "Trust me. There's things, and people, I haven't let go of that I should have a long time ago."

"But he promised me that he wouldn't do this to me," Lindsay said, the pain and tears evident in her voice.

"What about what you're doing to yourself and to him by asking him to do that?"

Lindsay sniffled noisily.

"Just meet with him, Linds. Please. I know this is asking for a lot coming from me considering our past, but please just give him a chance. To say the things he needs to say to you. In person. Can you do that?"

A pause. "I think so."

Sam felt relief surge through her body. "And there's something else."

"Oh God," Lindsay groaned.

"He doesn't know about this. So I don't want you to call him or email him and mention it, okay?"

"This is all too weird to wrap my head around. He's coming to Montana but doesn't know about it?"

"Like I said, it's a long story," Sam told her. "A very long story. Let's just say this is somewhat of a covert op on my part. I just need you to trust me and meet with him. Okay?"

"You're insane," Lindsay declared with a laugh. "But okay. I will trust you. And meet with him."

"You have no idea how much you just made my night," Sam breathed a huge sigh of relief.

"In a way, you made my night, too," the other woman admitted. "Hearing you spell things out the way you did. About Danny and me. It might do us both some good to see each other."

"I hope so," Sam said. "I really do."

"And I know that things were awful between us. It was a lot of jealousy and immaturity and back stabbing and pettiness. But I want you to know that there's been times, a lot of times, that I've wondered what things would have been like had I stuck around and gave you a chance."

Sam smiled. "I've thought about that to. I know I can be a huge bitch, Linds. And I didn't give you a fair shake when I arrived and that isn't usually who I am. So I'm sorry for that. For pushing you away and out of Danny's life."

"I pushed myself out of his life. You had nothing to do with it," Lindsay assured her. "Sounds like we both have some regrets."

"More than you'll ever know," Sam said quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. It's nothing. Just a whole lot of stuff running through my head at the moment. Work stuff and marriage stuff and kid stuff and a whole shit load of nonsense."

"Marriage stuff? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah…yeah, everything is great. We're just working a lot of hours and Kieran's turning one tomorrow and we're having another baby and…"

"Another one? Wow. Congratulations."

"Thanks," Sam said. Than laughed. "You know what's funny? Other than Carmen and my brother and in laws, no one else knows. I told you before I told my own parents and the rest of my friends. How weird is that?"

"It's not weird," Lindsay told her. "Maybe it's a sign. A start of something. Between me and you."

Sam smiled. "Maybe. And I'd like that."

"So would I," Lindsay said softly. "So how about you give me all your numbers and emails me and what not and your address and we take things from there?"

"Sounds good," Sam agreed. "Got a pen?"

* * *

It was nearly eleven when she finally got off of the phone and crowding eleven thirty by the time she put the dishes away and tidied the kitchen and folded the laundry and put it back in the basket. She set the card and two small gifts they planned on giving Kieran in the morning on the kitchen table. Everything else would come the day of the party, but they didn't want the actual day going by unannounced.

She turned off all of the lights and the television and made sure the door was locked before carrying the basket of clean clothes down the hall and into the master bedroom. Balancing the plastic basket on her hip and under one arm as she used her other hand to turn the doorknob and push her way inside. Flack had stopped snoring and now lay on his back, an arm over his eyes. Slippers stretched out with her nose just brushing his temple.

Sam closed the door behind her and went and sat the basket in the closet. Her foot colliding with and nearly sending her flying over, a large hockey equipment bag.

"Donnie….for fuck sakes!" she grumbled, giving the bag a shift kick, than nearly hollowing out loud in agony as her toes connected with something solid.

"I told you it was in there," a voice said from out in the bedroom.

"I forgot!" she cried, hopping out of the closet on one foot. "I think my toes a broken!"

"You're fine," he said, an arm still over his eyes.

"Be a little sympathetic here, please. I can't put my foot on the ground or wiggle my toes. Why are you being so mean?"

"Because I'm tired."

"And that gives you just cause?" she asked, plopping down onto the bed. "I'm not asking for much here. Would you just turn the light on and look at my foot?"

"I'm not a doctor. And you can't do anything for a broken toe. Or two, or three."

"Would it kill you to show a little compassion?" she asked, and grabbed her pillow and smacked him over the head with it.

"Fine," he huffed and sat up and reached for the bedside lamp and flicked it on. "You want me to play doctor? Let me see."

"It hurts!" she cried, shifting in the bed so she was sitting in front of him with her foot in his lap.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked, gently touching the tips of each toe.

"Everywhere. It hurts everywhere. Are they broken?"

"I don't think so. Maybe sprained or really badly bruised, but I doubt they're broken. Can you move them at all?"

She winced and drew in a hissing breath as she wriggled her toes slightly. "A little."

"You'll live," he assured her, and pressed a kiss to the top of her foot. "Better?"

"Do that again," she demanded.

He smiled and repeated his action.

"Couple more times?"

"Sam…"

"Please? It's nice. It tickles."

He sighed and kissed the top of her foot. Than the side of it. Than the ankle. "You good?" he asked.

"I'm good. Now I can officially tell people you do indeed, kiss my feet."

He smirked and set her foot down gently on the bed before reached over to turn the light out and settling down on his back once more.

Sam crawled up the bed and turned herself around and lifted the blanket so she could climb under it and snuggle up to him. Her hand resting on his stomach and her head on his chest. Listening to his heart beat while he laid his hand on her back and stroked softly.

"You never told me how the rest of your shift went," she said.

"It went. Slow and steady wins the race, right? Not to mention your little boyfriend made a hell of a collar today."

"He is not my boyfriend," Sam informed him. Than sighed heavily. "But he was."

"Yeah, I already had that figured out a long time ago. I was just waiting for you to be ready to actually tell me yourself."

"You just figured it out? When?"

"When I saw you looking at his jacket on Christmas Eve. When you said his name and told me you knew him, I guess I just say something in your eyes and in your face. Like a reminiscing, fond memories type deal."

"You saw all of that?"

Flack nodded.

"Boy, the NYPD knew what they were doing when they made you detective. I totally underestimate you."

"And than talking to him today, when he saw your picture on my desk and was talking about you? That just sealed it. I knew right away there was more to him and you than what you were letting on. And than to hear from Danny that you were having lunch with the guy and laughing and sparkling and glowing…"

"Who was sparkling and glowing?" she asked.

"You were apparently. Those are Danny's exact words."

"If I was sparkling and glowing, than it's because I'm pregnant. That pregnant glow people talk about all the time. Not because I was flirting with Chester. Don't read into that. I can't believe Danny told you that."

"He's just watching out for me," Flack reasoned, his hand drifting up her back to stroke her hair. "He's my best friend. He's watching my back."

"Watching your back?" Sam sat up and stared down at him. "From who? From your own wife?"

"Does he have a reason to? Do I need him to be watching my back?"

"Of course not. Why would you even think something like that? Do you actually think I'd ever do something like that to you?"

He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "Honestly, I don't know Sammie."

She sat and watched him for what seemed like an eternity. Absentmindedly twisting the blanket grasped in her hands. A least a dozen smart ass, hurtful and cutting comments to toss his way. About how she'd never do something like that just because he would. How he was the one who had started the ball rolling by screwing around behind her back with Devon. But she couldn't bring herself to say them.

"Donnie," she said quietly, laying her hand on his chest. "Please look at me."

He turned his head to the side, his blue eyes troubled and weary. And hurt.

"I would never, ever do that you. I know we have our issues and maybe I'm not the best wife on earth or the nicest person in the world, but I love you. More than I could ever tell you. You and Kieran are my everything and I would never do anything to hurt you."

"It's never just me anymore, Sam. It's me and Kieran. You never just say me. You always put him in there too."

"He's our son, Donnie. You're his father. We made him together. He's part of you."

"But what if he wasn't? Just say we never had him. Just say we got married and never had a baby right away. Let's just pretend that he isn't here and it's just me and you. Would you not do something like that because you wouldn't want to lose me, or is it that you wouldn't do it because you don't want to lose him?"

"I don't want to lose either of you," she said.

"That's not what I asked. I asked…"

"If we didn't have Kieran we'd still be together and I'd still feel the same way. I don't want to lose you. Whether it's just me and you or whether we have a family together. This isn't about Kieran. This is about me and you and the way I feel about you and you not trusting me."

"I do trust you."

She shook her head. "If you did you wouldn't be asking me these things. I don't know what else there is for me to say to you. I married you because I love you. Not because I was pregnant by you. And I love you more now and each and every day and I wouldn't cheat on you. With anyone. And I don't know what I ever did to make you not believe me…"

"I do believe you. Just having to figure this out on my own and Danny coming back to me to tell me what he saw…I know I'm not the greatest husband in the world. But I try, Sammie. I really do. And I don't like finding things out about your past like that. Why can't you just tell me things, babe? Why do you keep things like that from me?"

Sam shrugged.

"What? Did you think I was going to be mad about it? Freak out on you and rant and rave about it?"

"I guess…"

"I freak out when you keep things from me. If you'd just be honest and up front right away, than I wouldn't get pissed. You realize that don't you?"

She nodded.

"Are you going to say anything?" he asked. "Like can I get a reaction of some kind here? Something? Anything?"

She considered her next move. Her next word. And she did what came first to her. She leaned over him and kissed him softly, her long hair tumbled over him. Than she climbed astride him, her knees on either side of him, and she curled her arms around his neck and laid her head on his chest.

"I love you," she said simply.

And as he wrapped his arms around her slender body, Flack realized that no other action, physical or verbal, on her part had ever been so perfect.

Or so welcome.

**A/N: Coming up soon, the start of something me and my galz like to refer to as Lessing Madness.**

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers. But please show me some love folks, the last couple of days I've had, I could really use it. Much love to all of you!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**laplandgurl**

**Hope4sall**

**Brrtmclv**

**muchmadness**

**Forest Angel**

**Madison Bellows**

**wolfeylady**

**Shopaholic20**

**GregRox**

**Bluehaven4220**

**Soccer-bitch**


	38. Birthday Blowout

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN….YOU GUYS KNOW THE DRILL.**

**A/N: SPECIAL THANKS TO LAURZZ AND HOPE4SALL AND TO MRS CHOI WHO OWNS THE BAKERY ACROSS THE STREET FROM ME AND WHOM I BASED MRS. KIM, WHO APPEARS AT THE BEGINNING OF THIS CHAPTER, ON. I WROTE THE WAY SHE TALKS, AS I HEAR IT COMING OUT OF HER MOUTH.**

**THIS IS LONGER THAN USUAL FOLKS. BUT AS MY PAL LAURZZ TOLD ME, WHO CARES? IT'S SamFlackie lol**

**Birthday Blow-out**

"So what made you think you could take a life  
And just push it, push it around  
I guess to build yourself up so high  
You had to take her and break her down

She laid her heart and soul right in your hands  
And you stole her every dream and crushed her plans  
She never even knew she had a choice  
And that's what happens when the only voice she hears  
is telling her she can't  
You stupid boy."  
-Stupid Boy, Keith Urban

* * *

The Sunshine Deli was located on the corner of Jefferson and Chambers. Three blocks from Flack's apartment and had been his usual early morning haunt for the past year and change that he and Sam had lived in the neighbourhood. He had discovered it one morning shortly after they moved in while he was out jogging in an attempt to work off some adrenaline left behind after a triple shift. The deli was owned by Mr and Mrs Kim -no first names, they didn't do first names and introduced themselves as the Kim's. Nothing more and nothing less- a tiny and talkative South Korean couple who had immigrated to the states nearly four decades ago and had purchased their little deli and moved into the apartment above only months later. The place was bright and cheery and opened at five am sharp and closed every night at eight o'clock on the nose. The Kim's were bubbly and had infectious grins and laughs. They referred to their regular customers by Mister and Missus and were often spotted hanging around the row of seven booths along the side windows that faced Chambers, engaged in lively conversations with customers.

And when they weren't doing that they were cleaning like fiends in between serving customers. To Flack, cleanliness was next to Godliness in his book and determined whether or not he visited an establishment more than once. Germs and filth were major, major pet peeves for him and he still shuddered when he thought about the deplorable conditions he and Stella had faced in that warehouse when he and Stella had finally tracked down the man responsible for the murder of Fiona Chisolm.

All other names and faces escaped him. The only thing that remained burned into his memory were the rats and people sneezing on products they had ever intentions on serving customers and touching things without washing their hands. Made his stomach nearly retch even now. At least in his own home, he knew that he and his wife washed their hands after taking a shit or changing a dirty diaper. As for the majority of the public, well who the hell really knew what they were up to. Every time they ordered fast food, he said a well intentioned prayer to God before he dug into anything and asked to please be spared E-coli or salmonella or whatever else someone or something had passed along.

So far so good. And as he pushed his way through the front door of the already busy deli at quarter after seven in the morning, the chime sounding above his head, he was greeted by the beautiful sight of Mr. Kim serving food with plastic gloves on and hairnet over his head and a fresh apron on. And his wife with the broom and dust pan in her hand as she cleaned up any mess, big or small, that were left behind from herself, her husband or the customers.

"Mr Flack," Mrs Kim greeted cheerfully when she saw him. "How are you? Long time no see since yesterday! How is wife and baby? They doing good?"

"Everyone's good," he responded with a smile as he stepped up to the counter. "Little guy's one year old today."

"One year old! Already! He's getting to be a young man! And so big! I saw them couple days ago and he grow like a weed! He look just like you, too. Daddy's pretty blue eyes, yeah?"

"He's a good looking kid, alright," Flack agreed.

"You so high on yourself! Your wife better watch out! I may steal you for myself! Tall and dark and handsome with big muscles. And a police officer. I love police officers!"

Flack grinned as the older woman laughed hysterically before finishing off her sweeping at the end of the counter and returning the dust pan and broom to a small closet off the side of the kitchen before washing her hands -thoroughly-and joining him at the counter.

"What can I get for you, Mr. Flack? The usual? Green tea with slice of lemon and an extra large black dark roast coffee? Two chocolate croissants?"

"You know me so well," Flack said. "But I need the tea de-caf. I've forgotten about that every day for nearly two weeks now."

"De-caf tea? That just plain gross. Why wife want de-caf tea?"

"She has to drink it. I'm forcing her too. No more caffeine no matter how much she begs and pleads. We're having a baby."

"Again!" Mrs. Kim clapped her hands together and shrieked. "That awesome news, Mr. Flack! So exciting! How far? You know?"

"We don't know yet. We still need to find that out. But yeah, it's exciting. Very exciting."

"Congratulations on new baby! Just for that, your order free today."

"Mrs. Kim, I can't.."

"Oh yes you can! I insist! I own the place after all. I even give baby number one a croissant for his birthday! With a candle in it!"

"Honestly, I can't…"

"No more!" she put her hand up, palm facing him to show she wouldn't hear anything more from him as she scurried around to assemble his order.

There was an order pad resting on the top of the cash register. And once her back was turned he pulled out the twenty bucks he shoved in the pocket of the sweats he'd yanked on after climbing out of bed that morning. Leaning over the counter, he quickly and discreetly slipped the money between the pages of the pad and put it back to its exact position.

"You want boy or girl?" Mrs Kim inquired curiously from the other end of the counter where she was tossing croissants into a paper bag. With gloves on.

"Doesn't matter," Flack replied. "As long as the baby is healthy."

"Ahh, that bullshit," she declared. "Everyone want healthy baby. But you want healthy boy or girl baby?"

"It honestly doesn't matter," he said.

"Please! Don't lie to me. Tell me the truth. One or other. I won't tell your wife just in case you and her disagree about it."

"I guess a girl would be okay," he admitted.

Mrs. Kim gasped. "No! You don't want a girl! I have three! Girls are bad! Very bad! Too much come with girls! You too nice of a guy to have to have girls!"

"My wife wants nothing but boys. Three or four she says. Why she'd want all boys is beyond me considering how evil the boy we have now is."

"He not evil! He a cute little boy! Dark hair and blue eyes and sweet little smile. You a lucky man, Mr. Flack. You have nice little family."

"They're alright," Flack said with a grin as the older woman journeyed back to the register. "But a girl would be nice. A daddy's girl. Every guy wants a daddy's girl."

"Only crazy guys!" Mrs Kim declared, as she sat the paper bag down in front of him and quickly prepared the tea and coffee and shoved the cups into a carry tray. She frowned suddenly. As if sensing something just wasn't right and began methodically scouring each inch of the counter directly in front of her and than finally the order pad. The twenty dollars fluttered to the ground as she thumbed through the pages.

"Mr Flack!" she gasped as she bent down to pick up the money. "See? I caught you! I figured you out! You can't pull wool over my eyes! No money! Kapish?"

He chuckled heartily at the word Kapish tossed in at the end of a sentence filled with stilted English. He held his hands up in self defence as Mrs. Kim, all four foot nothing and a mere ninety pounds, reached across the counter and stuffed the bill into his coat pocket.

"You a bad man!" she declared. "You lucky you so cute!"

"Could you at least give me change for a five so I can get a Times in the box out front?" he asked.

"You can have mine," she told him, and reached under the counter. She pulled out a rolled up copy of that day's paper and sat it alongside his order. "I'm all done with it. Your wife in the newspaper! Front page!"

"I know. She gave an interview to a friend of hers."

"Good article. I cry. Many times. She a nice girl for you, you know. Love you a lot. You need to hold on tight."

"I know. She puts up with me so that's saying a lot."

"And good picture too! She look so pretty! And little guy look so cute!"

"What picture?" he asked.

"The picture! On front page! Of wife and son!"

He frowned and picked up the paper and unrolled it. Sam hadn't mentioned anything about a picture. And she certainly wouldn't have been stupid enough to let Reed Garrett take a picture of her and their son and post it on the front page as large as life. Not with someone as unpredictable as Lessing out in two days, walking free and easy on the streets. Or would she? Because one look at the front page of the Times verified his theory that the higher the education, the less common sense someone had. There, in front of him, was a colour photograph of his wife and first born child.

"What the fuck…" he breathed. His heart pounding in his chest, seeing red immediately. His hands trembled in anger and tightened on the newspaper, threatening to tear it. How in the hell could she do something like that? Something so idiotic? That not only put her at risk, but their son. He was going to kill her. He was sure of it. He was going to go home and strangle her with his bare hands.

He didn't mean it of course. He wasn't capable of hurting her physically. But he was damn well pissed off enough to at least put the fear of God into her.

"You okay, Mister Flack?" the tiny Korean woman in front of him asked, concern in her eyes.

He shook his head. "I have to go," he said simply and turned on his heel, leaving every thing but the newspaper on the counter as he stormed out of the deli.

* * *

Samantha was in the kitchen. Sitting at the kitchen table munching on peanut butter and toast while she watched Kieran making a mess of his breakfast in his high chair. He had already devoured a bowl of plain oatmeal with sliced banana in it, and was now on a Gerber Graduates apple and cinnamon cereal bar that he was content on squishing and rubbing over his face and in his hair. He would definitely need a bath before grandma came to pick him up. Sam was just glad she was on afternoons and had the time to toss him in the tub and scrub him down before having to get ready herself.

Kieran had had his milk the moment he had woken up shortly before seven and had made a valiant effort of opening the card and presents that she'd laid out the night before. It wasn't much. A couple of In the Night Garden story books and some tub crayons he could use on the tiles whenever he was in bath. He was happier with the crumpled up wrapping paper than he was with the actual gifts and she'd sat him on the floor and let him play with it as she sang Happy Birthday to him. Than she'd scooped him up and showered him with hugs and kisses and raspberries before depositing him in his high chair for his first meal of the day.

"Mommy!" Kieran called out to her. "Mommy! See?"

She glanced up. Only to be greeted by the sight of him with his mouth wide open and full of food.

He giggled hysterically at the horrified look he got in response.

"That's not nice, Kieran," she scolded him. "Don't do that. You've been hanging around your Uncle Peanut and your Uncle Danny too much. Mouth closed, baby. And don't play with your food."

"It fun!" he informed her and turned and smeared his hand all over the wall alongside of his high chair. Spreading chewed up cereal bar all over beige paint.

"Kieran!" she cried and jumped up. "No! That's bad! Don't do that!"

"It fun!" he repeated, and attempted to do some more finger painting on the wall until his mother seized his wrist in her hand.

"I said no!" she said firmly. "That's bad! Don't be a bad boy!"

"Mommy bad!" he informed her. "BAD MOMMY!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

"That's enough!" she snapped. "Be a good boy for a change! Why are you being so bad? People are still trying to sleep half way across the world and you're carrying on!"

"BAD MOMMY!" he shrieked at the top of his lungs. A shriek that only grew louder and more piercing when she snagged the wipes and attempted to clean off his face and hands.

"Kieran! Enough!" she pleaded. "Stop yelling!"

The front door slammed open and than shut once again. She jumped at the sudden, thundering sound and was about to ask if her husband had forgotten to take along some money, when she saw him hurry into the kitchen, trailing wet snow all over the floor from his damp running shoes, absolute fury in his eyes. He was breathing fire to say the least. And for the first time in their marriage, she was literally terrified of him.

"What the fuck were you thinking!" he bellowed, his voice nearly shaking the walls.

Kieran jumped in his high chair and immediately quieted. Tears welled in his eyes and his lower lip trembled. As did his tiny body. Thank God he was wearing diapers, because Sam was sure that the sound, and sight, of his father that made had made him wet himself.

"Donnie, what…?"

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?! Get our son killed!? You have some kind of sick and twisted death wish or something?!"

"I don't know what…"

He held the paper up for her to see the picture on the front page. The copy of that day's paper shaking in his hands. "What the hell is wrong with you! You let him take your picture! Kieran's picture! You told me it was just an interview!"

"Well photos usually run with articles and…"

"You let him take a picture of you and our son! Our son, Samantha! Everyone in this city is going to see this picture! Including all the perps I've pissed off during my career! Perps that would just love to get their revenge on me for doing them wrong! Crazy, dangerous pieces of shit that won't give a rats ass that you're a woman or that he's a baby and do horrific things to both of you to get back at me!"

"I didn't think that…"

"No! You didn't think! You never do! You're always thinking with your fucking ass is what the problem is! You told me it was just an interview and I took you at face value! I trusted you not to do anything to put you, or my son at risk!"

"I didn't think I did anything wrong! He asked me if he could take a picture and I didn't think anything of it. I just thought that if my name is in there, first and last, than a picture wouldn't hurt."

"Wouldn't hurt!? Wouldn't fucking hurt! Are you a fucking idiot! You're supposed to be this super smart woman and you do something so incredibly goddamn stupid! Do not stand there and look at me all innocent and give me some lame ass bullshit that you thought doing this was okay!"

She swallowed noisily. "I just thought that.."

"Do me a favour! Don't think! 'Cause obviously you're not capable of forming mature, reasonable thoughts! Because if you thought this was okay, that putting yourself out there and my son out there…"

"He's my son, too and I…" she cast her eyes downward out of nervousness and fright.

"You're right. He's your son, too. And what kind of mother…would you fucking look at me when I'm talking to you!"

She turned her tear filled eyes up at him.

"What? Now you're going to cry and put on a goddamn sob-fest so that I feel sorry for you!? Spare me that fucking shit! 'Cause you're the last person I feel sorry for! You know who I feel sorry for? Kieran! Because he has a mother with half a goddamn brain who didn't think twice about throwing him out there for every fucking rapist, sadist, child molester and baby killer to get a good look at him!"

"Your overreacting," she said meekly.

"I'm overreacting! Are you kidding me? I'm overreacting for not wanting some sick bastard to get a hold of my kid! For not wanting someone to get a hold of him and do all kinds of perverted, demented shit to him and dump him in an alley way dead somewhere! He's my son! And nothing I do or say is overreacting when it comes to him! Do you understand me! Are you listening to me? Is anything getting through to your fucking brain, Samantha!"

"What do you want me to say?" she asked. "My name was in there so why not my…"

"Why not your face? Because up until now Samantha Flack could have been anyone in this city. In a city of millions and millions of people. And because of your stupidity, you went and put a face to your name and now everyone I've ever pissed off knows you and our son. Do you not get what I'm saying to you?!"

"Of course I do. But…"

"But? There's a but? Where's there room for a fucking but!? You know what, you wanted to put your face out there, throw yourself to wolves, that's fine. I don't give a shit. You're a grown woman. But you turned my son into a sacrificial fucking lamb!"

"I'm sorry, Donnie. I.."

"You're sorry. You're sorry? What goes does that do now? The damage is done, right? The paper's out. Who knows who has seen it already. Every Tom, Dick and fucking Harry. What I can't get is how for someone that claims to love me so much.."

"Claims!" she fought back. "Claims! Don't ever say that I claim to love you!"

"If you love me and you love our son, why do something like this?" he shook the paper in her face. "Give me one goddamn good reason why you did this!"

"Get that out of my goddamn face!" she snapped and tore it out of his hand and tossed it across the room.

"I told you not to do that interview! I told you not to…"

"Told me? You told me? You don't tell me what to do. You don't tell me what to think or what to say or how to run my life!" she yelled back. "You're my husband! You're not my keeper! I am not some goddamn possession of yours!"

"You know what, Sam. In a way you are. You married me. You took my last name and that makes you mine. As pig headed and male chauvinistic as that sounds! And if you don't like it, there's the fucking door!"

"You're being an asshole. You know that? You're being a complete and utter asshole and you're not talking to me like this…"

He caught her by the upper arm as she attempted to move to a frightened Kieran in order to comfort him.

"Don't you fucking turn away from me like that," he warned her. "We're not done here. You and I? We are not done!"

"Yes! We are done!" she snapped, hiding the wince as his fingers bit into her skin. "We are done with this conversation and if you don't let me go, I'm either going to be laying you out right here or I'm going to be calling the cops. So take your goddamn pick, Don!"

"What are you going to do? Punch me out? I'll have you on your ass before you even get the chance so don't even think about it!"

"Fine! You want to play the role of the big bad wolf! Fine! Than when I go to work tonight and I let Mac see, or maybe even Gerrard see, the bruises that are going to be on my arm, than what are you going to do? How is that going to look for you? When they see what you are capable of doing? When they see that deep down, you have it in you to be just like your father!?

He let her go. He let her go and walked away because he was afraid of the blind rage that came over him at the last words that had escaped her lips. He walked across the kitchen and leaned against the cupboards with his palms on the counter top and his eyes closed as he took deep breaths and talked himself out of doing anything he'd regret. Because he loved her and didn't want to do anything to lose her. But that didn't mean he liked her very much at that moment.

"It's okay, Kieran," she spoke in a soft, soothing tone as she unbuckled him from his high chair and picked him up and cuddled him close. "Mommy's here…it's okay…daddy's just mad…he didn't mean to scare you."

"Daddeee!" he sobbed, wriggling in his mother's arms as he reached in his father's direction. Hot, fat tears spilling down his innocent, fair cheeks. "Daddeee!"

Flack sighed and opened his eyes. He snagged a glass from the drain board and fetched himself a glass of water from the tap and went to the cupboard that held all of their prescriptions. Shoving bottles aside until he got to the oxycontin with his name on it and scooping it up. Twisting off the lid he dumped three of the pills into the palm of his hand and swallowed them with water as his son continued to scream for him and his wife fought vainly to calm him down.

He slammed the glass down on the counter top and gathered himself before walking calmly over to his tearful wife and taking their son from her.

"I'm sorry, Donnie," she said. "I…"

He shook his head, his eyes telling her to just be quiet. "I'm warning you now, Samantha," he said, as he took his son from her. "Anything happens to him, and I mean anything, and I'm out of here. The smallest scratch or bruise or one messed up hair on his head. Anything comes of your stupidity, I will never, ever forgive you. Understand me?"

"Don, please, just…"

"I will take my son and walk out of here and get a damn good lawyer and I will make sure that you never, ever see him again. Am I making sense to you now?"

She bit her lip and fought back tears and nodded.

"I know I'm just some lowly detective with a grade twelve," he said. "But here's some advice. Don't ever fucking underestimate me," he warned her, and calmly carried their son from the room.

* * *

Mac paced the length of his office with a folded copy of that morning's Times in his hand. He was furious. Beyond furious, actually. When Stella had snagged their paper from in front of their door that morning and offered up a loud, shocked gasp, followed by a "Mac, you're not going to believe this," he knew that whatever was about to greet him was not going to be good.

He was livid the moment that his eyes settled on the picture. Furious for Samantha for ever thinking that putting herself and her child out there was a good idea. She was a cop. She knew what it was like to live with the thoughts that someone you 'wronged' just may possibly come after you to make things right away. Revenge was sweet for some people. And they wouldn't think twice about doing something to harm an innocent child in an effort to get back at Flack or her. She should have known better and she'd shown disgustingly bad judgement.

And he was furious at Reed Garrett for even thinking that it was a good idea to run a personal photograph with the article. Even if it meant that no photo meant no front page, that should have been a sacrifice he was more than willing to make. Reed wasn't a child. He fully understood that police work was dangerous work and that there were a lot of evil, demented people out there out to hurt others. It was appalling that he would put a woman and child out there for every citizen in the city to see. Names were one thing, but pictures?

There was no excuse for it. On either Samantha, nor Reed's part. The only innocent party was Kieran Flack. Just a year old that day and already thrust out into the spotlight.

Flack had been livid from the moment he'd met Mac at a scene that morning. And rightfully so. Over coffee later he'd opened up to the older man about the nasty, heated fight that he and his wife had gotten into. About the mean things he had said. About how he had gotten somewhat physical and had to walk away to compose himself before he inflicted worse damage on her. He saw the embarrassment and shame in Flack's eyes when he admitted that he had grabbed her. Harder than he ever meant to or should have. Heard the hurt in the younger man's voice when he was talking about his fears surrounding the picture and how maybe, just maybe, this time he'd screwed his marriage up beyond repair.

It wasn't Mac's job to play marriage counsellor. It was up to Sam and Flack to figure out, and work out, their own problems. But he wasn't just going to let the issue of the photograph go unanswered. In his own good conscience he just could not sit back and act like nothing was wrong. And the young man with the tousled hair and crooked smile that was now knocking on his office door was about to pay the price.

"You left a message on my voice mail," Reed said as he popped his head into the room. "You wanted to talk to me, Mac?"

"Come in, Reed," he instructed. "And close the door."

"What's this about?" the young man asked, as he stepped into the office and shut the door. "Is that a copy of the Times?" he asked excitedly, nodding to the paper folded in Mac's hands.

The former Marine nodded.

"Wasn't that an awesome article, Mac!" Reed gushed. "I've been getting praises all morning and into the afternoon about it! Definitely my best work yet. I'm just hoping that it leads to more chances to land something on the front page."

Mac snorted. "Is that all that matters to you, Reed?" he asked calmly. "The headlines? The glory? A by-line on the front of the Times? Is that the only thing that's important to you?"

"It's my career, Mac. My profession. It's not the only thing but it's the number one thing. I thought that you'd like the article. It's about one of your employees and one of your colleagues. People you care deeply about. You've told me that about them more than once. I would have thought you'd love the piece."

"It's not the piece itself that I have a problem with, Reed." he said. "The writing itself is fantastic and the story is heart wrenching and compelling…"

"But," Reed said. "I sense a but here."

"But just tell me one thing."

"Sure. What's that?"

"Just what in the hell were you thinking putting Samantha Flack's picture on the front page of the newspaper. And a picture of her with her year old son none the less?"

"I asked her if it was okay and she said go ahead and…"

"And you just went ahead and did it," Mac concluded. "Without even thinking of the possible hornet's nest that this picture could stir up."

Reed frowned. "I'm not sure I'm following you, Mac."

"You put a photograph of a mother and her innocent, one year old baby on the front page of the paper."

"Okay…and…"

"A mother who happens to be the wife of an NYPD homicide detective. An innocent child, whose father has made a lot of enemies because of his job and now has to worry about watching not only his back out on the street, but the backs of his wife and his baby. And you don't see a problem with that?"

"It's just a picture, Mac. I…"

"This picture!" Mac snapped and held the paper up. "This picture may as well be a target around Samantha Flack's neck. Around the neck of her son! At any time did you not stop and think about the problems that this picture would cause?"

"I didn't think it would cause any problems," Reed admitted. "I still don't."

"Let me makes this very clear to you," Mac said. "You've taken the safety, of this woman and her child, into your hands and fed her to the lions. Every perp, every scum bag and nut job that Detective Flack ever put away in his career could see this picture and all hell could break lose. He has to worry now about his wife and his son because you didn't have enough sense to know that running a photo was a horrible, horrible idea."

"I'm a journalist," Reed said. "Journalists take risks and…"

"You do not take risks with people that I care about!" Mac roared. "Do you understand me! That baby! Kieran Flack! He's like a grandson to me! I was there, at the hospital congratulating his father the night he was born. His father, whose live I saved that day in the bombing. Who is a colleague and a friend and hell of a cop! Whose now terrified that something bad is going to happen to his wife and child! All because you didn't have the sense to know this," holding up the paper once more, he tossed it in the direction of his desk. "… was not a good idea!"

"That's the business, Mac. Without a photo, that story never would have bee front page news," Reed argued.

"So that is all you care about!" Mac fumed. "The fame and the glory! To hell with the innocent lives and the marriage you break up in the process! The little kid that you practically single-handedly passed over to child molesters and murderers and God knows who else! None of that matters to you!? All that matters to you is getting your name on the front page."

"It's good exposure for me," Reed reasoned. "Without that picture…"

"Without that picture your story would have been just as good," Mac finished for him. "But instead, you put the safety of Detective Flack's family in your hands. Dean Lessing is getting out in two days. How do you know he's not going to read this and when he's out seek revenge?"

"He's crazy, Mac. He doesn't…"

"You did a stupid thing, Reed. A stupid, stupid thing. I can't be on your side this time. I can't. You did something that deep down you knew wasn't right. Something that you knew you never should have done. And if anything happens to either Samantha Flack or her son…"

"You're getting a little carried away, Mac. Dean Lessing isn't going to hurt them. He's harmless."

"No one is harmless, Reed. No one. You screwed up big time. And if something happens to them, I am telling you right now, that will sit on your conscience for the rest of your life and you will regret the day you wrote that article. It was wrong. Plain and simple. It was wrong and you showed some extremely bad judgement. And I hope that your happy with all the problems that this has caused."

"Problems? What problems?"

"A marriage hangs in the balance here, Reed! Detective Flack wasn't too happy when he opened the paper this morning and saw that picture."

"So? And that's my problem? I guess she should have either told him about it or he should just suck it up and deal with it."

Mac's eyes narrow. "Get out of my office," he demanded.

"I am just saying…"

"I know what you're saying, Reed! And I'm saying to get the hell out of my office! That man nearly died! He nearly died and all you can do is stand here and criticize him for wanting to protect his wife and his son!? They are his priority! Their safety is number one to him! And you showed blatant disregard for that safety and for him by running that photo!"

"Mac," Reed said calmly. "This is a business and I…"

"Peoples lives are not business," the older man spat vehemently. "The lives of three people I care deeply about are not business. These people are family to me, Reed. That little boy…that little boy didn't deserve to be brought into this. He's a year old. Today. And you know what he got for his first birthday? His mother and his father arguing over top of him because of something you did! His mother and father are hanging on by a thread! And all you can is that this is a business!"

"I won't apologize, Mac. If you're waiting for an apology, you'll be waiting a long time."

"And if you're waiting for my acceptance for the choices you made, you'll die an old man before it happens. Now get out of my office."

"Come on…you're telling me they mean more to you than I do! Than your dead wife's son?"

"If your mother was here she'd be telling you the same damn thing!" Mac roared. "Now get the hell out of my office!"

Reed held his hands up in self defence and headed for the exit. "You know, Mac," he said, as he opened the glass door. "One day you'll wake up and realize you can't protect everybody."

"And one day you'll realize that I can damn well try," he responded.

* * *

Speed looked up from the container of organic strawberry yogurt he was stirring as Danny, bagged lunch in hand, stomped into the break room grumbling noisily. Hawkes, beside him at the table, had his nose immersed in a stack of case reports, and briefly glanced up and than looked back down at them.

"Cheer up," the ME turned CSI said. "It's not that bad."

"Not that bad!?" Danny laughed. "You weren't the one that spent the last three hours working with Flack. Who is in a hell of a mood today. Who the hell pissed on his Corn Flakes I'd like to know. What's up with him? He's nasty as all hell. Down in interrogation, he nearly put a guy's head through the table all because the perp called him sunshine. He not get any last night?"

"Apparently you haven't seen the Times," Speed said and went back to his lunch.

"I know that Reed's article was coming out today," Danny said, as he pulled some loose change from the pocket of his jeans and slipped it into the vending machine. He selected Coke and hit the button. There was a loud thump when the can hit the bottom of the machine. "Why? Did it suck or something?" he asked, as he grabbed his drink and joined his colleagues.

"Or something," Speed replied.

"The article itself was fantastic," Hawkes said. "Heartbreaking and intense and extremely well written."

"But?" Danny asked as he sat down and popped open his beverage. "What's the but in all of this?"

"You haven't seen the Times today?" Speed asked.

"Don't get it delivered and I was late catching the train to work so I never stopped to be one or even look in the box," Danny replied. "Why? What's going on?"

"Flack never mentioned it to you?" inquired Speed.

"I just said I don't know what the hell is going on. I just know that he's a mean, nasty bastard today and I want to stay as far away from him as possible. You two going tell me or just sit there and look cute?"

"I'll stick with the latter option," Hawkes declared.

Danny looked at Speed pointedly.

The other man sighed heavily and laid his yogurt and spoon down and tipped his chair back as far as he could without falling over and reached for the discarded newspaper resting on the table behind them. He sat his chair upright and dropped the paper on the table. Front page facing up for Danny to see.

The CSI pulled the paper towards him and looked down at it. His eyes widening at the sight before him. "What in the hell…" he said.

"Our sentiments exactly," Speed told him.

"What the hell was Brooklyn thinking?" Danny asked, shaking his head in disbelief. "She's on the job. She knows first hand the kinds of enemies cops make. She knows the dangers of someone coming after you. Yet she goes and does something like this? What was she thinking?"

"She wasn't," Speed said. "Obviously. That picture caused all kinds of hell this morning for Flack apparently. Guess they got into some massive blow out before he came stomping into work. And rightfully so. He should be pissed. Ask me she's fucking stupid."

"Ask me we should all mind our own business," Hawkes said without looking up from his reports.

"Why do you always have to be so passive and diplomatic?" Speed asked him.

"I am not passive, nor diplomatic," the other man said in his calm, smooth voice. "I just don't think it's anything for us to be discussing behind their backs. Samantha and Flack's problems are just that. Their problems. They're not for us to be talking about so lightly. Or gossiping about."

"You're such a girl," Danny complained.

"Call me what you will," Hawkes said. "But I know where my loyalties lie. And where they do, is none of your guys' business."

"We know where your loyalties lie too, Doc," Danny said. "'Cause we all know what a massive crush you have on Flack' wife."

"First off, I do not have a crush on her," Hawkes defended himself. "Second, she's more than just Flack's wife. She has a name. And referring to her as Flack's wife is demeaning and disrespectful. She's not his personal property. She's his in name only."

"In name," Danny said. "In name. Which means she belongs to him."

"She took his name when she married him," Hawkes told his colleague. "She didn't sign over ownership of herself to him. She's still a human being who can make her own choices and her own decisions without seeking, or needing, his approval."

"You've got such a crush on her," Danny said, shaking his head and sipping his pop.

"Fine. And if I do, that's also my business. Look but don't touch. Plain and simple."

"My point is that Sam should have had the respect for him and the decency not to let Reed take a picture of her and Kieran," Speed said. "Herself, maybe. But their child? Kieran is Flack's son. His flesh and blood. His first born child and the apple of his eye. He would do anything for that kid and we all know that. And she put the life of his kid in danger but letting Reed take that photo."

"I disagree," Hawkes said shaking his head.

"Of course you would because you have a crush on her," Danny told him. "It was wrong. Plain and simple. How do you agree with that? If Angell and you had kids and she did that would you just sit back and not react? 'Cause if you tell me you would, you're just as big of a cupcake as Adam."

"I would be angry, yes," Hawkes said. "But I would also listen to her reasons for doing it and not go off on her like Flack did apparently. He got physical with her."

"Get outta here," Danny snorted. "Flack? He'd never hit Brooklyn. Not in a million years. He'd jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge if he ever hit her. Hell, I'd kill him and he knows it. He would not, and did not hit her. And unless you have the proof in front of me…"

"I didn't say he hit her," Hawkes said. "I said he got physical. Grabbed her. By the arm. Left bruises. And that's by his own admission."

Danny's eyes narrowed. "He told you this?"

"He told us," Speed admitted. "In confidence."

"Which is why we shouldn't be talking about this," Hawkes ascertained. "Their marital discord is none of our business. It's up to them to fix it and get past it."

"I refuse to believe that he hurt his wife," Danny argued. "Not Flack. No way. I've known him to punch other people or walls when he's pissed off with her, but I have never, ever known him to come close to hurting her in any way. He loves her. To death."

"And sometimes it's the people we love the most that we hurt the worst," Hawkes pointed out.

"He wouldn't, and couldn't, hurt his wife," Danny remained firm. "So I don't know why he told you he did, because I know him and I know he wouldn't do it. So unless he walks in here and tells me he did it to my face, it never happened as far as I'm concerned."

"I still think we should all just shut up about it," Hawkes said. "No good is going to come out of it. And trust me, bringing it up to him is only going to make things worse and piss him off even more."

"He's my best friend," Danny reminded the other man. "He'll want to talk about it with me."

"Think so?" Hawkes asked.

"I know so."

"You're that positive?"

"A hundred percent," Danny declared.

"Well good," Hawkes told him. "Because here comes your chance. He's on his way in."

Danny and Speed looked towards the door as Flack, a cup of coffee in his hands and his cell phone pressed to his ear and a scowl on his weary looking face entered the break room and journeyed towards them. Hawkes did little more than nod at the detective in greeting and go back to his folders as Flack took a seat at beside Danny and snapped his phone closed and tossed it onto the table with a clatter.

"Bad day?" Speed asked.

Flack snorted and sipped his coffee. Than noticed the newspaper sitting in front of his best friend and gave a small, I don't fucking believe this type chuckle and shook his head.

"Talk to the wife?" Danny asked, and received a kick to the shin under the table from Hawkes.

"I've been trying to call her all morning and just now," Flack said. "She's not answering at the apartment or her cell. She's suppose to be here at three but I'm starting to wonder if she's going to show."

"Things get nasty this morning?" Danny inquired.

"A little," Flack admitted. "Why? You guys need more fodder for your gossip?"

"Just curious," his best friend responded. "Just a little worried about some things I've heard is all."

"Yeah?" the detective asked, sipping his coffee. "Well I didn't beat the shit out of her regardless of what people around here might be saying. I grabbed her arm. That's it. I didn't smack her around or anything. So if that's what you heard, or if that's what you guys are spreading around here, knock the shit off, okay?"

"No one is spreading nothing," Danny assured him. "But for the record, I don't think she should have done it and I don't blame you for being pissed. Personally, I'd be kicking her ass all over the city for putting my kid at risk like that. I mean, you've said it yourself many times. She's crazy. Unstable. And if you're looking for a legal leg to stand on to take Kieran…"

Flack held his hand up to halt his friend mid sentence. "What?" he asked.

"She's nuts for doing that. Putting your kid's safety at risk," Danny continued. "And if you were thinking about taking off and taking the kid, you could use that as grounds to…"

"Are you out of your fucking mind!" Flack roared and in sheer anger, tossed the cup of coffee across the room. Sending it colliding with the window and splattered the hot liquid all over the glass and floor and leaving Danny and Speed and the lab techs staring at him in absolute horror.

"Take it easy, Don…" Danny said.

"Take it easy!" he bellowed as he got to his feet. "Take it easy! You call my wife crazy! You tell me to leave her and take my kid and say she's an unfit mother? Don't you even dare bad mouth my wife, Messer. She may have some issues and she may have screwed up and I'm really pissed at her for it, but she's a goddamn good mother and an amazing wife. And if I want your fucking opinion, I'll ask for it! And seeing as I didn't ask for it and I don't want it, shut your goddamn trap!"

Danny and Speed watched as the furious detective stormed from the room, grabbing the open door and slamming it shut with enough force to nearly shatter the glass.

"Well that went well," Speed said with a sigh.

Hawkes gave a smug smile as he continued flipping through his reports. "I told you so," he said.

* * *

Samantha sighed heavily and pushed her glasses up onto her forehead and closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. She'd been hunkered down over the table in lay out for over two hours. Attempting to find evidence, even the tiniest shred, off of a severely decomposed body found by squatters in a long ago boarded up factory in China Town. The clothing reeked of must and rotten Bok Choy and sour soya sauce. And most of all death. It was taken all of her will power to not pull over a garbage can to throw up profusely into. Her stomach had been queasy all day. A mixture of bad nerves and fright and pregnancy. Her brain swimming in thoughts and the echoing of the words and threats that her husband had tossed her way during their argument that morning.

Argument did not accurately describe what had went down. It was far more than an argument and she knew it. An argument didn't include the nasty, hateful things that had come out of his mouth. Or the blinding fear that he had stirred up inside of her. Or the way he had physically grabbed her. Hard enough to still hurt and leave behind the start of some nasty bruises.

That was not a simple misunderstanding That was a knock down, drag 'em out fight that had quickly and startlingly spiralled out of control. There had never been a time that she had been afraid of her husband. Sure, his yelling and throwing things around had frightened her on more than one occasion. But she'd always been able to calm him down or let him wander off and cool down on his own. This time had been different. This time she'd seen the chance in his eyes, in his face that he may actually hit her. And she hadn't been scared of something like that since Zack.

Tears burned in her eyes that she had managed to compare the two. Because Don Flack was nothing like Zack Tanner and she knew it. Zack had been sick and twisted and cold and vindictive and got off on hurting people. Don was, for the most part, compassionate and loving and gentle behind closed doors. He didn't talk down to her or make her feel worthless. He made her feel special and adored. And loved.

She had made a mistake. A stupid, stupid mistake. She knew that she never should have let Reed take that picture. She should have just said no and been firm about it. Her life, and most of all, her child's life, should have meant more to her.

But for some reason she hadn't seen that. And now stood the risk of losing everything that mattered most to her.

She sniffled noisily and pushed her glasses back down onto her nose and went back to work. The search for anything remotely useable had been in vain so far. But she wasn't going to give up.

On anything.

A knock came to the glass wall behind her and she cast a glance over her shoulder. To where her husband, in jeans and a heavy black, white and blue Columbia River ski jacket, and hiking boots and a ball cap stood watching her. A carry tray of hot drinks in one hand, a small plastic bag in the other.

Her heart caught in her throat and her stomach fluttered. Such a contrasting mix of emotions of sadness, anxiety and undeniable attraction that came over her all at once. Because she loved him. That was never in question. Nor was the fact that he was phenomenally attractive and her stomach twisted and turned whenever she saw him. What was in question was what in the hell they were doing together sometimes.

She motioned for him to come inside of the lab. She was alone save for the music playing on the radio across the room.

"Hey," she said in greeting as he paused in the doorway.

"Hey," Flack responded.

"You can come in, you know. I'm not going to bite you."

"I was thinking more of staying outside because I'm off duty."

"And your point? I always go in the labs when I'm off duty and visiting with Kieran."

"Well that's you," he said.

"I'm kind of in the middle of something here, Donnie," she told him.

"Can't you lock the lab up and take five minutes?" he asked. "I just want to talk, Sammie. I didn't come here to fight with you. I just want to talk."

She sighed and snapped off her latex gloves and tossed them in the trash. Crossing the room, she dimmed the lights slightly and made sure her key card was in the pocket of her lab coat before setting the alarm via the touch pad mounted on the wall by the door, hitting the button that ARMED and closing the door behind her as she stepped out into the hallway.

"Where's Kieran?" she asked. "It's quarter to ten."

"My mom took him back to Queens for the night after I told her what happened when I got home."

"And what? She told her baby boy to come here and make amends?"

He sighed. "I am not here to be a bad guy, Sammie. I'm not. I just want to talk. That's it. I want to talk to my wife. Is there something wrong with that?"

"Of course not. I'm just surprised to see you here."

"I wanted to make sure you got home okay," he told her. "I didn't want you coming home alone."

"I drove today. It's kinda stupid having two cars here."

"I didn't drive. I walked here."

"In the cold?" her eyes widened. "That's like an hour walk, Donnie."

He shrugged. "I needed to clear my head. Think about things. And I didn't want you coming home alone like I said. I mean, you were going to come home, right?"

"You actually have to ask me that?" she asked, saddened by the thought he felt the need to.

"Apparently," Flack replied.

"Of course I was going to come home. I never thought about not coming home to my boys."

He managed a small smile. "Are we going to stand here in the hallway all night or…?"

"We can sit in my office," she said, leading the way down the hall. "Danny's long gone home so we don't have to worry about him sticking his nose in where it doesn't belong."

* * *

They journeyed down the desolate hall to the office she shared with her partner. She paused at the locked door and punched yet another code into another key pad. There was a small beep followed by a loud click and she laid a hand on the door and pushed it open. She flicked on the lights and they retreated to the small seating area by the window. Two small black faux leather couches with a glass coffee table separating them. Flack sat the bag and carry tray down on the table and unzipped his coat and tossed it on one of the couches as Sam took a seat at the other. She stared at him, her heart sinking, as he sat on the opposite couch.

"So that's what it's come down to?" she asked. "Are we going to be like this at home, too? Live together yet separately at the same time?"

"I'm pissed, Samantha," he said in a way of reply. He took one of the take out cups out of the tray and sat it in front of her. "They didn't have green so I got you de-caf Earl Grey. And I brought your vitamins and folic acid shit," he nodded at the bag. "Because you'd forgotten them at home and you're supposed to take them faithfully."

"I went to CVS on my break and put some extra bottles to keep in my locker," she told him.

He gave a small laugh. "You always have to do that?"

"What?" she asked, picking up her tea and breaking open the tab on the lid.

"I try and do something nice for you and you shit all over it. Why couldn't you just say 'thanks Don'? Why did you have to even tell me you bought them? Why couldn't you just keep your mouth shut so I could feel like a decent human being for at least thinking about you and our baby?"

"Do you even want there to be a baby?" she asked honestly.

"Don't turn this around on me, Sam. Don't find a way to turn me into the evil bastard. You fucked up and you know it. And when you fuck up you always try your dammdest to turn me into the bad guy. Don't do it. For once, don't do it."

She sighed and sipped the tea.

"Are you going to answer my question or are we just going to sit here all night staring at each other?" Flack asked.

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to tell me why you do what you do. I do something nice so I feel like less of a prick and you just shoot me down and make me feel worthless. You get a kick out of that? Pushing me down and watching me crawl my way back up? You get some kind of perverse pleasure out of treating me like shit 'cause you know for the most part you can get away with it?"

"I don't…" she attempted to argue.

"You do and don't deny it. Don't sit here and tell me that I don't let you get away with a hell of a lot. Lying to me about your ties to Pelham Bay and that Evan Lucerno moron, lying to me from the very moment I met you about who Zack really was. Remember that? You asked me for help because you were worried he was coming down here? Just after we met? You asked me for my help and I gave it to. Not because I had to. Because I wanted to. And you couldn't even tell me the truth at first. Some guy you knew," Flack snorted and shook his head. "And you probably never would have told me had I not called your ex-boss in Arizona and asked who this prick Zack was."

"Of course I would have," she said quietly.

"When? After he came here and tried to abduct you in broad daylight? Or would you have waited longer and maybe told me once we got married?"

"I was going to tell you. Just like I was going to tell you about Evan."

"But you didn't. Not right away. You held onto it until it was ready to jump up and bite you in the ass. You told me when you got scared I was going to find out on my own. Just like you did with Chester Lake. Only I already knew and I sat back and waited to see just how honest you really are in this marriage."

"So I'm a lying bitch. Is that what you're trying to say? Get it all out, Don. Say what you really feel. Lay it all out on the table and we can see if this marriage is worth working for."

"I want you to stop hiding shit from me and lying to me all the time," he told her. "And if you have to sit there and tell me that we have to see if our marriage is worth fighting for than obviously it isn't to you."

"Fine," she snapped. "You want honesty? You want us to be open and up front and have a nice little therapy session right here?"

"Good as place as any, I figure."

"Okay. Than it's my turn. I hate you sometimes. I hate you for being mean and arrogant and conceited. I hate you for the way you talked to me today and the little shots you always seem to get in at me about something. The little names you call me and the way you look down on me."

"I don't.."

"Let me finish!" she pleaded. "The way you treat me sometimes that I should be walking behind you instead of along side of you. That I'm nothing more than some piece of property. That I'm just your wife and the mother of your kid and your fuck buddy."

He just nodded, listening intently, taking in her words and the seriousness in her eyes.

"And I hate you for cheating on me with Devon," she admitted. "I know that we were just at the beginning of our relationship and you were upfront and honest about it and I appreciated that. But I've never forgotten it and I don't know if I ever will. And I don't know if I can ever forgive you for it. And I'm angry at your for it!" tears slipped down her cheeks. "I'm angry and that's why I do the things I do and say the things I say because of all that anger inside of me. And I'm tired of being angry all the time, Don. I don't want to be angry anymore. I want us to be happy and in love and raising our family together. That's all I want."

"That's all I want, too, Sammie…you know that. But there's all these strikes against us and I don't know how much more I can take."

"So that's it? You just want to call it a day on our marriage and go our separate ways?" she looked at him in disbelief, her eyes dark and distressed.

"No. That's not what I want. At all, baby. That's far from what I want."

"And this thing with Reed…I fucked up. I admit that. I never should have let him take that picture. I should have known better. But I wasn't thinking and I was emotional over the whole thing and I just went along with whatever. But I certainly didn't do anything to intentionally put my son in danger. Our son! Because you know how much I love Kieran, Donnie. He's my baby and you can't tell me that I don't love him and that I'm a shitty mother. Because I'm not. I stayed home longer with him when you asked me too! I temporarily gave up my friends and my career to take care of him. And I don't regret doing it at all. But to hear you tell me that you'll take him from me and destroy me…" she shook her head and leaned back against the couch and put a hand over her eyes as she lost her composure.

Flack sniffed back his own threatening tears and got up from the couch and went over to her desk and picked up the box of Kleenex that rested by the phone and carried them over to her. Gently nudging her arm with the box so she'd realize they were there before sitting down beside her. His elbows on his knees, staring at the floor as he used the thumb and index finger on his right hand to play with the wedding band to absentmindedly turn his wedding band around and around over again.

"I'm sorry, okay?" she sobbed. "I'm sorry that I did what I did. That I was stupid and I put myself and Kieran at danger. I didn't mean to. And than you threaten me and tell me you'll take him and I'll never see him again."

"I'd never take him from you, Samantha," Flack assured her, laying a hand on the back of her head. "Ever. I was pissed off. I said things and I did things I'm not proud of. And I never meant to hurt you."

"I'm scared of you," she admitted. "I'm scared of you and I don't want to be. Because I love you and loving someone should not be a scary thing. And I'm terrified of you now and that's a horrible feeling."

It was a horrible thing to hear. Your wife telling you that she was afraid of you. Because that was the last thing in the world he wanted to hear. He wanted their marriage to be based on respect and trust and love. Not have her too terrified to move. His stomach felt sick at her honest words. And the tears he'd fought so hard to hold back rolled down his face.

"It's okay, Sammie," he whispered, stroking her hair. "Just tell me what I need to do to fix this. To make this right. Because that's the last thing I want, baby. Do you want me to leave for a while? Go and stay at my parents and see what we can do to turn this around?"

"No," she cried. "That's the last thing I want. I don't want you leaving. Leaving Kieran and me and now a new baby."

"Than tell me what I need to do to make this better. Because I don't like this idea of you being afraid of me. Tell me or show me what I can do to make it better for you. For us."

"I just…I don't know…I just don't know…" she admitted. "You being here. Showing up here to talk and letting me being honest and vice versa with no shouting or mean stuff…that's a start. A big start."

"Okay. There must be something else."

She nodded. And turning to her husband, wrapped both of her arms around his torso and buried her head in his chest.

"I promise you everything is going to be okay," Flack told her, embracing her tightly and kissing the top of her head.

"I need to get back to work. So I can get out of here and we're not stuck here all night," she sniffled, relaxing in his warmth.

"So we're here all night. So what? I'm not going anywhere. Neither are you. Let Danny find us here, curled up on the couch, fast asleep when he comes in."

She laughed. "He'd just love that. He'd probably take photos and post them in the labs."

"Wouldn't put it past him," Flack said. "But you're right. I really don't want to be here all night either. I'd rather be at home. Cuddling on our own couch. Or in bed. Wherever we end up. Kitchen floor like the other morning with icing all over us."

She giggled at the recent memory. "You were a master with the vanilla icing," she said.

"I'm like your brother. Jack of all trades. Master of none."

She sat up and wiped her eyes on her sleeve and kissed him softly. "I have at least two hours of work ahead of me," she told him. "So if you want to go home than.."

He kissed her.

"I'll wait," he told her. "Forever if I have too."

"Be careful what you wish for. It could happen."

"Nah. I think I used up my wishing star the day I met you. 'Cause that was worth a million wishes right there."

She smiled. "You're so corny, Donald Flack Jr," she declared.

"But you love me," he said.

She nodded and gave him one last kiss. Longer and more intense.

"Forever," she vowed.

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all you lurkers! Show some love people! **

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Brrtmclv**

**Laurzz**

**muchmadness**

**laplandgurl**

**wolfeylady**

**Forest Angel**

**ImaSupernaturalCSI**

**Bluehaven4220**

**shopaholic20**

**Soccer-bitch**


	39. Two Couples, one silver lining

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN….BLAH BLAH BLAH. YOU ALL KNOW THE DRILL.**

**A/N: Okay, so for the most part, this chapter is somewhat DL and Danny centric. Which I am extremely nervous about because as you all know, DL is not my usual shtick. But I thought I'd give it try. So I'd like to give my very good friend, Laurzz, much love and thanks for giving me the support, and courage, to try my hand at this stuff.**

**And I wasn't going to post this soon, but I just couldn't wait. So enjoy!**

* * *

**Two couples, one silver lining**

"Under an old brass paperweight  
is my list of things to do today  
Go to the bank and the hardware store,  
put a new lock on the cellar door  
I cross 'em off as I get 'em done but when the sun is set  
There's still more than a few things left  
I haven't got to yet  
Go for a walk, say a little prayer  
Take a deep breath of mountain air  
Put on my glove and play some catch  
It's time that I make time for that  
Wade the shore and cast a line  
Look up a long lost friend of mine  
Sit on the porch and give my girl a kiss  
Start livin', that's the next thing on my list  
Wouldn't change the course of fate  
but cuttin' the grass just had to wait  
'Cause I've got more important things  
like pushin' my kid on the backyard swing  
I won't break my back for a million bucks I can't take to my grave  
So why put off for tomorrow what I could get done today."  
-My List, Toby Keith

* * *

The sun was just beginning to rise. A brilliant display of shades of orange and pink glowing on the horizon. It was a cooler morning than those recently. Over night the temperatures had dipped into the high fifties and now hovered in the low to mid sixties. A soft dew lined the grass and sparkled in the rays of sun and a gentle, crisp breeze danced through the treetops.

Samantha woke to an empty bed. An empty floor, really. Because after over an hour of attempting sleep in a bed that was way too crowded for someone Flack's size let alone him and a second person, they just moved all the pillows and blankets to the floor at the side of the bed closest to the open window and settled down there. Hardwood didn't make the most comfortable mattress in the world, but after some grumbling and complaining on both of their parts, she'd finally just snuggled up to her husband with her arm over his chest and her leg over his thighs and her nose tucked into the side of his neck and promptly fallen asleep.

She was emotionally drained. The passing of her father in law after such a lengthy illness, although a blessed and welcome relief for both him and those that had watched him wither away and become nothing more than a shadow of himself, had wiped her out. It had brought back non to welcome memories of the others that she had loved, and lost, throughout her life. The work related death of Chester Lake. Watching Sid suffer with, and eventually succumb to, cancer. Sarge dying so unexpectedly. All three were grouped together in her mind and not a day went by where she wasn't sitting alone, at a down time of the afternoon or at night lying in bed when she had time to think, that they didn't cross her mind.

And now her father in law to add to the list. Their relationship, which had started out awkward and strained, had grown over the years into one of mutual love and respect. He would often tell her that she was the best thing that had ever happened to his first born son. His namesake. That Donnie Jr had become a man the day he had married her. That she had taken him and turned him into the husband and father that Don Senior knew his son was capable of. Sam always begged off the compliments and told him that it was his son who had changed himself. She had nothing to do with. And the old man would laugh and wave off her modesty and tell her that she better keep that boy of his line and not let him go wandering off and getting himself into a mess. Or he'd have his father to answer to.

Now his father was gone. And although Sam admired her husband for the way he handled himself with such poise and strength, for being the stead fast pillar of support for those around him, she also knew that it was going to catch up to him. The reality of the situation would come crashing down on him when he least expected it. And she was going to be the one that was there for him. His comfort and his strength just as he'd been hers for almost sixteen years now. After all the heart ache and the struggles and all the tears and pain, he had always been there. Giving a lot and expecting so little. And now it was her time, her chance, to show how grateful and appreciative she was for all that he'd ever done, and all that he'd ever given her.

When she found the bedroom empty, she'd managed to pull her aching bones up off of the floor with a lot of moaning and groaning and creaking and cracking, and grabbed the soft pink velour hoodie that she had snatched from her hall closet and yanked on as she hurried out the door the night before. It was one of Reghan's favourite items of clothing, but it was the first thing Samantha had seen when she opened the closet door in the front foyer and she hoped her daughter wasn't going to miss it too much. The surprising thing was that it actually fit. At thirteen, almost fourteen, Reghan was already three inches taller than her mother.

She headed from the bedroom and padded softly down the hallway. She paused outside of her mother in law's door, her hand on the knob as she listened for any movement or noise coming from inside. She waited for a minute and heard nothing and than retreated, heading down the creaky stairs and into the living room and through to the kitchen where she could smell coffee. The room was empty, but the door that led out onto the back porch was open slightly, allowing the cool morning air to seep into the house.

Yawning loudly, she snagged a mug from the cupboard above the sink and poured herself some coffee from the still steaming pot and headed outside.

Flack glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the back door squeaking open. Smiling softly at his wife as she stepped outside in her bare feet and their daughter's sweater over the hideous night dress she'd borrowed from his mother.

"Good morning," she greeted in a soft voice, as he held out a hand to take the mug of coffee from her so she could sit down beside him. She pressed a kiss to his rough, unshaven cheek and nuzzled the spot below his ear with her nose before taking the coffee back from him.

"Good morning. You don't usually drink my coffee. That's my poison."

"I was too lazy to fill the kettle and wait for it to boil for a tea," she said, sipping the strong brew. "How long have you been up for?" she asked.

He sighed. "I never slept. I just lied awake all night listening to you talk away in your sleep about everything under the sun. Than my back and my knees really started killing me so I just got up and I watched some t.v. for a bit and when the sun started coming up, I made some coffee and here I am."

"You really need to get some sleep," she said gently, rubbing his back softly. "We've got a long day ahead of us. A long few days probably."

"I'll sleep when I'm tired," he told her.

She didn't have the heart to tell him that he looked, and sounded, exhausted and that the time for sleep was obviously now. Instead she rested her head against his shoulder and curled her arm around his bicep and they sat and watched the remainder of the sunrise.

He glanced at what she was wearing. "Isn't that Reggie's sweater?"

Sam nodded.

"Shes going to kick your ass for taking her favourite sweater. I can't believe it fits you."

"She's got your height, Donnie. And just think, I have just proved what you have always teased me about. I can fit in stuff for a thirteen year old."

He grinned and pecked her cheek. "You've always been my Tinks," he teased and she smiled.

"I figure I'll go home sometime this afternoon and talk to the kids," Sam said. "Unless you wanted to tell them yourself."

"That's fine. You can tell them. You're better at that kind of thing than I am. You always know what to say to them. I handle things like I'm delivering news to a vic's family. I'll stay here with my mom and help her start planning things. Not that I know what the hell goes into that type of thing."

"Well I'll grab some clothes for us and personal stuff while I'm home and we can go over things when I get back here. Lindsay already said that she and Danny can stay with the kids as long as we need them to. And Carmen left a message on your phone that she was sorry and Speed gave her the go ahead to stay at our house and help Linds and Danny out. She said she's going to pop Alessa on home after Kieran's hockey game. I said it was okay if she spent the weekend as long as she cleared it with her parents. Because seriously, that's like nine kids in one house and there is no way Danny and Lindsay could have their sanity intact at the end of that."

"Think the kids will be okay? Without one of us there?"

"Are you kidding? They'll probably be on their best behaviour. And we have four teenagers that would love nothing more than be away from mommy and daddy for a while. Well, maybe not Kieran. He really wants to be here for you. You know that, right?"

Flack nodded.

"He's growing up so quickly, Donnie. When I look at him…I don't know when I look at him I can't believe that fifteen years has gone by so quickly. I remember how scared we were after he was born and he got so sick and how happy we were to finally bring him home. And that trip we took, to Far Rockaway beach? Do you remember that? He was seven months old and you took that picture of me and him in the water? Do you remember?"

"I remember that he loved the water," he said. "And that he was practically a fish after that. That kid would live in the water, I think."

"Remember his first birthday?" she laughed. "When he had cake from one end of the kitchen to the other? Up his nose and in his ears and every where else in between. Took me damn near two hours to scrub it off of him in the tub."

"I remember Danny wearing that stupid In the Night Garden party hat off to the side of his head and him and Kieran sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor making a hideous mess out of pizza and ice cream and cake and Danny saying, the things I don't do for you kid."

"Danny enjoyed every minute of it," Sam declared. "He was into the party more than anyone else. That was fun, wasn't it? It was silly and stupid for the most part but it was a lot of fun."

He nodded. "I was just so relieved that when you brought that cake out for me, it wasn't Hello Kitty."

She giggled and kissed the side of his neck. "You really didn't think that I'd do that to you in front of your friends, did you?"

"Sammie, if there's one thing I've learned about you, it's expect anything."

"Your life would be so boring without me, Donnie. You'd be miserable and lonely."

"That I would," he agreed, and pulling his arm out of her grasp, wrapped it around her and pulled her tight against his side, his hand resting on her hip.

"Dean Lessing," she said quietly.

"What about him?" Flack asked.

"I was thinking about him taking Kieran. And now scared I was that I'd never see him again. And how I've never forgiven myself for what happened."

"It wasn't your fault, Sammie. You know that. You just made a mistake. And innocent mistake. How many times had you left Kieran sleeping in the apartment while you ran downstairs with a load of laundry? Tons of times. How were you supposed to know that that one time someone was just waiting for the chance to snag him?"

"I never should have left him. And if something had have happened to him…"

"Well it didn't," Flack told her. "And we're lucky that Lessing wasn't out to hurt him. That he was just using him to send a message. Or whatever bullshit it was that he was spewing in the end. Because he thought of all people that would understand his methods and his plans it would be me. What did he call me and him? Comrades in arms?"

Sam nodded.

"Guy blows me up and he thinks that I'm one of his men? That I'd understand why he was as fucked up as he was? That of all people who would get it would be me? Only thing I got was that he was seriously disturbed and needed to be locked up for a very long time. Which is thankfully what happened to him."

"After you nearly kill him," Sam said.

"I should have. To this day I wish I hadn't have stopped when Danny and Speed pulled me off of him."

"And than you know what would have happened?" Sam asked. "Than Kieran and I would have lost you because you would have been in jail for the rest of your life. You did the right thing, Donnie. You walked away in the end. Kieran was safe and that's all that mattered. And now look at him.."

"Kid's huge," Flack said. "Never thought he'd be that big at fifteen. I don't even think I was that big at fifteen. I think I was seventeen and hit a growth spurt and went from five eight to six two in six months. He's already what, six one?"

"And a half," Sam said. "And he weighs a hundred and ninety five pounds."

"Jesus Christ, woman. What was in that breast milk you were feeding him when he was a baby? Human growth hormones or something? He's going to hit eighteen and be six seven and two fifty if he keeps going like it is. He's just going to be crushing people in the NHL."

"And if that isn't what he wants to do? Or if he doesn't get that far? I mean, there's a lot of kids with talent that never get there."

"So he plays in college and than gets an awesome job in whatever he's studying."

"Donnie, you know that.."

"Don't say it, Sammie. Please don't say it. Because yeah, I do know he probably won't get there. That he has other plans and there's probably not a damn thing I can do to change his mind. And if that's what he wants, to be a cop, than…I don't know…" Flack shrugged.

"He just wants to make you proud, Donnie. And he thinks that by becoming a cop, by following in your footsteps and his grandfather's footsteps…"

"It shouldn't be about wanting me to proud of him. It should be about him becoming a cop because he wants to be one, " Flack argued. "I made that mistake. I thought me becoming a cop would make my ild man proud of me. It's why I did it. And sometimes, as much as I love my job and how far I've come, I seriously wish I'd done something different."

"Maybe you should be telling Kieran all of this. Because he thinks the only way you'll be proud of him is being just like you."

"I'm proud of him each and every day for something he does. For getting a decent grade on a test or seeing how he is with Declan or when I think about how he could be out doing drugs and stealing cars and whatever else crazy shit he could be doing. Because he's a damn good kid."

"Because we raised him that way," she said. "Because once we were able to realize that all of our fighting and the hate we spewed at each other while he was around was only hurting him, we were able to be a team and a proper husband and wife and raise him the right way. And we've never had easy times, Donnie. But we've always got through them and we were always stronger for them. You see that, don't you? How strong all of that made our relationship? Our marriage? Our love? You must see that."

"I do. Every day I think about that. About all the shit we survived. All the times we nearly tore everything apart yet here we are. Almost sixteen years later. It's surreal. Sometimes I just sit back and think about things. We've been married fifteen years, Sammie. We have six kids. We want more. I mean, is that not just crazy when you think about it?"

"I want more," she corrected him. "You're going to do all the research, remember?"

"I don't need to do any research. If that's what you want, Sammie…"

"I want you to want it too," she said. "Because you're just as much responsible for a new baby as I am."

He sighed heavily. "It's a huge responsibility," he said. "We're not in our thirties anymore. We're well into our forties, Sam. You're almost fifty."

"I've got two years and a month until I hit fifty, I'll have you know."

"Old for having kids. Both of us are pretty old to be taking care of a baby. And the chances, of having another one with Downs…"

"We'll get all the testing done and take care of things if it turns out that way," she said.

"So if we do this where do we go first? We see one of them fertility people or what?"

"I guess we'd talk to the family doctor first and she'd make a referral for us. I mean, we could try the old fashioned way for a few months and see what happens."

"Why don't we try the old fashioned way and see a specialist? Kill two birds with one stone so to speak?"

She smiled and laid her hand on the back of his neck and kissed his cheek softly. "You have a beautiful mind, you know that?"

"There's occasionally a method to my madness," he said with a chuckle. "You know, we did pretty good with all of our kids. They don't get themselves into much trouble. As far as we know they're not skipping school and hanging out with the wrong crowds. Older ones are a little mouthy and break curfew once in a while but nothing that's too get too excited about. Declan's come leaps and bounds and did better than I think either of us expected him to when we found out about his diagnosis. I think we both saw nothing but doom and gloom at first."

Sam nodded in agreement.

"Mikayla's doing well in school and she's happy save for these boy problems no eleven year old should be having. And Liam…well, Liam the Demon is a story all in himself. Go figure the only one that looks just like you also acts just like you."

"And what's that suppose to mean?" she laughed, tousling his hair. "That I'm a bad ass, hell raiser?"

He nodded. "Pretty much."

"If that isn't the pot calling the kettle black."

"Smallest one causes the most problems," Flack reasoned, and pressed a kiss to her temple. "But we did good," he said. "And we'll do good with another baby, too. I might be a little rusty after seven years, but I'll pick it up with some practice."

"Are you referring to the actual caring for the baby or the baby making?" she teased.

"Okay, smart ass," he laughed and lightly pinched her hip. "You usually don't complain about my baby making techniques at the time. Why you always gotta make fun of me and ride my ass about it afterwards?"

"Because it's fun," she reasoned. "I like teasing you and getting you all hot and bothered."

"You always have," he said, and yawned noisily.

"You really should get some sleep, Donnie," she suggested gently. "I don't want you burning yourself out and making yourself sick. You won't be any good to your mom if you do that."

"I know," he said with a sigh. "But for once…for once I don't want to be the one doing things for other people. The one that's always there picking up the pieces and taking care of everyone and everything. Maybe for once I'd like someone to do all of that for me. 'Cause it's tiring, Sammie. Being that one person everyone relies on. It's so goddamn tiring, baby."

"I know," she said, and ran her fingers through the hair at the back of his head affectionately.

"In a way it's good. That he's gone. Because watching my mom go through what she's been going through, back and forth to the home every day and caring for him despite the fact all he did from the moment he met her was treat her like complete shit. How do you love someone like that? Does that make any sense to you? To love someone that beat on you and beat on your kids constantly? Does that makes sense?"

Sam shook her head.

"She loved him still after all of that and I don't get it. Why would she stay? Why didn't she just leave him after me and Chris were out of the house? There was nothing holding her back one we were gone. No kids to worry about. Yet she still stayed. Why? So she wouldn't lose her lifestyle? What lifestyle? Does this look like Camelot to you?"

"People have their reasons, Donnie. Your mom must have reasons of her own."

"Was I that bad, Sammie? Was I? To you and our kids? Am I that bad? Am I like him?"

"Of course not. You're nothing like him."

"I mean, I know we've had our problems and things haven't always been easy. But am I that bad?"

"No. You're not bad at all. You know that. And your dad…your dad made his peace with himself and with the people in his life before he became ill and you need to let go of this anger and bitterness that you have inside for him. I know you loved him. Despite everything the two of you had been through. And it's time that you just put that all behind you."

"I'm just so angry, Samantha. At him. For the way he treated my mom. For the way he treated my brother and me. For the way he treated you and Kieran without even giving either of you a chance."

"That's a long time ago, Don. You need to let that go. Okay? Because it's been eating away at you all the years and that's not good baby. And you know that's not good."

"I just wanted him to say he was sorry. Just once. Just once I wanted him to look me in the eye and tell me that he was sorry for the things he did and the things he said about you and the baby. That's all I wanted. And he could never give me that for some reason. And now I'll never get that out of him. And that's what hurts. It doesn't kill me inside that he's dead. Because he was sick and it's best that he did go when he did. What kills me is that I still had so many things to say and so many questions to ask and I'll never get that chance."

She sighed and stroked his hair. "It's okay to feel sad, Don. It doesn't mean you're weak because you feel sad about your father."

"I don't feel sad about him. That's not what I feel sad about."

"Okay…so what is it that you feel sad about?" she asked softly.

"The way I've been over the years. With you. There's been times I was a mean, nasty, condescending bastard to you. And you didn't deserve that and I didn't deserve you sticking around."

"I stuck around because I love you," she said.

"I just.." his voice cracked with emotion and the tears that he'd been holding back for so long finally caught up to him. "I'm sorry, Samantha. For every shitty, god awful thing I ever did or said to you. Because I love you and maybe I don't tell you as often as I should. Or show you as much as I should. But I love you and there's so much that I regret between me and you. That I wish I could take back."

"It's okay, Don," she said, and laying her hand on the top of his head, drew his face down to her shoulder. She wrapped her arm around his waist and with her free hand, grabbed a hold of his that rested on her hip and entwined her fingers tightly with his.

"It's not okay," he sobbed. "It's not. It's never been okay."

"Yes," she assured her, rocking back and forth as she held him fiercely. "It is okay. Just like it's okay for you to be feeling like this."

"I just want the pain to go away. All the pain and all the regret. All the mistakes I've made. Make it go away, Sammie."

She pressed a kiss to the top of her head and felt his hot tears on the side of her neck.

"I'll try," she promised.

* * *

Danny Messer was in complete and utter awe of his best friend.

It wasn't that fact that Flack's house was bigger - much, much bigger, in fact- or that he drove a better car - much, much, better, actually- or the fact he had a swimming pool in his back yard and all the toys a guy could possibly want and more. It had nothing to do with material possessions. It had to do with the fact that this man had six kids and still managed to keep his sanity.

The morning had started with Danny Jr, accompanied by Liam, bounding into the master bedroom where Danny and Lindsay had been sleeping peacefully, and pouncing on the bed and proceeding to jump up and down on it while screaming wake up over and over again. And of course, Liam, the apple of his Aunt Linds' eye, was shrieking in sheer happiness and glee that his Auntie Montanie had come to live with him for a little while. She hadn't had the heart to tell him that she was only there for a couple of days. Instead, after bestowing kisses and hugs on her own son, gathered Liam into her arms and tickled him until he howled with laughter and warned, around his hiccups and tears streaming down his face, that he was going to pee his pants.

It had been chaos since the second Danny had opened his eyes. All those kids to get washed up and dressed. Thankfully the older ones could do it themselves and then could help the littler ones out. Except for the fact that now that his Auntie Montanie was around, Liam didn't want anyone helping him but her. And Declan didn't want anyone checking up on him and making sure he'd done things right unless it was Kieran or his father. By the time everyone was showered, dressed and downstairs, Danny was ready for a nervous break down. All the noise. It was nearly deafening. All the bickering between the two oldest Flack girls and the fighting between Liam and Mikayla over the fact Liam was in her room when he was strictly forbidden from it and Declan and Kieran arguing over the fact Declan wanted to wear a red t-shirt with green cargo pants and Kieran was insisting it didn't match and his brother would look like a damn Christmas tree.

The Flack kids made the Messer kids look like damn angels. And Danny was the first to admit that his kids were nothing but sweet and innocent.

"This is just damn insane," Danny grumbled, as he stood beside his wife at the kitchen counter while she buttered an entire loaf of bread that she'd just finally finished toasting. Earlier, Danny had brought the plastic patio table and chairs in from the deck so there'd be enough sitting room for all them damn kids.

In the toaster oven were strawberry pop tarts with white icing on the top. On the stove, pancakes and sausage sizzled noisily while scrambled eggs on another burner were being kept warm on minimum heat.

The kids couldn't just be happy with toast and bowls of cereal and glasses of juice. And they couldn't be satisfied with just one meal prepared for everyone. Hell no. The moment Lindsay had strode into the kitchen with Liam practically hanging off of her legs, she'd been greeted with a menu of the different things every one wanted. And while Danny bitched and moaned about it, she just shrugged her shoulders and gave that little smile of hers and set to work. She didn't lose her patience or get frazzled. She didn't mess a damn hair on her head or lose the bounce in her step or one ounce of her bubbly personality.

"What is?" Lindsay asked, as she licked some stray butter off of her finger.

"All this chaos," her husband replied. "All this noise and craziness. Six kids, Montana! They have six kids!"

"That just means that they're both apparently really fertile," she reasoned. "And there was triplets in there, Danny. Four pregnancies and six children. If the three had have just been one, than technically there'd only be four Flack kids."

"But there wasn't just one, Linds. There was three. At one time! Bringing their total to four. They couldn't have just stopped there? They had to go for six? Half of twelve? Or are they actually trying for a baker's dozen or something?"

"What Sam and Flack do, pro-creation wise, is their business," she said, and carried the toast to the table before returning to check on the other food.

"It's not normal, Montana. You can't tell me it is. It is not normal to have that many kids this day in age when birth control is so readily available and idiot proof."

"They wanted a big family, Danny," she reminded him, as she used a fork to turn the sausage. "If they had wanted to stop, they would have. And if they want to have seven or even eight, than that's their decision to make."

"Well thank God that can't happen or I'm committing Flack myself," Danny declared as he leaned against the pantry cupboard beside the stove. "What's that little grin for?" he asked his wife.

"What little grin?" Lindsay asked innocently.

"That little grin you get when you know something I don't. When you've got a juicy piece of info you're dying to share but won't and you make me work my ass off trying to find out what it is. Don't stand there and say that you don't know what grin I'm talking about."

Lindsay reached out and snagged a piece of scrambled egg and popped it into her mouth and grinned at her husband.

"There it is again!" Danny exclaimed. "You've used it twice in two minutes! Must be something really good for that to happen."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said and moved over to the toaster oven.

"Montana…come on," Danny followed her. "You're holding out on me here. You've got something you're just itching to tell me."

"Can you get me down a little plate please? One of the plastic ones?" she asked, pointing the the cupboards near the sink.

Danny huffed with impatience and did as he was asked.

"Put these in the freezer," she instructed, dropping the Pop Tarts on the plate. "These are for Liam and Danny Jr. Two for Liam, one for DJ. They need to be cooled down before they can eat them."

"You gonna tell me what's going on or what?" Danny asked, as he walked over to the fridge and sat the plate in the freezer.

"Or what," she replied. "All you need to know is that Samantha and I had a little talk a couple of mornings ago when I stopped in for tea before picking DJ up at daycare."

"And what was this talk about?" he inquired.

"None of your business," Lindsay said, as she prepared plates of eggs and sausage.

"Don't dangle it out there like a fish on a hook and yank it back in, Montana. Don't make me work so damn hard all the time. It must be good for you to get that grin."

"Fine," she sighed in exasperation. "But you have to promise me you won't say a word of this to anyone. Especially Flack."

"Jesus Christ…she's having an affair."

"What?" Lindsay laughed at the absurdity of the idea. "Are you insane? Never. She loves that man more than life."

"She wants a divorce," Danny tried again.

"Did you not just hear what I said? Sam and Flack break up? Are you crazy? That would not only shock me but send me into a deep and impenetrable depression and prolonged state of mourning."

"Yeah, yeah. I know what a big fan you are of the SamFlackie union. But quit busting my onions here and tell me what's going on already."

Lindsay held out two plates and smiled sweetly. "Declan on the left, Mikayla on the right. Make sure you get it right. You give Mikki the one with the sausage on it and she's running from the room vomiting."

"What? She's a vegetarian or something?" he asked.

"She doesn't like the grease. She's like her Aunt Linds. Now go."

"Jesus Mary and Joseph," Danny muttered and took the plates and carried them over to the table crowded with kids.

"Our kids," Lindsay told him, holding out another two plates when he returned.

"Can't we just set up a serve yourself buffet?" Danny asked as he trudged back to the hungry, noisy natives.

"And these are for Kieran and Alannah," Lindsay said, the last two plates in hand. "Reggie and her friend Alessa said they're happy with just toast and cereal. Kieran's is the one with the strawberry jam on top of the eggs."

"That's just gross," Danny declared. "Gets his weird food combos from his mother apparently. When do we get to eat?"

"Children first, honey."

"By the time all these kids eat there'll be nothing left," he complained, taking the last two breakfasts to their rightful owners, than filling requests for glasses orange juice and milk before he was finally able to rejoin his wife as she made up plates for them. "So spill," he said, as they stood at the counter and dug into his own food. "What dirty little secret do you have on our Brooklyn?"

"It's not a dirty little secret," Lindsay told him, biting into a piece of toast. "It's just something she confided in me and told me that she's planning on mentioning to Flack sometime soon."

"Maybe she wants to quit? Stay at home full time finally?"

"That will never happen and we all know it. She told me that she wants to have another baby."

Danny spit scrambled eggs out all over the counter and down the front of his shirt. Than proceeded to choke and cough and sputter on what remained in his mouth. He grabbed his wife's cup of orange juice and took a huge swig to wash the food down.

"She wants to what?!" he exclaimed.

"Have another baby," Lindsay said calmly.

"Are you…is she…are you people seriously fucking…"

Lindsay clamped her hand over his mouth and frowned at the use of language.

"Are you people seriously mental?" Danny asked, after she'd removed her hand. "Another baby? Why?"

"Does there have to be a reason?"

"They already have six! Why does she feel the need for seven? Lucky number or something?"

"She just wants another one, okay? She doesn't need a reason to want another baby. And you have to swear to me you will not breath a word of this to Flack. It's up to her to tell him and I know you have the propensity to have a big mouth. A huge mouth actually."

"A huge mouth, huh?" Danny grinned and leaned sideways and reached out to brush a piece of hair over her shoulder and press a kiss to the side of her neck. "Other night you were raving about my big mouth," he teased and combed his fingers through her curls. So grateful she'd let her hair grow until it tumbled past her shoulders.

"It wasn't your mouth I was raving about," she said with a giggle. "It was your tongue and what you can do with it."

His grin broadened. "You always did have a thing for the Messer hidden talents. Ever since that night on my pool table."

She felt herself flush at the memory. It had been over sixteen years since that night. Since they'd been downing the tequila shots and playing pool and she'd beat him a Benjamin she could make a seemingly impossible shot. Sixteen years since she had turned to him, somewhat drunkenly, and told him he owed her some money and when he complained he was flush and she'd have to wait until pay day, she'd taken the bold step of suggesting he could pay her back in other ways.

And he had. She may have been drunk but the alcohol had done nothing to cloud what had happened that night. She could still remember the way she trembled under his touch and his ministrations. The way she had clung to him and raked her nails across his back and called out his name.

Sixteen years seemed like a long time. But to Lindsay, it seemed like just yesterday.

"Penny for your thoughts," Danny said, tapping the end of her nose with a fingertip.

"Hmm?" she asked, snapping out of her reverie and finding herself in the middle of Flack's kitchen as opposed to lying in the arms of the man she loved on that old pool table.

"You were lost in thought there for a second," Danny told her. "You wanna fill me in about what you were thinking about?"

"I wasn't thinking," she said. "I was day dreaming."

"About.." he pressed.

"The moment I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I loved you and would never love anyone else the same way ever again."

He frowned, as if trying to figure out when that time exactly was.

"You moron!" Lindsay laughed. "I was talking about the next morning. After the whole pool table incident. When I woke up in your arms and you smiled at me and touched the end of my nose just like you did a minute ago. And when I got up later on and saw that little daisy in your Giants mug and that note you scrawled on that chalk board in your kitchen? Well that just sealed the deal right than and there."

He smiled and kissed her softly. "That was one of my finer moments. And you know, I miss that chalk board. We should get one for our kitchen. Leave each other little love notes on it."

She grinned.

"But you know what I miss most of all?" Danny asked.

Lindsay shook her head.

"That pool table. 'Cause man, that was one lucky pool table if I do say so myself."

Lindsay laughed heartily, the sound quickly muted as she was drawn into her husband's arms and against his warm, strong chest and he covered his lips with hers in a smouldering, toe curling kiss that had all the kids either ooing and awing or complaining at how gross it was.

"First mom and dad and now this!" Reghan moaned. "What have we done to deserve such torture?"

As the kiss ended, leaving them both breathless and aching for so much more, Danny slid his hands down to his wife's sides and leaned his forehead hers.

"I love you," he told her. "You've always been my Montana. Even through all those years we spent apart."

Lindsay smiled and pecked his lips softly. "I love you, too," she said, and trailed a finger tip down his cheek. "And you've always been my cowboy."

* * *

The hockey game had been a complete success. The entire group that had once been a tight knit team at work, had gathered at that high school arena. There wasn't a face missing. Save for Sam and Flack who were still in Queens dealing with the aftermath of his father's death. The news of Flack Sr's demise had already spread through the department and condolences had become pouring into the house via phone calls as soon as the clock hit nine am. It had been a feat keeping the news from all of the children. Kieran had been good about not breathing a word of it and keeping a stiff upper lip despite how sad he felt.

No one talked about it in the stands during the game. They're thoughts were with Flack at his time of loss, but they were focused on all of the kids. Specifically the two on the house pouring their heart and soul into their craft. Egged on and uplifted by the cheering of their family and friends and Danny, acting in Flack's place as assistant coach, yelling encouragement across the ice at his godson playing right wing and his own son in net. Aiden Messer wasn't a big kid but he was a force to reckon with. He had a quick temper and even quicker reflexes and a smart wit. He was the hero of the high school. A legend for having an astounding record of shut outs in one season and propelling the once beleaguered varsity hockey team to the top of the stats. It had been a pleasant shock in itself when he'd even made varsity only in grade nine. But one look at his skills had shown the head coach that Aiden shouldn't be passed up on because of age or size.

At the end of sixty minutes, he had another shut out to add to his stats and was named the team MVP for the regular season. Danny had stood behind the bench, beaming with pride and a small tear in his eye and emotion choking at him as he watched his often shy, sheepish son accepting his award, and accepting a huge hug and a congratulations from his best friend. Aiden Messer and Kieran Flack were an odd couple. Aiden with his small stature and glasses and book worm looks and Kieran with his broad shoulders and strong build and those blue eyes and dimply grin that he'd inherited from his father. They were as different as night and day but as close as any friends could possibly be.

A friendship, akin to brotherhood, that their fathers had passed along.

"Awesome game, K," Danny praised his godson, laying a hand on the back of the young man's neck, as the large group headed for their cars in the crowded parking lot.

"I coulda done better," he sighed.

"What are you talking about? You had a goal and two assists? And a fight. That's a Gordie Howe hat trick."

Kieran grinned.

"You played awesome. You're not the team captain for nothing, you know? You need to go easy on yourself. You can't have a few goals each game. Hockey, and life, doesn't work like that, kid. Lots of disappoints in both. You remind me off your dad when you get like that. Second guessing and judging yourself. Your dad's like that, too."

"Yeah…but dad's better at hockey than I am."

"Your dad's also been playing longer than you have. He's thirty years old than you, K. Been lacing up the skates since he was five. But, in my honest opinion, you've got way more skills than he does. Not to mention a hell of a lot of promise. Your dad does it for fun. You could seriously make a career out of it."

"I doubt that," Kieran said, as they stopped at the back of his dad's SUV that Danny had been given personal permission to borrow.

"Don't underestimate yourself, kid," Danny said, as he unlocked and opened the rear of the SUV. "You put your mind and your talent to it, and you could be going places. And I'm not just talking hockey here. I'm talking with your schooling, too."

Kieran smirked as he loaded his equipment into the vehicle. "You've been talking to my dad. About me wanting to go into the academy."

"A little," Danny admitted. "He mentioned to me that you've been talking a lot about it."

"Just something I really want to do," Kieran said.

"You're fifteen, K. You've got a lot of time to figure out what you really want to do."

The fifteen year old sigh.

"Look, I'm not going to bitch and moan at you for thinking about becoming a cop," Danny told him, closing the back of the SUV and leaning against it as they waited for Lindsay and the rest of the kids to get a move on. They had taken two cars, obviously. Danny's own SUV was parked in the spot next to them. "But your dad, he wants more for you, okay? He wants more than you slaving away for an ungrateful city. He wants you having more than he ever did and more than he could ever give you. Understand what I'm saying?"

Kieran nodded.

"Your dad? Your dad is an amazing cop, K. I trust him with my life. There's no one else that I trust more than your father. But he became a cop to make his father happy. So his father would be proud of him. And you know what? No matter how hard your dad tried or all the arrests he made or the people he helped and those he saved, none of that mattered to your grandfather. And I know he's gone now and God rest his son, but your father did not deserve to be treated like that. And he shouldn't have had to feel that he needed that kind of approval from his old man. You know he had scouts looking at him the last year of high school? Scouts from colleges and even from the Rangers? Did you know that?"

Kieran shook his head.

"Well he did. He had a chance to make something big for himself," Danny said. "And instead, he went into the academy to prove himself worthy of his father's love. And that wasn't fair to him. And your dad loves his job and it's because of that job that he met your mom and has all you guys. And believe me, K. He loves your mother and you and all your siblings more than life itself. But there's also that small part of him that wonders what if. And he doesn't want you having any what ifs when you're his age. You see where I'm coming from?"

He nodded.

"I'm not going to tell you to not be a cop," Danny said. "If you want to be one, than that's fine. But be one because you truly, in your heart, want to be one. Not because you think it's going to make your dad proud of you or love you more. Because your dad is my best friend. I love him like a brother. And I can tell you without a doubt that he loves you and is damn proud of you no matter what you choose to do. Don't ever doubt that, K. Don't ever question if you father loves you. Because he does."

Tears sparkled in Kieran's eyes and he cleared his throat noisily and looked away.

"Kieran Flack?" a deep voice asked, as a man in his mid to late forties with short salt and pepper hair and wearing a pair of Dockers and hiking boots and a leather varsity jacket from the University of Notre Dame approached the SUV. Carrying a large manila folder.

He wiped his eyes and composed himself before turning to face the stranger. "I'm Kieran Flack," he confirmed.

"Mr Flack," the man offered Danny a hand.

Danny shook it. He didn't bother correcting the guy. He just wanted to see what was up first.

"My name is Robert Boyd," he introduced himself. "I'm the head scout for the athletic department at the University of Notre Dame."

"Home of the Fighting Irish," Danny commented. "What finds you in New York City all the way from Indiana. And in Queens, nonetheless."

"This young man right here," Boyd responded, nodding at Kieran. "I've had people watching him for three months now. His name first came to our attention when a parent of one of Kieran's team mates with a son playing for us, sent us a footage of game in January where he scored five goals and had three assists."

"And?" Danny asked.

"Archbishop Malloy is renowned for its superb athletic program. We've accepted many a student into our university. Notre Dame is an independent, national Catholic university and we have affiliations with Catholic schools all over the country."

"And…" Danny pressed.

"And we're very interested in Kieran."

"You're scouting him?" Danny asked. "He's only fifteen."

"We've followed some kids since they were even younger that showed remarkable talent. And your son, shows remarkable talent."

"Okay, first off, this isn't my son," Danny said. "Does he even look anything remotely like me? Look at him. He's at least four inches taller than me and outweighs me by about forty pounds. This is my godson. His dad couldn't make it today because his father passed away last night."

"I'm so sorry to hear about that," Boyd said sincerely. "My condolences to you and your family, Kieran."

"Thank you," the young man said quietly.

"So back to business," Danny said. "You're telling me that you're here, at this game, because you're scouting my godson?"

Boyd nodded. "And we'd like to keep scouting him. Until he's ready to graduate and make a decision as to where he wants to go in life. We've seen his transcripts. He has decent grades and I have no doubt he'd be able to continue having good grades and playing for our team."

"But he's fifteen," Danny said.

"Like I said, we've followed some kids since they were much younger. We've noticed a couple of areas that he could improve in, hockey wise."

"I'm right here," Kieran said. "You don't have to say he or talk to my Uncle. You can talk to me and call me by my name. I can carry on a conversation."

Boyd blinked, taken back by the somewhat brash tone in the young man's voice.

Danny grinned. "He's got a bit of a temper," he told the other man. "Both his folks are of Irish descent so that explains it right there. But he's right. Talk to him. He's the one you've been watching, talk to him, to his face."

"Like I've said," Boyd continued. This time speaking to Kieran. "We've been watching you for three months and we've seen game tapes and we've talked to the head coach and other players. We'd love to follow both your academic and athletic career over the next three years."

"And what than?" Kieran asked. "What happens after three years?"

"If you keep up your grades and how well you play, we'd be looking at offering you a place, at Notre Dame, on our team."

"My parents can't afford to send me to a place like that," Kieran said. "I've got five brothers and sisters. One of my brother's has special needs and my mom and dad work for the city and they can't be affording to send me to a place like that."

"We'd be more than willing to offer an athletic scholarship," Boyd told him. "If at that time, you graduate successfully and your family shows financial hardship, we wouldn't think twice at offering you a package."

"It's not that we're poor," Kieran said. "It's just…there's a lot of kids to send to college, you know."

"I know. I come from a family of eight myself."

"And you were saying there's areas I could improve on," Kieran pressed.

"One is the temper your Uncle briefly touched on. We'd like to see you have less penalty minutes and fighting majors. The second is your skating."

Kieran nodded. "Dad always says I should concentrate on that. That because I'm so big I tend to be a little slow. I guess I just let my size make up for my lack of speed."

"Have you ever heard of power skating?" Boyd asked. "That's one option you can consider. If you're serious about wanting to improve."

"Of course I am. I mean, who wouldn't want to play for the Fighting Irish," Kieran said excitedly. "I mean, I would love to. But three years is a long way away."

"Which is why we'll keep an eye on you and keep in touch," Boyd told him. "I'd love to meet with your parents but this obviously isn't the time for it. So I'll tell you what," he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a business card. "Give this to your mom and dad and ask them to call me if they have any questions. Maybe when the time is right, the three of you can come down and check out our school and meet with me."

"That sounds like a plan," Kieran said and took the card.

"And here's an information package on Notre Dame," Boyd now held out the manila folder he'd been carrying "A little light reading for you and your parents."

"Thank you," Kieran said and took the folder.

"It was nice meeting you, Kieran," the older man offered his hand.

"Likewise," the fifteen year old returned, shaking his hand.

"You as well, Mr.."

"Uncle Danny," the CSI said and shook the man's hand as well.

"I'm looking forward to hearing from your parents," Boyd told Kieran. "Again, my sincerest condolences on the loss of your grandfather. You had a hell of a game today. You showed real leadership out there. We liked that in our athletes. Take care, Kieran."

"You too," he called, as the older man headed through the parking lot.

Kieran sighed and looked down at the business card and folder in his hands. Than turned his blue eyes to his beaming, proud godfather.

"You're going places, kid," Danny said. "Mark my words."

* * *

**My nerves are just so wound up right now it's not even funny. Please no flames on the DL stuff. I really, really did try.**

**Thanks to all of those who are reading and reviewing. I appreciate each and every one of you. Even the lurkers! So show some love folks and drop me a review! Makes my day! Postings will slow down soon. So I have been enjoying writing as much as possible!**

**Special thanks to:**

**laurzz**

**hope4sall**

**brrtmclv**

**shopaholic20**

**wolfeylady**

**bluehaven4220**

**Forest Angel**

**Soccer-bitch**


	40. Surprise! X5

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN…YOU GUYS KNOW THE REST**

**A/N: ANYONE WHO CAN ACCURATELY TELL ME THE FIVE SURPRISES, WINS A DELICIOUS CYBER COOKIE! JUST FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES. AND THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVOURITE LOVE SONGS OF ALL TIME. IF YOU HAVEN'T HEARD IT, YOU REALLY SHOULD. **

* * *

**SURPRISE! X 5**

"Better than I was  
More than I am  
And all of this happened  
By takin' your hand  
And who I am now  
Is who I wanted to be  
And now that we're together  
I'm stronger than ever  
I'm happy and free  
Oh, it's a beautiful thing  
Don't think I can keep it all in, no  
And if you asked me why I changed  
All I gotta do is say your sweet name  
It's your love  
It just does somethin' to me  
It sends a shock right through me  
I can't get enough  
And if you wonder  
About the spell I'm under  
It's your love."  
-Its Your Love, Tim McGraw and Faith Hill

* * *

Flack set the remainder of neatly folded t-shirts and jeans and three pairs of boxers and as twice as many pairs of socks on the top of the things he had previously packed for his three day trip to Cincinnati. It was quarter to twelve in the afternoon. His flight didn't leave until three o'clock, but he wanted to stop by the lab and say goodbye to everyone and hopefully, if her schedule permitted, take his wife for a quick bite to eat and spend some time with her before they went their separate ways. In the two years that they had been together, it would be just the second time they'd be apart for longer than forty eight hours, and have thousands of miles between them. The first had been for a week that took in the last Fourth of July. She'd taken Kieran on his first ever plane trip and gone to spend some time with her folks. She had been upbeat and excited about going, but Flack had quickly found out, at one in the morning the same night she had left, that you couldn't always judge a book by it's cover.

She had been homesick and miserable and cried for damn near half an hour to him on the phone. He'd been on nights and thankfully the shift had been relatively slow and somewhat dragging and he'd had the time, as he sat at his desk and signed off on case reports and reviewed his guys' work, to listen to her and quietly and soothingly reassure her that she was going to have a great time. And that the week was going to pass by before she even knew it. Before the end of the call, he'd must have said I love you over two dozen times and somehow, someway, talked him into downloading MSN Messenger on his computer at work and signing himself up for a screen name so he could chat to her during his down time, and at home. So they didn't use up long distance charges and have a massive bill after just seven days.

Whatever he could to do make her happy and dry some of those tears was enough for him. No price was too small or too big as far as he was concerned. He tucked a shaving kit and a small bag of personal items underneath his clothing and shoes -one pair for dress, as a suit and tie was required for the meet and greet dinners Friday and Saturday, and the final meal Sunday afternoon- and the Adidas sandals that Sam hated so much and had attempted to toss on more than one occasion. He'd saved them from certain doom time and time ago and each time she saw him wearing them she'd grimace and shake her head and say "Oh, Donnie.." as if it was the silliest, most absurd thing she'd ever seen.

He hated to burst her bubble by telling her he felt the same way about the lime green Crocs she'd bought while pregnant with Kieran. She'd worn those damn things faithfully, and although she'd returned them when she'd gone back to work and kept them in a bag in the back of the closet, he knew, now that she was expecting again, those damn things would be making their resurgence very soon.

He closed the lid on the medium sized black wheelie suitcase resting on the bed and zipped it up and locked it tightly. In the matching carry on, he'd packed Sam's I-pod -how in the hell he was going to survive the music she listened to, he had no idea. But she had offered it to him and it was the thought that counted- case files that Gerrard demanded by done by the time he got back to New York City and on his boss' desk first thing Monday morning, a couple of pens and his badge, NYPD identification and his holster and service weapon. Along with a letter from the Department of Homeland Security confirming that he was indeed a police officer in New York City and was licensed to carry the firearm. Said letter had to be handed in at the security station, the serial number on his weapon checked and matched to that on the letter, and his credentials and identification looked over thoroughly.

Bunch of shit, considering he, as good as any other flier, could easily snap in the middle of the flight and go postal on everyone aboard. Not that he would, but it could happen to anyone, cop or not. And the fact that he could have his gun on his person, but not a pair of scissors or a razor or a nail file made absolutely no sense. And no clear liquids. In case he was planning on attacking the plane with a flammable substance and setting himself and everyone else on fire. A nine millimetre semi automatic Glock was fine, just hold the phone on the sharp objects and water.

People were fucked. Flack was sure of that. They'd never been the same since nine eleven and would probably never be the same again. You couldn't look at the guy across the aisle from you on a flight and wonder if he had been screened as well as you had and if he had any weapons on him or if he'd converted his size ten Nikes into shoe bombs that would bring the whole plane down and kill everyone on board. You couldn't have a simple case of bad nerves and the sweats and a sick stomach because you were terrified to fly. People thought you were jittery and suspicious and 'up to something'. Which was why he was surprised Sam had managed to get to New York from Arizona when she came back to her hometown without someone alerting the air marshal on board and having the flight diverted. Because that woman was terrified of flying. Even thinking about getting on a plane nearly sent her into a state of blind panic.

Which was why he doped her up an hour before he put her on any flight. Not that she was high. She was just relaxed. She needed to be unless she wanted to have the pilot on alert and air force jets accompanying the plane because there were worries she was going to snap and do everyone on board in. Without those sedatives, Samantha Flack's name was going on the national no fly list.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't that bad. She wasn't in danger of doing anything stupid. But her fear of blowing up or crashing or being hijacked was so intense, that she would never set foot on a plane in her normal state.

Thank God for Valium. Greatest invention ever. Hands down.

He lifted the suitcase and sat it on the floor and took one last look around the room. He didn't want to leave anything behind that he might need.

Hell, he didn't want to leave anything behind period. He didn't want to be getting on the flight and travelling nearly seven hours to a place thousands of miles away from his one year old son and his pregnant wife. He didn't want to be stuck in mid air while she was down safely on the ground experiencing her ultrasound and getting to see their new baby for the first time. He wanted to be with her. Holding her hand and kissing her temple and telling her he loved her and was proud of her as they saw their child together. Instead he was stuck in a flying tin can at thirty-five thousand feet, wondering just what was happening at that appointment.

And to make matters worse, there were no non stop flights to be had heading out of LaGuardia. So he had to fly to Atlanta, get off, rush through an airport he'd never been too before, and hopefully successfully find his connecting flight to Cincinnati.

All in the name of serving and protecting.

He sighed. Scolded himself for being too damn emotional and sentimental when it came to his family. He made the bed and fluffed the beds. So Sam could come home and have a neat and tidy bed to collapse into at the end of her day. It was a small, simple thing to do, but hopefully she'd appreciate the gesture.

Flack checked his watch. Time was of essence. Certain he left nothing behind or unaccounted for, he pulled up the handle on the suitcase, draped the strap from the carry on around it and than snagged the garment bag that hung on the back of the door.

He paused in the doorway and looked back at the empty room. At the empty bed.

It was going to be the longest three days of his life.

But at least it wasn't a lifetime.

* * *

Danny was tired. No. Scratch that. He was beyond tired, actually. He was physically and emotionally spent and exhausted. An early morning call in had found him in the Sheep's Meadow section of Central Park, ankle deep in wet snow and shivered as he stared down at the partially clad female dead body that lay face down in a frozen pool of dark red blood. Listening to Chester Lake, in that soft, compassionate voice of his give the facts and nothing but. The dark cloud in his eyes and the frown on his face indicating that despite outward appearances, the job bothered him more than he let anyone realize. He was a damn good detective. He was thorough and precise. He liked order and nothing but the hard core truth. Everyone like working with him, and so far, he was proving that he could handle himself with the big boys, and that he was a valuable asset to the tight knit team.

No identification had been found on the vic. Not surprising considering she was found in just her bra and panties. No birthmarks or tattoos or anything that would set her apart from the millions of other Caucasian females that took up residence in New York City. She was five foot eight and a hundred and twenty pounds according to Sid, who had had to defrost the body to get an accurate weight. The extreme cold and conditions had made it nearly impossible for him to determine TOD. The best he could do was somewhere between the last eighteen to twenty four hours. Danny had rolled his eyes and bit back a smart ass comeback when he'd found out that information. But really? What was to be expected when the vic's liver resembled something you'd by in the frozen meat department at the grocery store.

Cause of death had been dissection of the carotid artery and jugular vein. With a sharp object.

Well no shit, Danny had said. Unable to keep the comment in, despite the foul looks he was getting both from Sid and Samantha who stood beside him, unbelievable green in the face for someone who made nearly daily trips to the morgue and could handle the most foul, grotesque and bloody scenes without even batting an eyelash. She'd blanched the moment they'd set foot in the morgue and the sights and smells and odours had hit her. Danny had fear a few times that she'd just up and puke but she'd held it together. She'd simply covered her nose and mouth with the neck of her eggplant purple turtleneck and asked muffled questions and kept her eyes off the DB as much as possible.

So there was no identification on the victim and no accurate time of death and no clue on what exactly had caused her untimely and horrifying demise. The only thing they knew at that point in time, was that based on the scene, she had been killed exactly where she had been found lying. There were no footprints in the snow to photograph or cast that may lead them to a possible perp because a fresh two inches of the white powder at fallen after her death and had masked anything usable.

Such was Danny Messer's life. The only hope now was that there was some kind of salvageable trace on the vic's sparse wardrobe that could aide them in their investigation. The rape kit had come back clear. No semen, no vaginal fluid, no signs of intercourse consensual or otherwise. In fact, their victim had been a virgin.

The question to figure out was what a virgin in a four hundred dollar pantie and bra set was doing out in said items in Central Park in the dead of winter. In the middle of the night. And who the hell was she? Lake was currently downstairs running her photo through the missing person's data base. And in an effort to determine what had killed their fair maiden, Samantha had retreated to the reconstruction lap to add insult to injury by inflicting more damage on an already dead pig.

Which was where Danny was heading as he stepped off the elevator and onto the thirty-fifth floor with a carry out tray of a tea and a coffee in one hand and Sid's autopsy report in the other. He'd initially thought Samantha had gone nuts when she requested de-caf tea. She never drank that crap. And as he stood in line to place their order, it got Danny to thinking. About how there'd only been one other time that Sam had been unable to stand being in the morgue. And when she had consumed de-caf tea as if it was water. And those two things had began at the exact same time.

When she was pregnant with Kieran.

He was definitely going to kick hers, and Flack's ass, for not telling him that nice little piece of news.

He was no more than five feet from the elevators when he heard the loud DING accompanying the arrival of the second lift and the doors sliding open. Followed by a familiar voice calling to him.

"Don't you ever work, Messer?"

"Very funny, Flack," he said, as he stopped walking and turned to face his best friend as he strode towards him. Loaded down with a garment bag and a wheelie suitcase with a carry on dangling from the handle. Comfortably and casually dressed in a pair of loose fitting faded grey jeans, hiking boots, and a white button down shirt under his open ski jacket.

"Running away from home?" Danny asked jokingly. "It's usually not best to show up at our wife's place of employment and let her know you're leaving her. Most guys just up and do it, you know?"

"Yuck it up, Mess," the detective said, and reaching into one of his coat pockets, pulled out his keys. Home and vehicle. He dropped them into the middle of the carry tray. "Only thing I ask is that when you pick me up on Sunday night at the airport, that the damn tank be filled. All the way."

"Still can't believe you're actually lending me your baby," Danny commented.

Flack frowned. "My baby? I thought I made it clear my wife was off limits."

"Ha-ha. You're cute. You're just in this happy little mood 'cause you're escaping hell for a couple of days."

"Trust me, Dan-o," Flack said as they headed down the hall towards the labs together. "If Gerrard wasn't on my ass about this conference being beneficial to my career, I wouldn't be going. Last place I want to be is thousands of miles away from my wife and my kid."

"You sentimental bastard," Danny chided. "I can't say I blame you though. Considering Brooklyn's got that doctor's appointment today."

"What's that got to do with anything? I don't take her to every simple appointment she has."

"I know. But you know, it must be killing you to miss this one in particular. Considering she's pregnant and all," Danny slipped it in smoothly, and glaced sideways to see what kind of reaction he'd receive from his best friend.

Flack gave a little smirk and shook his head. "She wasn't suppose to say anything."

"She didn't. I figured it out all on my own. When she nearly tossed her cookies in autopsy and than asked me to get her a de-caf tea on my coffee and donut run, I put two and two together. How long you guys known for?"

"Since Christmas Eve," Flack admitted.

"And you never said anything? Neither of you told me?"

"There's only a few people that know. Don't take it personally. Only people we've told are my parents and Adam. And Carmen but she found out totally by accident."

"Hold up, hold up," Danny stopped walking and slapped his best friend's arm with his file. "Adam knows? Adam knows before me?"

"Adam's Sam's brother," Flack reminded him. "He's the baby's uncle."

"So am I. Or so I thought."

"Not the same thing, Messer. Adam's the biological uncle. And as much as it sucks to hear this, sometimes, Adam has to come before you."

"I'm hurt, Flack," Danny said and began walking once again. "Not just hurt. Crushed. Scarred for life."

"Quit being a whiny little bitch. We weren't going to tell anyone until after she had the ultrasound to date the pregnancy. More specifically, until she was past the crucial first trimester."

"Why's that?"

"Because too many things can go wrong in the first trimester. That's when ninety percent of miscarriages take place and we didn't want to tell everyone and get everyone all happy and exicted and than have to go back and break the bad news if something happened."

"Nothing happened the first time around," Danny said. "With K. Sure there were some issues throughout the rest of the pregnancy and…"

"We just didn't want to tell anyone," Flack cut him off, sounding defensive.

"Alright…alright. Don't get pissy now. I was just saying. So you happy? About having another rug rat on the way?"

Flack smiled and nodded.

"Little surprising you guys are doing the parenting again so soon," Danny admitted. "I seriously wasn't expecting another Flack offspring for at least a couple of years."

"We were going to wait until Kieran was two, two and a half before we started trying again," Flack said honestly. "Than we just decided why wait. Happened a lot sooner than either of us expected it to, but that's alright. More the merrier, right?"

"Absolutey. Congratulations, Don. It's great news. And don't worry, your guys' secret is safe with me. When the two of you are ready to tell everyone else, than so be it. I take it you're not here to kiss me goodbye, huh?"

"I love you, Mess, but no."

"B's just done in reconstruction taking her frustrations out on a pig. An animal one, in case that needs clarification."

"B?" Flack asked with a smirk. "She actually lets you call her that?"

"Shh…she doesn't know. That's between me and you. Nothing but pure love and affection for her, you know that. So what's the deal with that neighbour you were checking out? The one you told me about day after K's party. You never followed up on it or what?"

Flack sighed. Jack Doyle was a twenty-something general labourer that had moved in across the hall from them less than two months ago. He hadn't seen the kid since the day of Kieran and his joint party and they'd had a brief encounter in the elevator when Flack was returning from running to the store to pick up extra milk and juice and pop. Doyle had seemed friendly enough. He was pleasant and polite and made small talk on the short trip to the seventh floor. He knew Flack was a cop. Apparently Doyle was an insomniac and had heard someone coming out of the apartment at three in the morning just after he moved in, and when he looked out his peep hole, he'd seen Flack locking the door, and got a glimpse of his badge and gun.

And than he started asking Flack personal questions. About his wife and kid's first name. And told Flack how he had seen mother and child briefly in the laundry room one afternoon a couple weeks back and had wanted to make friendly with them but had felt shy and awkward around such an attractive woman.

That elevator could not have reached the seventh floor quick enough. And as Flack bid farewell to his new neighbour, he'd spent some extra time fiddling with his keys when in reality he was just standing and listening. For anything that might prove his suspicions right that there was just not something right about this Doyle character. And as he stood there, he had heard, not one, but two dead bolts clicking shut and a chain being drawn across the door.

Flack was all for protecting yourself and your home. But in a building with surveillance cameras at every available exit and in the parking garage, and the only way to gain access through the front door was for visitors to know your security code and be personally buzzed up, Flack found two dead bolts and a chain a little excessive.

He'd brought it up to Sam later that there was something not quite right about their neighbour. The guy seemed creepy. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something there that spelled trouble. She'd scoffed at him and told him he was being paranoid and ridiculous. Just because someone commented on how cute your child was and asked their name didn't mean they were a pedophile. He probably just liked kids, plain and simple. And in all intents and purposes, with Doyle as quiet as he'd been the whole time he'd been living there, he was in essence, the perfect neighbour. So what if he had security issues? So what if he seemed a little too friendly? Maybe he was just a recluse or he was trying hard to make friends.

"Not everyone is evil, Donnie," she had said.

"Not everyone is nice either," he had shot back. "You may trust everyone, but I'm thinking about you and K here. And I'm checking this guy out first thing tomorrow. Running his name through the system and calling the super."

Sam had looked at him as if he'd completely lost his mind. She'd then announced she was going to bed and didn't' want to hear any more nonsense, and if he was planning on continuing with his 'issues' to please take said issues to the couch.

That was the end of that. But not the end of Flack's wariness.

"I decided to listen to Sammie and give the guy the benefit of the doubt," he told his best friend as they walked the halls of the crime lab. "We've been seeing more and more of him around the building and he's pretty friendly. But I don't know… I swear that that guy's shady as all hell, Danny," Flack said. "Something is just not quite right. I can't put my finger on it, but something is not right."

"You want me to run his name?" Danny asked. "See if he's got something to hide?"

"I don't know. On one hand, I'm telling myself that I'm overreacting. On the other hand, I'm telling myself to trust my instincts."

"You got a wife and a kid to protect, Flack. Two kids now. Go with the instincts."

"I think I'll hold off," he said, although his gut was telling him to do the opposite. "If I come home on Sunday night and she tells me she had problems with him or felt weird, than I'll do something about it than. I don't' want her thinking I'm suffocating her and being overprotective. If she says she's not worried, than I'll try not to be worried too."

"I still think you should…"

Danny was interrupted by a Fed-Ex delivery man hurrying into their path and stopping to face them, envelope in hand.

"One of your colleagues said that one of you was Danny Messer?" the delivery guy asked, eyes flicking back and forth between the two men.

"I'm Danny Messer," the CSI confirmed.

"This is for you, sir," he handed Danny the envelope. "If I could just get you to sign here.." he held out his clipboard and pen.

"What's going on here?" Danny asked, as he printed and signed his name in the correct spot. "Fed-Ex guys are serving people now? Someone suing me or something?"

"Not that I know of. Now could you tell me where I can find a Sheldon Hawkes? I need him to sign to show proof of payment for your items."

"Down the hall, third door to your left," Danny told him. Than looked at Flack when the delivery guy bounced off down the hall. He held the envelope up, a questioning look on his face.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Flack said.

Although he already knew what exactly was in that envelope that his best friend was now tearing into. His wife had come clean, three nights ago, about how she'd purchased Danny a return flight to Montana. She hadn't had a choice but to admit it after he accidentally stumbled upon several emails Lindsay had sent her regarding the upcoming trip and how nervous and exicted she was.

Flack hadn't said much when Sam had rambled on and on about what she'd done and why it was justified. At the end of her long winded explanation, he'd simply shook his head and warned her about keeping her nose out of other peoples business and told her that he didn't want to hear anymore about it. That he didn't want to discuss it with her or nothing. What happened there on out was up to Danny. And only Danny.

The one thing he'd forgotten was to ask how she'd managed to buy the tickets when he had refused to cough up the credit card.

Damn you, Doctor Sheldon Hawkes, he now fumed silently. And watched and waited for his best friend's reaction.

"Airline tickets?" Danny frowned at the smaller envelope he'd pulled from the first. Royal blue and emblazoned with the American Airlines logo. "Hawkes is sending me on a trip? What for?"

Flack shrugged.

Danny opened the envelope to have a look on the information printed on the return ticket. His eyebrows arched. His eyes widened. Flack swore that the CSI even stopped breathing.

"Why the hell would Hawkes do this?" Danny said, his voice a mere whisper.

"It wasn't Hawkes, Messer," Flack told him. "Hawkes is just an innocent bystander who unfortunately got sucked into someone elses evil plan."

"You did this?" Danny asked accusingly.

Flack held up his hands in self defence. "Hell no. I didn't even know about this until two nights ago and Sam…"

"Sam did this? Brooklyn did this? Brooklyn's sending me on a trip to Montana?"

Flack nodded. "Now before you go all freaking out on her, Mess, hear me out. 'Cause I feel the need to defend my wife in all of this. Both Sam and I know that you're completely miserable with Erica. And I know that you're having a baby with her and all that and you feel obligated, but trust me. Dan-o, staying with someone you don't love just because they are having a baby is not the smart thing to do."

"You don't know her, Flack. You don't…"

"No. I don't know her. Outside of her being your girl and Sam's cousin, I know shit about her. And you know why? Because she's made it that way. She's done that, Danny. She doesn't like being around me or any of the other members of the team because she can't stand the shop talk we do. Because she's living off her ex hubbies cash while we're just blue collar, every day Joe's living pay cheque to pay cheque."

Danny shook his head.

"Don't deny it, Messer. You know it's true. And I know it hurts like hell to hear the truth. But if anyone is going to give it to you straight up, it's me. You say you love her, you say you want forever with her and all of that, but what has she said about you, Danny? What has she promised you? Only thing she's done is threaten you with that baby she's carrying. About how she'll take off and you'll never see it if you even think about leaving her."

The CSI sighed.

"I know you want to be in your kid's life. I know that. But don't let her scare you into having a life outside of that baby. I know a lot of lawyers, Danny. A lot of good lawyers that can have her ass in a sling in a heart beat for threatening you like that. And I know other lawyers, more sneaky and sly ones, that can not only do that, but have that kid taken away from her the second she pops it out."

"I can't do that," Danny said. "Take the baby from her like that."

"Why the hell not? She doesn't want the baby because she wants to be a mom. She wants the baby to keep you were you are! To keep you trapped! She has you by the fucking balls, Danny! Don't put up with that shit!"

Danny shook his head and stared down at the tickets in his hand.

"You love Lindsay, and I mean truly love her with every ounce of your being and every inch of your soul? I know what that's like, Danny. To love someone that wholly and completely. To love them so much you can't think straight or eat or sleep properly when things are going shitty. To love them so fucking much that you'd lie down and die for them. I know what that feels like. And trust me, I know it's as scary as all hell."

Danny nodded.

"But I also know that I wouldn't give that up for anything in this world. Because the woman that I feel that way about, who married me and had my son and is giving me another child, loves me just the same and that makes all the pain and suffering bullshit worth it. To know there's that one person that loves you wholly and completely and supports you know matter. There's no goddamn feeling like that in the world , Danny."

"But that's you and Brooklyn, Don!" the CSI argued. "That's you guys! You two found that! You created that! And it's something we all want but seldom fine. You were the lucky one. You found that!"

"And so did you, Danny!" Flack fought back. "Only she's not in New York City! She's in Montana! I know that and you know that!"

Danny drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Look, you're my best friend," Flack said. "All I want is for you to be happy. You deserve that. And right now, I know you're not happy. You're fucking miserable and it's killing me. You need help moving your stuff out of her place? I'm here. You need help finding a lawyer to secure your baby once it's born? I'm here for that, too. I'm always here for you, Danny and you know that."

"I know, Flack…I know…"

"What happens now is up to you, Danny. You've got the chance, take it. Or you'll be spending the rest of your life wondering what if. And that's a fucking painful existence."

The CSI nodded.

"If Lindsay is who you truly want, if she's the love of your life. There shouldn't be anything stopping you for going to see her and telling her that. Okay?" Flack offered a supportive smile and slap on the shoulder and began making his way down the hall.

"Where are you going?" Danny called after his best friend.

"To find the love of my life," he said simply.

* * *

"I gotta pee so bad," Sam announced, as Adam, with one hand on her elbow and the other on the small of her back, helped her up onto the examination table in the dimly lit ultrasound room.

"I personally don't know how the hell you could keep a litre of water in such a tiny bladder," her brother commented, as he waited for her to settle herself before taking a seat in the chair next to exam table, right next to the left side of her head.

"Don says I'm a camel," she giggled. "And he wonders how in the hell I eat as much as I do."

"That is one of the greatest mysteries of all time," Adam said with a soft chuckle. He reached out and laid a hand on the top of his sister's head and stroked her forehead with his thumb. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded and gave a nervous smile. "Why wouldn't I be?" she inquired.

"Because you're terrified of flying and your husband is currently at about thirty-five thousand feet," Adam told her.

"You just had to remind me of that," she grumbled. Than laid her hands on her flat stomach and looked up at the ceiling. She was fighting tears. From hormones and out of control emotions.

"It's okay, Sammie," Adam told his sister, stroking her forehead.

"I miss him," she said. "I actually miss him. And he just left."

"And there's something wrong with that?"

"I just saw him two hours ago, Adam. I shouldn't miss him this soon."

"There's no time limit on missing someone," her brother said. "And you're nervous about him travelling and you're here, waiting to have an ultrasound to see a baby that the two of you created together. And he's not here and I know how desperately you wish he was."

She nodded and let a tear trickle down her cheek. "I'm sorry, Peanut," she said sheepishly as she brushed the tear away. "I'm scared something is going to happen to him and he'll never get to see his baby or Kieran again. You know how I am with flying. And if something happened while he's up there…I couldn't take living without him, Adam."

Her brother smiled softly.

"And I know that sounds pathetic and weak. But I love him more than anything else in this world and he's my everything. And I just want him to get there safe and sound and than get back here to me safe and sound."

"He will," Adam promised, and pressed a soft kiss to his sister's temple.

"I doubt he gets like this when I go away," Sam said with a small laugh.

"Don't underestimate him. He was worried sick about you and K when you guys went to mom and dad's."

Sam looked over at her brother. "He was?"

Adam nodded and used his thumb to clear a stray tear of her cheek. "He'd never admit it to you, but he was a nervous wreck after he came back from the airport. And he did nothing but talk about you and K constantly. Which he already does mind you, but he did it even more. He even told me he missed you, Sammie. That he missed you and loved you and hated sleeping in the bed without you."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Was he drunk?" she asked suspiciously.

"No. You know he doesn't drink anymore. He was stone cold sober. He called me and…"

Her eyes widened. "He called you?"

Adam nodded. "He called me and said he needed to talk so we met at the Dunkin Donuts by Gussie's apartment."

"And?" she pressed.

"And he looked like hell, Sammie. All bleary eyed and unshaven. He was just a mess. And he told me that he couldn't sleep without you in the bed next to him. That he loved you and missed you and how would he ever survive a lifetime without you when he couldn't survive one night."

Tears welled again. Her lower lip wobbled. "Donnie said that?"

"Every word," Adam confirmed.

"Wow…" she breathed and looked up at the ceiling once again. "Miracles really do happen."

"Come on," Adam chuckled. "Like there's ever a doubt how much that guy loves you? You're his everything, Sammie. You're his entire existence. Don't ever doubt that."

"When did you become so graceful and poetic with your words?" she teased her younger brother.

"When I fell madly and crazily and desperately in love with Gussie. It changes a guy, you know."

Sam smiled and winked at her brother as the door to the room clicked open.

"Samantha Flack?" the fresh faced tech with her strawberry blond hair pulled into a pony tail asked cheerfully.

Sam nodded.

"My name's Ashleigh," the tech introduced herself. "I'm going to be preforming your sonogram today. I noticed on your chart that you're here to have the pregnancy dated and to have a quick look see at the baby if he or she is cooperating?"

"I hope he or she cooperates," Sam laughed. "My son peed during his last ultrasound. It's how we found out he was a he. Just opened his legs and that was that."

"Well, it's too soon to tell sex, but it would be nice to catch the heart beat. So this is your second pregnancy?" she asked, taking a seat on the chair in front of the ultrasound machine.

"It's actually my third," Sam admitted. "I..uh…I had a miscarriage about seven months ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ashleigh said sincerely. "And you have a son at home?"

Sam nodded. "Kieran. He's a year old."

"So you're children will be nice and close together. That's always nice. I read in your chart that there were some concerns about this pregnancy?"

Adam arched an eyebrow and looked at his sister intently.

"My triple screen test came back showing an increased chance of having a child with a genetic defect or a chromosomal abnormality," Sam said with a sigh. "But that happened with my first pregnancy too and my son is fine so my husband and I agreed to just take things at face value and that whatever happens, happens."

"You have a strong marriage by the sounds of it," Ashleigh smiled.

"Sometimes," Sam admitted. "We love each other. Whether it's a strong time or a weak one. Love is what gets us through some days. Most days, exactly."

The tech smiled at Adam. "You must be so proud of your wife, Mr Flack."

"I am," he beamed at Samantha. "I'm very…" his head snapped around and his eyes widened when he realized what the tech had just said. "What?…Oh my God…no…she's not my…she's my sister…"

"Ooops," Sam said, and giggled.

"She's my sister!" Adam exclaimed, looking and sounding mortified. "She's not my wife! That's not my baby! She's my sister!"

"We get the picture, Peanut," Sam told him.

"Well, are we ready to begin?" Ashleigh asked, and switched the machine on.

"Ready as we'll ever be," Sam sighed.

* * *

The second Flack put the key card into the slot on his hotel room door he heard the phone inside of the room ringing. It was shortly before eight in the evening and he was exhausted from the separate flights he had to take and the running around at Hartsfield-Jackson airport attempting to find the proper gate for his departing flight to Cincinnati. Only to find out, when he got there, that said flight was delayed by an hour and a half by inclement weather.

The flight had gone incredibly smooth and easy. He'd even managed to dose off a bit, despite the fact that his thoughts were consumed by what was going on in New York City. Sam's appointment was long over by than, and he was surprised that she hadn't called him or even left a message on her voice mail to say how it went. Or even downloaded a picture to his phone so he could get a look at their baby. He felt like shit for missing such an important time. But the business trip, all expenses paid by the department, had been planned long before that pregnancy test had ever come back positive, and Sam understood how much it meant in terms of furthering his career.

And he needed to further his career. For the sake of his family and being able to adequately provide for them, he needed to step up his game and take things more seriously.

The cab ride from the airport to the hotel had been long and draining on his nerves. All Flack wanted to do was get inside his room, pick up the phone and call home. Check on Sam and Kieran. On the new baby. To hear the news from her. If there was really any to give at that point in time. He wanted to know just how far along she was so they could start planning things. Or at least started considering when to plan things. He'd already decided to head to the bank first thing Monday and apply for a mortgage. Than start looking for a house. Something small and unassuming. A starter home. More than likely in another borogouh to get away from the insane rents and cost of living in Manhattan.

At least the NYPD hadn't gone cheap when it came to the hotel. The Hyatt Regency was four star and came highly recommended by a friend of Chief Sinclair. And from what Flack had seen in just the spacious marble foyer with the gold and crystal chandeliars, the place was damn nice.

But it wasn't home.

The phone was on the sixth ring when he finally got the door to unlock and he pushed his way inside the dark room. He hastily flicked on the lights by the switch alongside of the door and tossed all his luggage onto the floor just inside the door and made a made dash for the telephone located on the small nightstand that separated two Queen size beds. The room was spacious and boasted plush wall to wall cream coloured carpeting and the beds were adorned with rich looking brown and cream brocade comforters and pillow shams. A massive wall unit sat in front of the beds and held a complimentary wet bar and a plasma tv. All the comforts and than some.

But it still wasn't home.

Flack snatched up the telephone. Now on it's tenth ring. Why the operator hadn't come on to ask the caller to leave a message was beyond him. But it was obviously something very, very important to warrant letting it ring that much.

"Flack," he said in way of answering.

"You just can never turn off that cop part can you," Sam teased.

The sound of her voice brought a smile to his face. "Force of habit," he said. "Everything okay?" he asked her. "You're okay? Kieran's okay? The baby's okay?"

"Yeah…" she answered. "We're fine. We're just…Kieran's just sitting on his rug having his last drink and snack of the night." Kieran's rug was actually an orange, black and yellow scattered mat that said in front of the kitchen sink. That he'd adopted as his favourite place to have his drinks and snacks. " Do you want to say hi to him?"

"Sure. Put him on."

"Okay…give me a second, baby," she said.

Flack took a seat on the edge of one of the immaculately made beds and ran a hand over his weary face and toed off his boots as she listened to his wife attempting to coax their son into talking on the phone.

"Kieran…daddy's on the phone…he wants to say hi to you. Do you want to say hi to daddy?"

"Daddy?" Kieran asked curiously. And Flack could just picture the one year old looking around the kitchen, searching for the familiar face.

"On the phone, Kieran," Sam explained calmly. "He's on the phone. Daddy's not here. He's on the phone."

"Daddy?" Kieran asked again.

There was a slight rustling noise and Kieran's soft breathing and Sam's voice telling him to say hi to daddy.

"Daddy?" the toddler asked again.

"Hi, buddy," Flack greeted him, feeling emotion choking at him at the thought of being so far away. "You being good?"

"DADDEEE!" he squealed happily. "Hi, daddeee…"

Flack smiled. "Are you being good?" he repeated.

"Yeah," the toddler replied. "Dwink."

"You're having a drink?"

"Yeah."

"Are you going to be a good boy for your mommy? Go to bed when she tells you to?"

"Yeah…mommy?"

"Put mommy on the phone," Flack told him. "I'll see you when I get back, okay?"

"Tay," Kieran said.

"Say bye to daddy," Sam encouraged. "Say bye-bye."

"Bye-bye daddeee!" Kieran chirped.

"'Bye, Kieran," he said in return, and cleared his throat noisily.

"He's already bathed and in his jammies and ready to go," Sam told her husband as she got back on the phone. "You're emotional, aren't you, Donnie." It was more a statement than a question.

"A little," he admitted. "I just..I don't know..it's just been a long day."

"It's okay," she said softly. "We love you and miss you too."

He smiled.

"Your flights were okay?" she asked.

"One was delayed because of heavy rain," he replied. "It's why I'm so late getting in. And the traffic was bad and it's shitty weather here and…" he sighed. "I just want to come home," he said.

"Sunday," she told him, sounding positive and upbeat. "It's only two sleeps."

"Seems like two hundred," he admitted. "How about you? Your day was okay?"

"Yep. It was okay."

"How'd the ultrasound go?" he asked. "Everything went okay?"

Silence on the other end.

"Sam?" he asked, wondering if she'd hung up. "Sammie? Samantha?"

"I'm here," she said. "I just…I don't know…I think we need to…"

He heard the tears in her voice. "What the hell happened?" he asked. "Did something happen to you? Did something happen to the baby?"

"No. I'm fine. The baby's fine. We're fine. It's just…jesus, Donnie…I don't know…"

"They found something wrong?" he fought to keep the panic out of his voice.

"No. Nothing is wrong. I swear to you nothing is wrong. It's just…we really need to talk."

"Isn't that what we're doing, babe? What's going on? Why are you crying? And don't lie to me and say you're not. I can tell."

"I'm fourteen weeks," she told him. "So I got pregnant in mid November."

"So you're three and a bit months," he concluded.

"Yeah..it's just..Donnie, I don't know how to tell you this. I don't know what we're going to do."

"About what, baby? What's wrong??"

"I need to…" she sighed heavily. "I need to send you something, okay? Can you hook up your lap top and I can send you something? Please?"

"It'll take me a few minutes. Want me to call you back?"

"Yeah..I think that's best."

"Okay," he said and sighed. "Give me a few and I'll call you back."

"I love you," she called to him before he could hang up.

"I love you, too," he said. "Just take it easy, baby. Whatever it is, it's going to be okay."

"I know," she told him and hung up.

Flack hung up as well and went to his luggage and found the bag that held his lap top. He carried it over to the table by the window where the internet hook up was and within minutes had the notebook powered up and on line. He slipped his phone from the carrying case on his jeans and flipped it open and dialled the familiar number.

"You're ready?" she asked in way of greeting. Far more choked up and emotionally than she had been when she hung up.

"Yeah…go ahead…Sam, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"I'm sending you something in an attachment. Okay?" she asked, ignoring him.

"That's fine. But you are you going to tell me…"

"You just have to see something," she told him.

He sighed and took a seat in one of the chairs and waited in silence until the notification came through that he had a new message in his inbox. Had it been his work account and not his personal one, he was sure that the inbox would have been flooded by now. But he kept one for business and one for just family.

"Are these pics from your ultrasound?" he asked, and clicked open the message and hit download attachment.

"There's three," she replied.

"Okay…" he said, clicking on the first image. "Why so many? And what am I exactly looking at in the first one?"

"That's a heartbeat," she told him.

Tears threatened again as the realization that this was actually happening, that he was going to be a father again, hit him full force.

"And the second one?" he inquired and clicked on the image.

"Same thing," she replied.

"Why is it…?"

"Just check the third one," she said.

He humoured her. Opened the third and final image. "Looks just like the first two," he said. "Why are you sending me three photos of the same thing?"

"I'm not," she told him. "It's not the same thing, Donnie."

"Looks like it to me. I only needed to see one, baby. You could have showed me them all when I got home."

"No," she said. "I couldn't have. You don't understand."

"So? Enlighten me here."

"It's three pictures because…Donnie, I don't…"

"Just tell me, Sammie. Okay? Is there something wrong with the baby's heart or…?"

"No. Nothing is wrong. I sent you three because…" she took a deep breath. "Because it's one picture…one picture for each baby."

The words hammered home. Time seemed to stand still. He heard nothing but the pounding of his heart. His hands trembled. His chest ached. He saw nothing but that last image of the screen. Of one heartbeat. One of three. Belonging to one of the three babies his wife was carrying inside of her.

"Donnie?" she asked tearfully.

"Excuse me?" he responded. "Three?"

"We're having triplets, Don," she told him, her voice shaky. "Three babies."

"Triplets," he squeaked. Unable to process the information.

"It was something like a one in ten thousand chance," she told him. "And guess what?"

"We were the ten thousandth couple to have sex that night?" he suggested.

"I know this is a shock, Donnie. I damn near died when the tech bolted up from her chair and announced she was going to get the head radiologist and went running out. And than he came in and he was poking and prodding around with the ultrasound thingy and Adam's nearly hyper ventilating he's so scared something terrible is wrong and I'm crying and shitting myself.."

"Samantha…"

"..and than the radiologist starts pointing things out. Three of this and three sets of that and three heart beats and three heads and I was thinking what in the hell am I going to tell my husband and…"

"Samantha!" he nearly shouted into the phone to get her to be quiet.

"Yes?" she asked meekly.

"Triplets?" Flack needed a little clarification. "As in three?"

"As in three," she conceded.

"Jesus Christ…" he breathed and closed his eyes. "Are they absolutely sure?"

"Donnie, there was three of everything. I saw it with my own two eyes. I know this is crazy and it's shocking and it just blows your mind…"

"I love you," he said.

Silence.

"Sam?"

"I love you, too," she told him. "What are we going to do?" she asked.

"I guess we're going to have triplets," he replied.

"But I mean what are you thinking?"

Flack sighed heavily.

"I'm thinking we're going to need a bigger place to live," he answered.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! MOB has taken a back seat for now but I promise I will not abandon it. The muse just wants me to concentrate on this story for a while! So thanks for the support! And as usual, please show some love and review!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**muchmadness**

**brrtmclv**

**hope4sall**

**wolfeylady**

**shopaholic20**

**Forest Angel**

**Bluehaven4220**

**Soccer-bitch**


	41. Scent of Lavender, taste of chocolate

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN…YOU GUYS KNOW THE REST**

**WARNING: THIS CHAP IS RATED M FOR SMUT. JUST TWO ADULTS IN A NORMAL, HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP FOLKS. IF YOU'RE SENSITIVE TO THE SMUT, DON'T READ. THANKS, BEG75**

* * *

**Scent of lavender, taste of chocolate**

"Baby I've been drifting away  
Dreaming all day  
Of holding you  
Touching you  
The only thing I want to do  
Is be with you  
As close to you  
As I can be  
Let's make love  
All night long  
Until all our strength is gone  
Hold on tight  
Just let go  
I want to feel you in my soul  
Until the sun comes up  
Let's make love  
Oh, baby  
Do you know what you do to me?  
Everything inside of me  
Is wanting you  
And needing you  
I'm so in love with you  
Look in my eyes  
Let's get lost tonight  
In each other."  
-Let's Make Love, Tim McGraw and Faith Hill

* * *

Flack hadn't slept save for the quick nap that he had managed to sneak on the flight from Atlanta to Cincinnati. After Samantha had hung up when it was time to put a grumpy, whiny Kieran bed, he'd simply sat in that chair at the table by the window and put his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands and willed his brain to absorb what had just gone down. To sort out the conflicting emotions and myriad of thoughts that were threatening to consume him.

First and foremost on his mind was the unbelievable miracle that he had just been delivered. Any child conceived was something of a wonder to behold. That two people could come together and create a life together remained one of the greatest phenomenons of all time as far as he was concerned. But to be told that you had achieved the miracle of life not once or twice but three times was something so surreal Flack just couldn't seem to wrap his head around. It wasn't just the whole medical and scientific explanation on how triplets were conceived. It was the thought that somewhere along the line, he had done something good enough to be granted such and an amazing blessing.

The second thing on his mind was how in the hell they were ever going to physically take care of four babies under the age of two. Kieran by himself was a force to be reckoned with, never mind having three newborn siblings to share the spotlight with. He was only one now and would only be eighteen months when he became a big brother, and that wasn't a long time to be the only child. Yet he was still used to being the only one to received mommy and daddy' unwavering love and attention. How was he going to cope with not being the only kid in the house? Was he going to rebel and start having problems sleeping at night? Refuse to potty train out of sheer spite? Revert back to wanting to use a bottle or a soother because there was three babies in the house doing things like that? Would he throw temper tantrums because he had to share mommy and daddy's affections? Or would he just surprise his worried father and be the best big brother in the entire world?

The third thing that had plagued him as he sat there -and all night and into the next day for that matter- was finances. How they were ever going to afford having that many babies. Babies weren't cheap. Hell, no kid no matter what the age was cheap. But all the diapers and the formula if that was the route they took -he honestly could not see his wife wanting to breastfeed three babies. One was time consuming enough- and all the clothing and the toys and cribs for everyone to sleep in. Three of everything. Sure, Kieran would be out of his and into a toddler bed by the time Sam gave birth, but that still meant three more cribs to buy. And because they needed three of everything, they'd need a much bigger place to live that could fit three of everything.

So two thoughts had hit him at that point. One was logical and one was just his stressed out brain overreacting.

_I am definitely going to that bank on Monday and applying for a mortgage. Shit, I'll beg and plead for a mortgage if I have to._

_I am going to need to get a second job. There's no way I can take care of a family that size on my salary. I'm going to have to take on another career. A rent-a-cop down at Macy's or out there at the Statue of Liberty._

At that point when the insane thought of another job hit, he'd been close to tears and seriously considering getting into the wet bar and getting so polluted he didn't remember his name anymore. To just crack open every single serving of alcohol in the place and sit his ass on the floor and drink all the thoughts and fears away. Until he passed out at the foot of his bed in a blissful sleep and than woke up in the morning with the most wicked hang over of his life. And he wanted to. Badly. He longed for a drink. He ached for it in fact. And just as he found himself standing in front of the bar with his fingers resting on the handle and imagining the taste of rye on his lips, a loud beeping noise emanating from his lap top had captured his attention and saved himself from what would have been a monumental mistake.

The noise had been from Sam instant messaging him. To save money on long distance. Which he had thought was pretty intelligent on her part considering in six months they'd have a houseful of kids and no money left over to pay any of the bills. And he'd sat at that table, with all the lights off in his room and the window opened slightly as he listened to the driving rain outside, and spent over four hours 'talking' to his wife. She was nervous and scared and overwhelmed and rightfully so. It was nothing she ever expected to happen to them. Not in a million years. And the thought of physically carrying three babies when she had barely managed to carry one to term properly, was terrifying. He listened to her fears and tried his best to comfort her and let her know everything was going to be okay. They'd cope as family and that was that. And he'd told her that he was scared too. That this was going to be a huge undertaking for them. Life altering for not just them, but Kieran as well.

It had been past one in the morning, Ohio time, when they'd finally said their I love you's and signed off for the night. Flack had satfor another hour and contemplated calling Danny and telling him the news. He decided against it, and instead had taken a long, steaming shower and than brushed his teeth and got ready for bed and collapsed, in sheer emotionally exhausted, in the middle of one of the beds.

Only sleep had alluded him.

He was still awake when the sun was poking up over the horizon. Unable to sleep from the constant surge of thoughts and the fact that he was alone in bed. For almost two years now he'd had someone beside him every night. And whether or not their bodies were physically touching, it was the comfort of simply having her there and knowing she was there that given him some of the most peaceful nights he'd ever had. Hearing her soft breathing or feeling her hair brush up against him or the movement of the bed and the rustle of the sheets whenever she moved. All the little things that let him know that he wasn't alone. He'd been alone for so long that at first, having someone in the same bed had been difficult getting used to. But as time went on, he had found himself rolling over in the dark and reaching for her when he stirred. He found himself getting used to the incessant talking and occasional snoring and the relentless tossing and turning. And when he was away from all of that, even the most annoying stuff, he was wishing it back again.

He'd barely had enough energy to get showered and dressed never mind make it through breakfast and lunch and all of the long winded and boring presentations that special speakers gave came in between a meal and after them. Topics ranging from how to be a team leader to how to be a team player to emergency management to how to deal with the different branches of the government you would no doubt work alongside of through your career. As soon as a speaker mention Homeland Security, a collective moan had gone up through the room along with more than a few profanities and name calling. DHS was the bane of law enforcement. And although Flack hadn't worked with them more than once in his career, he knew he'd come across them sooner or later and dreaded the mere thought of working alongside of those pompous, ignorant assholes.

He'd turned down offers for a few drinks with a few of the other detectives he'd met through chit chat in the halls and the elevator. One from Pittsburgh and another from St Louis and two from Detroit. He wasn't about to tell them that alcohol was his demon. So he begged off and made an excuse that he was exhausted -not really an excuse, he planned to hit the sack as soon as he called home and checked on everyone- and made plans to meet them for breakfast in the morning in the hotel restaurant. And he had most definitely turned down the offer of a 'drink in my room' from a rather stunning red head with legs that nearly went to her ears and possibly the most incredible green eyes he'd ever seen. Renee was from SoCal and apparently didn't have issues with fooling around with married men. Because when his first three polite turn downs didn't work and he got snappy and made a comment about her being blind and not seeing the ring on his finger, she'd shrugged her shoulders and reached out to affectionately rub his arm.

"It doesn't bother me," she had said, and proceeded to mention that she was stocked as far as protection went, so even if she did have something, he wasn't going to be taking it, and their dirty little secret back to his wife.

Nice.

Flack had than proceeded to tell her to walk her skanky ass down the hall to her room, go inside, and never bother him again. To which she had called him a prick and told him that he was too New York and way too faithful to a wife that was probably out banging one of his friends while he was away.

Again, nice.

The desire for a drink that had hit him the night before had returned with a vengeance and he was tempted to turn back around and head down the hall and meet up with the guys to pound back a few and share on the job stories. He was starving anyway. It was quarter to six and he could always grab something to eat while getting hammered. His mind made up, he decided to go to his room first, change out of the suit and tie and clean himself up and than head down.

* * *

He had his head down and his hands shoved in his pockets as he rounded the corner to his room, thinking about a million and one different things. About his wife and Kieran and about the craziness of conceiving triplets when there was no incidences of multiple births on either the Flack side of things or the Ross one. About the reactions of their friends and families when they broke the news to them that there wasn't just a single baby or even double, but count 'em one, two and three. It was just sheer insanity.

And just how in the hell was a woman that was barely five feet tall and a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet, ever going to carry triplets? To Flack that seemed an impossible feat. That someone with that small of a body could do something like that.

Someone with that small of a body that was currently parked on her ass alongside of his hotel room door. In a pair of jeans and a simple black turtleneck and her favourite pink Timberland boots and her hair loose and tumbling down her back and over her shoulders. Leaning against the wall, feet planted on the floor and her knees bent. Her eyes closed and her head back and her fingers drumming out a beat on her knees as she listened to the I-pod securely tucked into her ears. A soft pink wheelie suitcase sat beside her and had her pink, black and white Columbia winter coat tossed over it.

At first Flack thought he had gone mental. From the barrage of thoughts swimming through his head and the lack of sleep. Because there was no possible way that she was actually there. Waiting outside of his room. In Cincinnati. He was delirious. It was the only explanation for why he was imaging his wife was there. Until the door to the room next to his, to Sam's left, opened up and she turned her head to the side and smiled at the grey haired gentleman and his pretty blond wife that stepped out into the hall and the couple exchanged pleasantries with her. It was when he heard his wife's voice, and when he realized that other people could see her as well, that he knew she was actually there.

She'd closed her eyes again and settled her head back against the wall. Flack crouched down to her level and reached out to pluck one of the ear phones from the I-Pod out of her ear. At that she opened her eyes and turned her head to the side and smiled at him.

"Hi," she said simply.

"Hi," he said in return and kissed her softly. "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting," she told him. "I was lonely and I figured you were lonely and I asked your mom to keep Kieran for a couple of days and well…here I am."

"You came all the way here for one night?" he asked.

"Two, actually. I cleared it with both Mac and Gerrard and we don't have to be back in the city until Monday night. I called the airline and they said if you call them, they'd gladly book you on a different flight on a different day and that there shouldn't be any problem getting on my flight so we could go back together."

"You're seriously mental," he told her, and kissed the tip of her nose. "How'd you ever manage to talk Gerrard into something like that?"

"Oh I have my ways," she said with a giggle. "I used my feminine wiles on him."

Flack arched an eyebrow.

"Oh don't be so gross. I wouldn't do something like that for even you. That is one casting couch I never plan on visiting. All you need to know is that I managed to talk him into it and I bought myself a return ticket here and that's that. Mind you, I did nearly get lost in the airport in Atlanta. That place is just crazy! I was okay and finding my way just fine until I had to stop for a bathing break. Once that happened forget about it. I walked out of the bathroom and couldn't remember what direction I was suppose to go in. But you know me, Donnie. Tell me to close my eyes and spin me around on a sidewalk in midtown and when I stop and open my eyes, I will have no idea where the hell I am going."

He grinned.

"Anyway," she said and took a breath. "Surprise. How's this for room service?"

"I gotta say, it beats anything on the menu. But," he kissed her softly and than stood up and offered her his hand. "I still think you're mental."

"What?" she asked, feigning hurt as she curled her fingers around his hand and let him help her to her feet. She dusted off the back of her jeans. "You're not happy to see me? I thought you'd be happy. If that's the case than I can just turn right back around and…"

He laid his hand on the side of her face and silenced her with a long, deep and intense kiss. "I'm happy to see you," he said, his lips against her forehead. "I missed you."

She smiled and laid her hand over his. "I missed you, too. And look! I'm completely lucid! I managed to get on a plane and get here in one piece without the use of narcotics of any kind! Well, that's a lie. I did take a couple lorezepam mid flight when we hit some turbulence, but none the less, here I am. Alive and well."

"Are you tired or are you high on caffeine or something?" he asked, smirking in amusement. "Because you're rambling like hell right now."

"I confess. I had a mochacino in the Starbucks in Atlanta. Just one. But I've been off caffeine for so long now that it's like getting high. Only it's legal. Anyway, how are you? Are you okay? You look tired."

"I am. Very tired."

"Well your sleeping buddy is here now so you should be okay here on out," she said with a giggle. "Are we going to stand here all evening and all night or are we going to go inside? Or is your mistress in there and you're stalling so she can get her clothes on and her shit packed and her ass out of there and scaling down six stories to safety?"

"You are one crazy Brooklyn girl, you know that?" Flack asked, and digging his key card from his jacket pocket, slipped it into the slot on the door. "You know," he said, as there was a dull click and he pushed the door open and reached for her suitcase. "This is probably the first time you can travel with three of my kids and only need one seat."

She chuckled. "Oh you are so very clever," she said, as they stepped inside the spacious room and he switched on the lights. "Very nice," she commented, nodding as she looked around the room. "Must be a culture shock for you. Staying in a place that's so clean."

"A little," he admitted with a chuckle. "But to be honest, I kinda miss all the clutter. The organized chaos. I still can't believe you came all the way here for two nights."

"I missed you," she said, toeing off her boots. "I'm not allowed to miss you? I can't surprise you once in a while?"

"Sure. But surprising me with like dinner and a clean house and stuff like that is one thing. Surprising me by taking a plane flight, on your own, and coming here for only two nights? That's another."

"I just wanted to be here," Sam told him. "I was going crazy at home without you. I can't help it. Especially after the news we just got. I have all this excitement and anxiety inside of me and the only person I could, and wanted to, share it with was thousands of miles away. This was the logical place for me to be."

"Being with Kieran is the most logical place for you to be," he said.

"Kieran's fine. He's in Queens with your parents. He's happier than a pig in shit when he's with nana and papa. Don't worry about him. He's probably have a gay old time driving them nuts while we're here, alone, in a pretty nice hotel room, and all we're doing is standing here debating about how insane I am."

"We don't have to debate it," he teased her, placing his hands on her slender hips and yanking her into him. "We both know how insane you are."

"But you love me," she said, reaching up to loosen his tie. "Regardless of how crazy I am and how nuts I drive you and how much I push your buttons, you love me. Because if you didn't, we wouldn't be here right now having this discussion. You'd be here, miserable and alone and I'd be in New York, miserable and alone and we'd both be suffering."

"There's always phone sex," he teased.

"We've done that, remember? A few times, actually. And nothing can beat the real thing now, can it?"

Flack shook his head.

She finished loosening his tie and than undid it completely. "Is there a problem?" she asked, peering up at him as she pulled his shirt from the waist of his pants and her fingers set to work on the buttons of his shirt.

"No…why?"

"You're awful slow on the uptake here. I'm tossing you all kinds of hints and I'm undoing your tie and your shirt. Is that not obvious enough? Do you need an engraved invitation or something?"

"Maybe I'm waiting until you ask me nicely," he said, sliding his hands from her hips to her ass.

"Well you'll be waiting a very, very, very long time, than," she declared, and finishing with his shirt, slid her hands down to his belt. Unbuckling it swiftly and effortlessly. "I don't ask," she informed him, and popped the button open on his pants. "I demand. And it's up to you to be able to keep up."

"I think I can manage that," he said, and tightening his grip on her ass, pulled her tight against him and kissed her. Hungrily and demandingly.

His tongue meeting little resistance as it pushed through her lips and gained easy access to warm mouth. Hearing her sigh in her throat as their tongues met. Her fingers reached for his zipper, sliding it down quickly and than reaching inside to stroke his impressive length through the fabric of his boxer shorts. He groaned at the feel of her hands on him and moved his lips to her ear and slipped his hands up the back of her turtleneck, his fingers finding the clasp on her bra and undoing it. His removed one hand from her back and brought it up to her face and pulled the fabric of her sweater away from the side of her slender neck. Hearing her slight moan and feeling her tremble against him as his mouth and tongue and teeth played along her soft, pale skin.

"You're so beautiful," he told her, moving from one side of her neck to the other. "Every inch of you is so beautiful and tastes so good. And I missed you."

She smiled and shivered as his fingertips drifted down her spine and travelled along her side and around to her stomach and lower. Expertly finding, and undoing, both the button and the zipper on her jeans. She slipped her hand from inside of his pants and clung to his shoulder as the fingers of her other hand tunnelled into his hair and moaned lightly at the feel of his teeth grazing against the spot under her ear.

"You know," he said, trailing his tongue from the lobe of her ear to the hallow of her throat. "Kieran's not around. And I kind of miss your porn star noises."

"But what would your neighbours think?" Sam asked. "I mean, they might think I'm some mistress of yours hooking up with you on a business trip and than they hear all those noises.."

"And than they get all jealous and say 'that guy obviously knows what he's doing'," he said. Samantha laughed, then let out a small yelp as he sucked a little too roughly on her neck.

"That's going to leave a mark!" she squealed, and shoved him away.

"I'm sorry. I forgot how sensitive you are. Let me see," he reached out and pushed her turtleneck down once more. "Yep…you've got a nice souvenir of your visit to Cincinnati. You'll be wearing turtlenecks for at least a week, maybe more."

"You're mean!" she cried and pushed his hands away. "Here I am thinking we can have a nice romantic, slow and wonderful and tender lovemaking session and you go and do something so high school. You just wait to see the mess I am going to make of your shoulders and back"

"Be quiet and get back here and you can start on that right away," he suggested with a chuckle, shedding his shirt and tossing it aside before grabbing a hold of her by the arm and pulling her to him before roughly divested her of her turtleneck and her bra. Kissing her aggressively, and possessively as he cupped her full breasts in his hands and softly brushed his thumbs over her nipples, feeling them harden under his touch.

She relaxed completely into that kiss as she ran her hands across his broad shoulders and down his strong, muscular arms. Stopping at his wrists before lightly scraping her fingernails all the way back up his arms and back along his shoulders and down his chest and stomach. Feeling him shudder against her when her hands drifted up the front of his wife beater and her nails traced across his nipples and than down until they reached the top of his pants.

He broke the kiss, finding it a necessity to breathe, and held her breasts in his hands and played with the nipples, rolling them between his fingers, pinching them lightly. All the things she liked that drove her absolutely insane. Watching the desire and need as it darkened her eyes and softened her face.

She smiled at him, yanked him closer to her by the top of his pants. "Make love to me," she said.

His lips devoured hers once more. "Are you asking?" he teased her, nibbling and sucking at her neck.

"I'm telling," she replied, and took a few steps backwards until the back of her legs hit the end of the bed. She sat down and scooted backwards.

"Maybe I don't take orders from a pip squeak like you," he said with a grin, standing at the foot of the bed. Peeling off his wife beater, he dropped it into the small pile of clothes behind him.

"Oh really?" she asked. She yanked her socks off and stretched her leg out and ran her bare foot along the inside of his thigh and over his already rock hard erection, pressing against it with her toes. "I said make love to me. Now."

"What is that? Some kind of order?" he smirked.

"No…it's a goddamn demand. I said make love to me and I mean NOW!"

"I love it when you try to go all aggressive on me. What do you call it when I do it to you? Going 'cop'?"

"You want to play good cop, bad cop, Don? Because I don't mind you being the submissive one on the bottom for a change."

"Sorry. I'm not giving up my power for no one," he said, and bent down and grabbed a hold of the waist of her both jeans and black lace boy shorts and yanked them over her hips and down her legs. "I'm the boss, Sammie. You know that."

"You wish," she laughed. "I just let you think you are."

"We'll see about that," he said. "Move back a little farther, babe? So I don't have to kneel on the floor."

She pushed herself further back on the bed, until she could lean back against the row of fluffy, comfortable pillows behind her. "Shouldn't you take your pants and your boxers off?" she asked, as her husband climbed on the bed and sat on his heels at her feet.

"Not yet. I figure, you were a good little wife for coming all this way just to see me, I might as well show some appreciation right?"

She nodded excitedly in agreement and bit her bottom lip in anticipation, allowing him to push her legs apart before taking one of her feet in his hands and pressing a kiss to the inside of her ankle. She gave a little whimper, her back arched.

"Whoa…are you that anxious?" he asked with a slight chuckle.

"Just hurry up," she responded.

"If I hurry up than it's over really quick and.."

"I don't care!" she cried. "Just hurry up! Please!"

He grinned and trailed his lips and tongue from her ankle, over the silkiness of the inside of her calf and up the inside of her slender thigh. Watching her the entire time. His eyes never leaving hers as he made his way ever so slowly to what she so desperately wanted. Finding the grimaces and whimpers and moans meant to spur him on a complete and utter turn on. Finding slight amusement in the disappointment that came over her face when he skipped by the most aching part of her body and instead trailed his tongue along her abdomen.

Her hands descended on the top of his head. Her fingers burying in his hair as she pushed him further down. She needed it. She wanted it. And teasing her any longer was nothing short of torture.

He slid a hand up the inside of her thigh, using light force to encourage her to open her legs further. She bent them at the knee and did as he wanted, her body tensing at the feel of his fingertips brushing against her damp pubic hair. Her eyes closing and a loud, long moan escaping from her lips as he eased two fingers inside of her, pressing against her inner walls as he slid them in as deep as he possibly could. He began a slow, firm and consistent rhythm that mimicked love making, than lowered his head and touched the tip of his tongue to her slick, aching clitoris. She cried out at the sensation, gripped his hair with one hand and the comforter below her with the other. Long ago it had become unnecessary to tell him the way she liked things. She no longer had to encourage him or ask him to go slow or fast or which techniques and movements she liked best. He knew when she needed slow, soft licks and when she needed fast, frantic ones accompanied by hard and deep thrusting of his fingers. It had become familiar, but in no way regular or tiring.

"Donnie…" she moaned his name loud and long. Her back arched off the bed and her hips lifted to meet his mouth. It was a sign that she was close. Very close.

He removed his fingers briefly. Adding a third one before using the tip of his tongue to trace fast circles on her clit. He curved his fingers slightly so the tips hit, and than firmly stroked, her G-spot. Until him, she had thought it was nothing but a myth, until, with the help of some mint chocolate chip ice cream, he'd proved differently.

Her one hand held tightly onto his head as her hips moved in time to his ministrations. The other gathered up the comforter into a tight fist. Her body was covered in a thin sheen of perspiration. Her toes curled and dug into the bed. And when he drew her clit into his mouth and sucked aggressively on it and roughly pressed on her G-spot, she became completely undone. She screamed his name over and over again and threw her head back and pushed her hips into his face as a powerful, earth shattering orgasm hit her.

She was near sobbing from the phenomenal sensations surging through her body. Reaching down, she put a hand on his forehead in a vain attempt to push him away. Flack shoved her hand out of the way, put his own hand on lower stomach to hold her firmly in place on the bed, and continued fingering her and licking and sucking her clitoris.

"No!" she cried, yanking at his hair. "Don't! Donnie! Don't! You have to stop! Please! No more! You have to stop!"

He ignored her, pushed her hands away from him and kept going.

"Please!" she screamed, pleading with him. "STOP! I can't…you can't…you just have to stop! It hurts! You need to stop! It hurts too much!"

He heard the begging tone to her voice, the tears she was fighting. Alarmed, he raised his head to look at her. "What's wrong?" he asked. "I hurt you?"

"No…you didn't hurt me…but that was hurting, baby…you know I don't like it when you keep going like that after I come…it's sensitive and sore and I can't enjoy anything when I'm feeling like that."

He nodded in understanding and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before leaning over her, propped on his arm, and kissing her deeply. "You taste that, Samantha?" he asked. "That's you. Do you realize how good you taste?"

"That so just turned me on hearing you say that," she giggled. "Now hurry up and fuck me," she said.

"I thought you just said that…"

"Quit fighting with me and just do it!" she snapped, and bit his bottom lip. Hard enough to draw blood.

"Fucking turns me on when you do that," Flack said, and found himself being yanked down on top of her. He managed to get his hand down on the mattress before she was burdened with his whole weight. "Whoa…whoa…Sam, this isn't a good idea…"

"What? When is sex not a good idea?"

"I don't mean that. I mean me being on top. I don't want to be hurting you and doing anything to the baby.." he grinned and quickly corrected himself. "Babies."

"They're fine," she assured him. "They're in a nice, warm, safe place. Nothing is going to happen to them."

"I'm heavy," he reminded her.

"So? Than don't put your full weight on me. You got those big, strong, sexy arms. Use them!"

"Why don't you…?"

"Would you just cut the shit and fuck me already!" she demanded.

He smirked and sealed her lips in a ferocious kiss as, held up by his arms, he manoeuvred himself between her legs and slipped inside of her with one smooth, fluid thrust. Filling her up completely when she wrapped both legs around his waist and locked her ankles at the small of his back. His lips found her neck as he moved slowly and tenderly inside of warm, welcoming body. Listening to her soft moans and whimpers and sighs. Enjoying the feel of her hands drifting up and down his arms and across his shoulders. Her nails scarping along the back of his neck before slipping down his back. He trailed a hot path of kisses along her collar bone and the hallow of her throat and under her chin before capturing her lips with his once again.

Her heels dug into the small of his back and her nails bit into his shoulders. Her silent indication that she needed more, much more. No more taking things slow and easy. Over the span of two years they'd grown accustomed to each other's nuances. Their unspoken wants and needs. He drew her bottom lip between his lip, looked deep into those trusting, loving golden eyes glowing with passion and moved quick and hard inside of her.

She moaned in appreciation. Her eyes closed and her head fell back, exposing her throat to his greedy mouth. Sweat glistened on their bodies. It beaded on his forehead and dripped down his temples as he reached behind him and loosened her hold and set her legs down gently on the mattress. Her eyes opened and she frowned at the sudden halt to their love making. Flack got onto his knees, pulled her by the hips so she was nearly in his lap and draped her legs over his elbows as he slipped inside of her once again.

Her hands clutched the blankets underneath her. Her eyes closed as she let out an illicit, erotic moan as he proceeded to fuck her at a fast, rough pace. Through with taking his time and drawing things out. Seeking a means to an end. Because he honestly couldn't hold it, or himself back anymore.

"Donnie…" her voice had a pleaded quality to it. "I need you to…I need…"

He didn't need to be told. He laid her one foot on his hip and reached down to rub vigorously at her clitoris. She cried out. Her hips lifted off the bed and she gritted her teeth.

"So close.." she ground out. "Baby…I'm so close…"

"So than relax and let it happen," he told her. "Why hold it back?"

"I don't know…I just…" she screamed as the orgasm finally hit. Loud enough to nearly shatter the windows and wake the dead. If there were any guests in the rooms nearby, they were definitely receiving a hell of show with just the noise alone coming from their room.

She collapsed back onto the bed, her arms splayed out beside her. Her weak, trembling legs slipping from around his waist. She was panting and mumbling incoherently and thrashing her head from side to side.

He quickened his pace and deepened his thrusts even more. The clenching of her inner muscles sending him over the edge. Startled and for some reason, totally turned on, when his wife, with his pulsating cock still inside of her, sprung up into a sitting position and clamped her hand over his mouth to hold back the uncontrollable scream that erupted from his mouth. He normally wasn't the type of guy to make much noise during love making. Dirty talk and profanities were more his style. But all the anxiety and the nerves and the sheer excitement from the last twenty four hours had rendered him a complete babbling and screaming idiot.

They sat there, their slick bodies still joined. Chests heaving and hearts hammering. Her hand over his mouth as golden eyes locked with blue ones. All the love and respect and adoration laid bare in their eyes. There was no need for words. They had long ago surpassed that part of their relationship. They stayed like that for several long minutes. Their gazes never wavering until they regained their composure.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, removing her hand.

He nodded, unable to speak. His lungs fighting desperately to draw air.

"You never do that," she commented.

"I just…I don't know…I just couldn't help it…" he panted.

She smiled and brushed sweat off his forehead with her hand.

He circled her waist with his arms and rested his forehead on her shoulder.

She kissed the side of his head and stroked his hair with one hand and his back with the other.

"You're amazing," Flack said, and pressed kisses along her shoulder and neck. "That was…I don't know…awesomeness at it's fucking best."

She giggled. "Awesomeness?" she asked, pulling back to look at him. "You have been hanging around my brother way too much."

He nodded in agreement and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I gotta pee," she announced, patting him on the shoulders before climbing off of him.

"That's so romantic," Flack complained, collapsing face first onto the bed.

"Who needs romance? We're married? We're not suppose to have romance and pillow talk and all that fluffy, sugary sweet shit."

"Whatever you say, babe," his voice was muffled by the pillow.

Sam snagged his dress shirt from the floor and slipped into it as she padded to the bathroom. She stopped to empty her bladder first, than went to the sink to freshen herself up. She couldn't be bothered to search for her own toiletries in her suitcase, so she used her husband's toothbrush to clean her teeth and than splashed cold water on her face and towelled dried herself.

"Donnie," she said, as she flicked off the bathroom light and headed back into the bedroom, buttoning the shirt and rolling up the sleeves as she went. "I was thinking that maybe we could.."

She stopped mid sentence at the sight in front of her.

Her husband, the love of her life, still butt naked from their incredibly mind blowing love making, fast asleep on his stomach. Arms stretched out at his side.

"Now that's romance," she snorted, and flicking off the room lights and making sure the door was locked, climbed onto the bed. She propped herself on her elbow as she lay on her side. She ran her hand down his back and kissed his shoulder.

Flack rolled over onto his side so he was facing her. A smile curved his lips. "I'm not asleep yet," he said.

"Faker," she scolded, and found herself pulled tightly against him.

"I never fake. Sometimes, those noises? I wonder about you."

"Trust me, Donnie. I have no reason to fake. You are that good."

He grinned and closed his eyes. "Show me where my babies are," he said.

She took his hand and laid it on her flat stomach. Below the navel and to the left.

"That's where they are?"

"It's where they were on the ultrasound. All three. Huddled together."

"Watching out for each other already," he said, and sighed happily.

Sam smiled and kissed his lips softly.

"I love you guys," he declared.

And promptly fell asleep.

Content and peaceful.

* * *

Candlelight flickered on the walls of the bathroom. The soft scent of lavender hung in the air. Easy listening music played on the stereo in the living room and drifted through the open bathroom door. It was calm and soothing. No other worries in the world. Nothing else existed outside of the hotel room for the time being. The only thing that mattered were the two people, madly and passionately in love, that took up residence in the Infinity style tub that was filled to the brim with water and lavender scented bubbles.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Flack complained, as he sat against the back of the tub with his wife sitting between his legs, her back resting against his chest.

"It's romantic," Sam declared, as she used a long handled spoon to dig into the monstrous chocolate fudge sundae her husband held in one of his hands.

"I don't do romance," he reminded her.

She snorted. "Liar. You just say you don't do romance to preserve your bad ass reputation."

"Actually," he said and kissed her shoulder. "I do it to preserve my ladies man reputation."

She scowled at him over her shoulder.

"Kidding, honey," he pressed his lips to her forehead. "Just kidding."

"I am telling you right now, Donald Flack, when we get home? I am searching the apartment high and low and if I find any kind of little black book or anything, you'll be missing your most beloved appendage on your body. Understand me?"

He chuckled. "Sad thing is I believe you. I can totally seeing you snapping one night and doing a John Bobbitt on me."

"Yeah? Well she used a kitchen knife. I won't be so kind. I'll grab a serrated steak knife or a damn box cutter and the job that way. Don't tempt me either."

"I won't. But I assure you, Sammie, I was just joking. You know how much I love you. That you're the only woman in the world for me. I mean, would I get into a lavender scented bubble bath if I didn't love you?"

She thought about it. "Good point," she said. She scooped out some of the ice cream and turned sideways slightly and held the treat out to him.

"We have got some sick ways of eating ice cream do you realize it?" he asked, as he opened his mouth and she popped the spoon in.

"I wouldn't say they're sick," Sam replied. "More unusual. And for the most part, erotic."

He nodded in agreement.

"I am going to get so fat," she declared and happily ate her sundae as she settled back against him.

"I think you're going to get fat regardless," Flack told her.

"Oh that's nice. You say the most sweetest, loveliest things to me."

"I didn't mean it that way, babe. What I meant was that you're obviously going to put some more weight on this time around. There's three babies to be worried about now. Not just one extra person you have to worry about . Three that you have to worry eating enough to sustain."

"Like I said," she sighed. "I am going to get so fat."

"Pregnant," he corrected. "There's a huge difference. Fat is just being fat. Pregnant is creating the miracle of life. Something we made together. I think it's pretty damn amazing when you think about it. How something can start out so small and end up, nine months later, an eight pound newborn. It's amazing how it goes through all those stages to get there."

"You read that Expectant Father book one too many times when I was pregnant with K," she declared with a chuckle. "Because that is not Don Flack Jr talking."

"What do you want me to say?" he laughed "Yeah. It's fucking awesome that I knocked you up three times at once?"

She giggled as he nuzzled her neck. "Now that is Don Flack Jr talking. None of this poetic, hearts and flowers bullshit. Just the facts and nothing but."

"It's what attracted you to me in the first place," he said.

"Actually, it was the dark hair and blue eyes. And your ass. I looked at your ass that first crime scene and we worked and I said yep, that's my future husband someday. 'Cause baby got back."

"And you call me the perv," he said. He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes. His free hand drifting from to her thigh and rested softly there. "I was noticing earlier that you got a bit of a baby bump going on there, Mrs Flack," he said.

"Don't remind me. I noticed it this morning. I mean, I knew I'd put on a bit of weight, but I never noticed any sort of bump until now. I show early though.. I was like that with Kieran. The doctor says it's because I'm so small."

"Maybe…what I want to know is where in the hell three babies are going to fit inside of a body that tiny."

"Most likely they'll be very small," she said. "Probably no more than four pounds, if that. And most trippies are born early and have to spend some time in the NICU."

He arched an eyebrow. "Trippies?" he asked.

"Adam coined the phrase. I thought it was cute. But don't expect them to be big, Donnie. And don't expect them to come home right away either. If they're as small as the doctor said they might me, they'll be in the hospital for a bit."

"As long as they're healthy," he declared. "Doesn't matter how long they're in there, as long as they're healthy."

She smiled.

"And let's think about that stuff when it's closer to when they're suppose to be born. Okay? Let's just enjoy the thought of being parents again. And the whole craziness that we somehow managed to conceive three babies at once."

"I've said it once so I will say it again. Demon sperm."

He frowned. "So…" he stroked her stomach softly. "I've been thinking."

"So that's what that smell is," she said. "It's your seldom used brain."

Flack snorted. "Be nice."

"Sorry. I couldn't resist. You left yourself wide open for that. As you were saying…"

"I've been thinking. I know we said we were going to have to find another place. A bigger place. Well, now that there's three babies and not one, we're obviously going to find a much, much bigger place. Right?"

She nodded.

"And we've got all that money still in savings from what was left over from Zack. And my parents already said we could borrow some money off of them if we had to. So, I was thinking, that when we get back to the city, we go down to our bank and apply for a mortgage."

"You want to buy a house?"

"Just something small. A starter home. Enough room for me and you and four kids. The trippies can always share a room until they're older and if there's a basement, we can always build another bedroom so that we have that extra space when they get too old to be sharing rooms anymore. Like say there's one guy in the bunch. He wouldn't have to share a room with two girls. See where I'm coming from?"

Sam nodded.

"Something nice," he said. "In another borough because we both know how insanely expensive it is to live in Manhattan. I don't know. Maybe the Bronx or Brooklyn."

She looked over her shoulder at him. Her expression obviously giving it away she thought he'd gone nuts.

"Okay. So maybe not Brooklyn. I know the thought of going back there kills you. We could always look in Queens. Lots of nice little places around my folks."

Sam laughed.

"What?" Flack asked. "What's so funny?"

"You. The thought of you living anywhere remotely close to your parents. You'd end up killing them."

"I didn't say we'd be neighbours. Just close enough so there's not a lot of travelling for my mom when she looks after K is all."

"Good plan," Sam said and continued eating her ice cream.

"How are we going to tell him anyway?"

"Tell who what?"

"Kieran. How are we going to tell him he's going to be a big brother?"

"He wouldn't even know what we're saying, Donnie. He doesn't know what a baby is. He's only a year old. He might get it more when I'm closer to the end of the pregnancy, but right now? He just wouldn't get it."

"Don't underestimate him," Flack said. "He's damn smart. I mean, we have to tell him something."

"We tell him that mommy has a baby in her tummy and he's going to be a big brother," Sam concluded. "Nice and simple."

Flack nodded in agreement. "This is all so fucking freaky," he declared. "I mean, we're going to be parents again, Sammie. We're having triplets."

"Are you scared?" she asked. "And be honest with me, Donald."

"Uh-oh. Lady means business. She called me Donald."

"Are you scared?" she repeated seriously.

He sighed. "I'm scared," he conceded.

"That's okay," she said. "So am I."

She slipped her free hand under the water and laid it over his as it rested on her leg.

He kissed the top of her head and entwined his fingers with hers. "You know what I think?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"I think it's okay to be scared. As long as we do it together."

She smiled.

Flack moved their joined hands from her thigh to her stomach. He pressed his lips to her shoulder and than to her temple. "Together…all five of us that are in this tub at this moment. It's like that stint Letterman has. How many people can you fit in a New York City phone booth. Only this is how many people can you fit in a king sized bathtub."

"You're mental," she declared. "But I love you."

"I know," he said. "And I love you. All four of you. We're in trouble though. Few more pregnancies and I'll run out of fingers to count on."

She laughed at that. "You're a strange, strange man, Mr Flack."

"Than I'm in good company. Because you're a strange, strange woman, Mrs Flack."

"I like when you call me that," she said.

"Yeah?"

She nodded.

"I like when I call you that too. And you know what, we may be strange, but I like to think that we were made just for each other."

"Aren't you just so glad you were nice to me that day outside of the crime lab?" she asked.

He smiled and kissed her cheek and tightened his grip on her hand.

"You have no idea," he said.

* * *

**Special thanks to all of you who are reading and reviewing. I appreciate each and every one of you! And thanks to the lurkers too! PLEASE folks. Drop me a review, show some love! Much appreciated.**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**muchmadness**

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**ImaSupernaturalCSI**

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**GregRox**

**Soccer-bitch**


	42. If It Seems Too Good to be True

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN….YOU GUYS KNOW THE REST**

**A/N: SO THIS IS THE LAST OF THE RAPID FIRE POSTINGS AS MY FAMILY THAT DOESN'T GET OR ACCEPT THE WHOLE WRITING THING COMES BACK THIS AFTERNOON. IT IS A SAD, SAD DAY IN VFB LAND. SO THINGS WILL BE BACK TO NORMAL AFTER THIS FOLKS. HOPE YOU ALL HANG IN THERE!**

**ALSO, I JUST RECEIVED A REVIEW FOR THIS CHAPTER, THAT I WROTE DANNY COUNTING TO THREE IN SPANISH. AND THAT IT'S WRONG. JUST TO AVOID CONFUSION, AS MOST OF YOU PROBABLY ALREADY KNOW, OUR BOY DAN-O IS ITALIAN. AND WELL, YEAH. THAT'S WHAT HE'S COUNTING TO THREE IN. ITALIAN. THANKS GUYS! LUV Y'ALL! CIAO BELLAS! BEG 75**

* * *

**If it seems to good to be true…**

"Someday baby,  
You and I are gonna be the ones  
Good luck's gonna shine  
Someday baby  
you and I are gonna be the ones  
So hold on  
We're headed for a better life  
Oh now  
there's a place for you and me  
Where we can dream as big as the sky  
I know it's hard to see it now  
But baby someday we're gonna fly  
This road we're on, you know it might be long  
But my faith is strong  
It's all that really matters."  
-Better Life, Keith Urban

* * *

Bryce Cabot was in the box.

The forty-five year old crane operator from Long Island was still in his dusty steeled toed work boots and his yellow hard hat and red and black chequered hunting style jacket and his thermal lined industrial overalls. He had been pulled off the job when Samantha Flack and Chester Lake had come calling with a warrant to search his locker for what they believed to be the weapon that sliced the throat of the woman they had dubbed the Central Park Virgin.

Her real name had been Grace Mitchell. Lake had found a match in the missing persons data base. She had been a twenty one year old recent NYU graduate. Despite being the proud owner of a degree in chemistry, she'd been unable to find work in her field of choice and had taken a job as a clerk for Lancaster construction. The same construction company that the married, father of three Bryce Cabot had been a long standing employee with.

It had been Grace's mother that had filed the missing persons report with the NYPD when her daughter, a born again Christian, had failed to come home from work Friday evening. It was three hours past the scheduled end of Grace's shift and the mother was worried because her daughter was never late. She was prompt and reliable and even at her age always called if she was stopping over somewhere after work or was running behind. So that her parents didn't worry themselves sick. It had been her mother, to whom Lake had had to deliver the painful and devastating news of her daughter's brutal and untimely demise, who had given them Cabot's name. She had said that her daughter had complained numerous times to her, and to her supervisors at the construction company, that Cabot was harassing her. Sending her suggestive e-mails and making unwanted passes at her in the hallways when their paths crossed.

A hold up in t processing had meant that Grace's picture and initial report hadn't been entered into the NYPD system until Tuesday morning. Lake had all but been ready to call the whole thing an unsolved and box it up as a cold case when something had told him to check missing persons one more time. The picture and identity of the Central Park virgin had been the first one to appear on the screen. He'd than made a call to Grace's mother to deliver the bad news, and to ask if there was something, anything, that may lead to whoever may have murdered her only child. She than, through her cries of Dear Jesus, not my baby and her gut wrenching sobbing, had come out with Bryce Cabot's name.

Lake and Samantha had first paid a visit to Cabot's modest bungalow in Long Island. They'd talked to his wife, who had her husband hadn't been home in nearly five days and she suspected he'd run off with his mistress. Some girl named Grace at the office. Some young pretty thing that apparently he'd been unable to resist and who he'd promised the world to. Before Samantha had gone on her trip to Cincinnati, she had successfully identified the weapon that had sliced Grace Mitchell's throat as a Linder Crown Stag Old Western Bowie knife. Relatively uncommon, it was considered a collector's item with its old world craftsmanship and its seven inch long steel blade.

It was Lake who had brought up hunting with Cabot's wife. Taking the gamble that just by chance, her husband was either hunter, or just a knife collector. She'd been so pissed at his illicit affair, that she'd coughed up all the information they'd needed and had personally taken them into the basement to have a peek at Bryce's hunting equipment. One look at an empty knife case stashed in the back of a gun cabinet had prompted Lake to call for a warrant right there and than.

Cabot hadn't seem to surprised to see the cops waiting for him after his bosses had ordered him onto the ground. He hadn't argued when Lake had flashed the warrant for the knife in his face and had simply showed the two detectives to his locker and opened it without so as much as a bat of an eyelash. Lake hadn't taken to kindly to that smug, ignorant smirk the other man had had on his face as he'd watched Samantha, standing on her tip toes, rummaging through the clutter on the top shelf. Coming up with the knife in question wrapped in a soiled rag. It had been wiped clean. From tip to base. Lake had seen that smirk that had come over Cabot's face when the pretty little CSI had ran a swab up and down the length of the blade and had squirted solution on it from a tiny spray bottle and had come up with absolutely nothing. But that smirk had faded when, not to be out done by some perp who thought he was good enough to get away with murder, Sam had taken the knife apart and had grabbed a fresh swab and repeated the procedure on the inside of the handle.

Positive for blood. Human blood at that. Cabot had had an excuse. Like most murderers or just liars in general. He'd gone hunting just two months before and had sliced his finger while skinning a deer. It was his blood. Neither Lake nor Sam had bought that explanation. Instead, they'd taken Cabot into custody based on probable case in Grace's disappearance.

He'd been booked and ran through the system and now sat, calm, cool and collected, his hands behind his head and his dirty work boots up on the interrogation, immersed in a stare down with an unimpressed Lake while Sam, the knife in her possession, was running the appropriate DNA tests to prove, without a doubt, that that blood belonged to Grace Mitchell.

"Where's your girlfriend?" Cabot asked, stretching his arms above his head and cracking his knuckles noisily.

"Detective Flack is upstairs in the crime lab," Lake replied calmly. "Finding what she needs to prove you killed Grace Mitchell."

Cabot smirked and snorted and shook his head. "I didn't kill anyone. And I certainly didn't kill Gracie. I loved that girl. I already told you that, Tonto."

* * *

"I would have so gotten up and reached across the table and bitch slapped him for that," Flack commented, as he and Mac stood in the observation room, watching through the one way glass and listening through the speaker system.

Flack was there, as an acting supervisor, to keep an eye on Lake. Observe his interrogation techniques. Take over if he found the new guy sinking instead of swimming. Sit down with him afterwards and tell him what went wrong and why and how to fix it. But so far, Lake seemed to be handling his own quite nicely.

"Well let's be thankful you're not in there," Mac responded with a smirk. He heard a loud yawn erupt from the younger man to his left and glanced over. Flack stood with his one hand on the wall next to the glass, his chin to his chest as he rubbed at his weary eyes with his other hand.

"Sorry," the homicide detective said with a sheepish smile. "Been a lot going on at home lately."

"You just got back last night from Cincinnati," Mac said, turning away from the window as Lake and Cabot once again delved into a long silence. "I would have thought you'd come back from a few days off well rested and ready to go."

"I'm always ready to go. But well rested?" Flack snorted. "No such thing with a one year old in the house. A one year old that's cutting molars at that. K's not a happy camper. He's up half the night moaning and groaning from the pain. Rocking. Christ, Mac, does that kid rock. We can hear the railings on the crib and the springs squeaking. Self stimulation the doctor calls it. Soothes him. We've tried the orajel, we've tried the Tylenol and the Advil. Nothing works. So he does his rocking thing. And he's moaning while he's doing it. Drives me insane. And he still gets up at seven am," he shook his head and yawned again. "I need another vacation already."

"Or ear plugs," Mac suggested. "Samantha's been feeling okay?"

"Surprisingly, she's been doing great this time around. Some nausea here and there but nothing like when she was pregnant with K."

"That's good," Mac said with a nod. "You know, I was somewhat surprised when she came into my office this morning and told me she was pregnant. I wasn't expecting the two of you to be adding to your family so soon."

"Neither were we," Flack admitted. "We were actively trying and all that. We just didn't think it would happen so soon. Ever notice the women around here all get pregnant at once? Last time it was Sam and Carmen. This time it was Stella first and now Sam."

"Must be something in the water," Mac said with a light chuckle. "And you've obviously been drinking the water more than anyone because both times, your wife has been one of the guilty parties."

"That's it, Mac," Flack chuckled. "Blame me. It's all my fault. You getting excited? Stella doesn't have that much longer to go. Pretty soon you're going to be Mac Daddy."

The older man gave a warm, genuine smile and nodded. "We're getting down to the wire. Three more months. So we're three quarters of the way there. Stella wishes there was only three days to go mind you. She says she's getting quite tired of being pregnant, and I quote 'looking like a fat cow, peeing five times a night and being just plain uncomfortable in general'. And than she told me, that I better be damn well grateful that she's willing to put herself through such torment to give me an offspring."

Flack smirked. "Wait until she's telling you in the middle of labour that it's all your fault that her insides are being ripped apart and she's never letting you anywhere near her again. That's always a pleasant conversation right there. So any idea on what you guys are having? Boy? Girl? I know you were going for that sonogram couple weeks back but you guys never said a word about it."

"They couldn't give us anything solid," Mac said. "But they said, by the looks of things, that the baby's a girl."

Flack nodded in approval. "That's nice. A little girl. A daddy's girl. You'll have a lot of fun with that one, Mac. Especially if she's anything like her mother. So it's just one than? Just one baby? No surprises? No double of anything or anything like that?"

"By the grace of God no. One is enough. Why? You know something I don't, Flack?"

"No. I was just asking. Just making conversation. 'Cause I figured , if you were having more than one, than what I'm about to tell you might not shock you as much as I've been thinking it will."

Mac frowned. "What's that suppose to mean? Is that some kind of riddle, Flack? Your tired brain is muddling things?"

"No…it's just…" he sighed and gave a small laugh and shook his head. "We haven't told anyone yet. Sam and I. You'll be the first. Save for Adam because he was at the appointment and was sworn to secrecy afterwards."

Mac arched a quizzical eyebrow.

"At Sam's ultrasound. They found something…what's the best word…interesting."

"Alright."

"We found out we're having triplets, Mac."

For once, all words and rational thought escaped Mac Taylor. The hard ass former Marine was completely and utterly tongue tied as he stood there in the observation room, observing the younger man standing alongside of him, who was nodding his head slowly, a small smile on his face, indicating that what he had just said was the absolute truth. That Mac hadn't imagined he'd heard Don Flack announce he was going to be the father to not one, but three babies. It wasn't something that you heard every day. And if Mac was that shocked, he couldn't imagine what Flack and Samantha had had go through their minds at the news.

"I'm not shitting you, Mac," Flack said. "It's true. Triplets. Can you believe that? How surreal is that? Definitely not what I was expecting to hear."

"You're absolutely sure?" the older man asked.

Flack nodded. "Three of everything. Sam saw it with her own two eyes. So did Adam. She even showed me pictures of three separate, distinct heartbeats. No denying it."

"That's a little…" Mac was at a loss for words.

"Fucked up?" Flack offered.

The crime lab boss shook his head and laughed. A warm, hearty laugh that Flack rarely heard come from his colleague and good friend. "You two don't believe in doing anything halfway, huh? Not only will I be losing both Stella and Samantha on maternity leave, now you're telling me this? I swear you two just love screwing up my schedule. Because now I've got to make accommodations for not only another pregnant woman in the lab, but for one that's pregnant with triplets. What am I suppose to do with news like this?"

Flack shrugged.

Mac laughed and shook his head a little while longer and than clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "I guess there's only one thing for me to say and that's congratulations, Don," he offered his free hand.

"Thanks," Flack said and shook Mac's hand. "It's taking some getting used to. The whole idea that we're not having just one. That instead of having a family of four in about six months, we're going to have a family of six."

"It could always be worse, Flack," Mac chuckled. "It could always be sextuplets and you'd be having a family of eight."

"Kinda like that show on tv Sam watches. Mind you they had twins and than six. Jon and Kate Plus Eight or something like that. She's addicted to that show. Always telling me she wants a family just like that. She's nuts, Mac. Plain nuts. I watch that show and that guy? He's not a happy man. He's ready to just go postal on someone. And the way his wife bitches?" Flack shook his head. "Now my wife can bitch with the best of them. But that? I could not deal with that woman. I'd be out that door so quick and leaving her and the eight brats behind. Eight kids, Mac! I mean, come on. That's not right. That's just plain wrong, actually."

"Which is why, and take my advice to heart, never rely on fertility drugs unless you want a whole litter."

Flack couldn't help but burst out laughing at Mac's honest, if not somewhat asshole-ish comment. The man was nothing if not brutally honest. To a fault sometimes. Mac had a way of offending you and hurting your feelings without even realizing it. Just by the cutting tone he used on you or the way he stared you down in front of an entire lab of your colleagues. He had been guilty of having Sam in tears a number of times by just a look or an offhanded jab that he never intended to be cruel. That was just the way Mac was. You didn't like it, tough. You sucked it up and dealt with it. The man was cold. Not denying that. But there were times, every once in a while, especially since he'd married Stella and found out about the baby, that Mac showed a more human side.

"So I guess you know Danny's going to Montana tomorrow," Mac said.

Flack nodded. "I'm taking him to the airport at eleven in the morning. And yes, before you ask, I do know my wife is responsible. I'm not overly happy about it, but…" he shrugged. "What can you do?"

"Not much," Mac sighed. "Yesterday Stella came home and announced she'd dropped three grand on a round, brass canopy crib."

"That's not right," Flack said. "I'd shit."

"I fought with her about it for a while. But in the end, watching her cry and accuse me of being insensitive wasn't worth it. The crib arrives in two days."

"Why do we do it, Mac?" Flack asked. "Put up with what we do? Why?"

"Because we love them," the older man replied. "And our lives would be miserable without them. And because we know we couldn't afford the alimony and the child support payments."

Flack laughed. "Ain't that the truth. Imagine what it would cost me with four kids? I shudder just thinking about it. I'm telling you, that woman isn't going anywhere and neither am I. Not for a long, long time. I was telling her yesterday that…"

He stopped mid sentence when the door to the interrogation room opened and his wife slipped into the room. Stone faced and carrying a case folder.

* * *

He and Mac held their collective breath and watched and waited.

"Hey, look," Cabot commented, as the petite brunette stepped into the room. "It's the smart cop. About time I got some eye candy to enjoy."

"Boy, if that's your best pick up line, I can see why so many women have turned you down," Sam said snidely as she dropped the folder on the desk and slipped into the chair alongside of the desk. "I guess Grace Mitchell preferred men with more style and substance. And say, a personality that didn't rival a gutter rat."

Cabot smirked. "You're from Brooklyn, huh? All you Brooklyn girls are feisty and got big mouths. Why don't you duck under this table here and show me just how big."

"Sorry," Sam said. "But when I need a magnifying glass to find it, it's not worth my effort or my time."

Lake coughed noisily and attempted, in vain, to hide his amused grin.

Cabot's smirk faded and he locked eyes with the CSI. Counting on her to be scared and intimidated by his cold, unfeeling grey orbs and his impressively large and strong physical size. But she simply laced her fingers together and placed her hands on the table top and looked right back at him. Her gaze never wavered, her breathing never changed to show she was either frightened or agitated and she never cracked a smile or a grimace. And after a few minutes of silence between the two of them, it was Cabot that became uneasy and looked away.

"She uses that technique on me all the time," Flack said to Mac. "Gets me into these stare downs when she wants me to do something I don't want to do. Five foot nothing and she freaks me out each and every time. She's got me wrapped around her little finger. How in the hell that happened, I will never know."

"I've got some good news for you, Bryce," Samantha announced, as she flipped open the case file in front of her.

"Told you I never killed anyone," he snorted. "I'm going to sue both of your asses. Gonna find a high profile attorney and he's going to have both of your badges, and your pensions and take everything you own and squeeze ya both dry and leave you out on the street in cardboard boxes and eating out of garbage cans. Seeing as we're done here," he pushed his chair away from the table with a deafening screech and stood up and towered over the two detectives. "I'll be seeing you two waiting in line for welfare pretty soon."

"Sit down," Sam told him, nodding at the empty chair.

"If you got nothing on me than…"

"I said sit down," she repeated, more firmly.

"Listen, bitch, just because you can get away with talking like that to other guys doesn't mean…"

"She said sit down!" Lake bellowed, jumping to his feet and slamming his palms down on the table. Such a detour from his usual calm and composed and soft spoken self that it startled everyone involved. Even Flack and Mac watching and listening in the other room.

Cabot blinked. The smirk disappeared. And without a word, he slinked back into his chair.

"It's really not polite to interrupt," Sam said. "I mean, my son is a year old and he's already learning that in day care so I don't know where you were raised or who taught you, but obviously, it never stuck. So here's the good news I have for you. I happen to be one of the detectives around here that are more tolerant to liars. If you had have gotten one of the guys I work with in here, they would have long ago chewed you up and spit you out. So it's definitely your lucky day that I was scheduled to work today."

He eyed her from head to toe. "Certainly is my lucky day," he said with an approving nod. "I like what I see."

"You'll be seeing either my foot up your ass or my fist in your teeth if you don't knock this bullshit off," Sam informed them, than gave a sugary sweet smile. "I prefer gentlemen. So if you'd like to get on my good side, I'd start now. Because you're sinking fast."

"And I prefer gentle ladies," Cabot sneered. "And seeing as I don't see any at this table.."

Sam laid her hand over her heart and gasped dramatically. "You wound me. That cuts deep. Considering it seemed as if we were becoming such lovely friends and all. So enough of the mindless chit chat. Let me hand you the bad news now. The bad news, Bryce, is that you're going on an extended vacation. To a little place we know called Sing-Sing. I'm sure you've heard of it. Actually, I know you do. Because a peek into your record told me that you spent some time there for assault with a weapon, forcible confinement, and grand larceny. That's quite the mixed bag goods."

"I can multitask," he said and shrugged. "So what?"

"Well now, you can add murder to the list of things you excel at," Sam told him. "Because that blood I found on the inside of the handle of your knife? That blood was an exact match to Grace Mitchell. And before you sprout off something about the inaccuracy of science and the unfairness of the NYPD, let me assure you that I am damn good at my job and there's no room for error with these results."

"Why'd you do it?" Lake asked. "We know that your wife thought you and Grace were having an affair."

"We were," Cabot told the detective.

"No you weren't," Sam said. "We talked to your bosses. And Grace's mother. And Grace's pastor. We know that you were harassing her at work and through phone calls to her house. We also know that you weren't involved in an intimate relationship with her, because a detailed exam by our pathologist told us that Grace was a virgin."

Cabot shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"You really need to start watching crime shows," Lake told the perp. "For the most part they're poorly scripted and have less than stellar acting, but at least you'd get a feel for how we find things out. The tests we do and what not. That way you'd be able to come up with a better lie the next time you kill someone."

"You might as well just tell us what happened," Sam said. "Because we have you dead to rights and the sooner you start talking, the better it's going to look for your defence."

"I believe I have the right to remain silent," Cabot smirked. "And that I'm entitled to an attorney. And no, I don't need a court appointed one."

"Good for you," Lake said. "I'm happy for you. Because the system is pretty over run and you'd most likely be sitting in holding for a few days waiting for a public defender to get here."

"So what happened?" Sam asked. "She turn you down one too many times? Hurt your male pride?"

"My pride is intact and alive and well," Cabot informed her. "And I can have lots of women. I didn't need Grace."

"But you wanted her," Sam said. "You made that quite obvious in your illicit and suggestive messages. The times you touched her inappropriately at work. I don't know what world you're living in, but when a woman says no repeatedly, than files not one, but two complaints against you with your boss, that usually means she's not interested. What happened? You thought she was just playing hard to get?"

"I'm not saying anything more to you," Cabot told her, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"That's okay," Sam chirped. "Because I've had too much chocolate already today and I'm in one hell of a chatty mood. Let me spell this out for you. I know all about the harassment. I also know that that's Grace's blood on your knife and that for over six months now you've kept another apartment here in the city, three blocks from Central Park. And that right now, I have investigators going through that apartment and searching your vehicle for more evidence as to what happened Thursday night. And you could make this all a whole lot easier on yourself, if you just tell us what went down."

Cabot sighed. He was backed into a corner. There was no way out. "Grace agreed to have dinner with me. I told her that I wanted to apologize to her for what I'd done and for making her life hell. I knew she'd forgive me, because she was a huge bible thumper and they're all for forgiveness of sins and all that bullshit."

"Only you never intended on apologizing," Lake concluded. "It was just a ruse to get her there. To put the moves on her so to speak."

"We found traces of GHB in Grace's system," Sam said. "The date rape drug. I'm guessing you slipped some into a drink or some food to lighten her up a bit. Make her an easier target."

"Only Grace didn't go down without a fight, did she," Lake stated. "There wasn't enough drugs in her system to render her unconscious and she managed to get out of your apartment and out onto the street and into the park."

"And you took off after her," Sam said. "Because you just couldn't let her go to the cops. Because with your record, you'd be locked up for good and die an old man behind bars. You went after her, with your knife, and you sliced her throat. Plain and simple."

"What happened to her clothes?" Lake asked. "What did you do with them?"

Cabot looked perplexed. "Her clothes? What…"

"Her clothes were missing," Sam said. "What did you do with them?"

"Nothing. When I left her there, she had all her clothes on."

"Just like that, huh?" Lake asked, shaking his head slowly. "It was that easy to do it? Slice a woman from ear to ear? Leave her lying there, dead, in a pool of her own blood? Someone's daughter?"

Cabot didn't answer.

"You're a real piece of work," Sam snorted. "It's just a damn good thing that you're going away for a long time and we're all spared from the likes of you. It never crossed your mind that maybe she just wasn't that into you? That maybe instead of having numerous affairs and indiscretions maybe you should have just been faithful to your wife? A woman that stood by you no matter what. Through all the other women and the problems with alcohol and drugs and your stints in prison. She did all of that for you and you couldn't show some gratitude and stop screwing around on her."

"You don't understand," Cabot shook his head. "Marriage…you don't understand…what it gets like after so long. Boring and familiar. Who wants boring and familiar for the rest of their life?"

"I don't know about boring," Sam said as she closed the folder and stood up. "I don't find it boring. Having that one person that you're so in tune. That knows you inside and out. That you can count on to be there when everyone else turns their back on you. Someone that you know will love you no matter what. Despite all your shit and craziness. If that's the way it's going to be for me for the next forty, fifty years, I'll take boring and familiar any day."

"We'll have a uniform officer show you back to a holding cell," Lake told their perp as he stood up and followed Samantha to the door. "You'll be able to call your attorney once you're settled."

"Just tell me one thing, detective," Cabot requested.

Lake turned to look at him.

"Not you," Cabot snapped. "The girl."

Sam stood at the door, one hand on the knob, the other holding the case file.

"You're a red blooded female," Cabot said. "Give me your honest opinion. Why would Gracie turn me down? What's wrong with that she wasn't interested? Am I that bad of a guy?"

Sam snorted and turned away and opened the door. "Hopeless," she declared as she left the room. "Utterly fucking hopeless."

* * *

Danny glanced up from computer screen in front of him as Flack came strolling through the door of the trace lab, his hands shoved in his pocket, and a permanent goofy grin on his face. Danny was happy for his friend. Disgustingly happy, in fact. After a string of dead end relationships and a history of avoiding commitment at all costs, Flack was finally settled in his life. Married over a year, beautiful, healthy and happy baby, another one on the way. All the pieces were coming together quite well for him. He'd found everything he'd ever wanted and needed, and never really realized he was looking for, in that tiny Brooklyn girl sitting outside of the crime lab that day nearly two years ago.

Sometimes it seemed like a lifetime ago. Sometimes it seemed like just yesterday. But all Danny had to do was take a look at that damn grin on his best friend's face and smile himself. And be totally jealous.

The talk Friday afternoon with his best friend had done a number on Danny. Made him see things in a different light. Made him realize that despite all the shitty things he'd ever done in his life, the people he'd hurt and pushed away, that he deserved to be happy. To have someone in his life that loved him and treated him well. That he didn't have to stay with someone out of fear. Because as much as he loved Erica and she was the mother of his unborn child, he wasn't in love with her. And she deserved so much more than that.

And so did Danny. He was nervous and anxious about his trip to Montana. He was going there to bear his heart and soul. And hopefully he wouldn't be coming back to New York City alone.

"Crime stopper," he now greeted his best friend. "I hear your girl laid the smack down on Bryce Cabot."

"Don't know if I'd call it laying a smack down, but she handled her own," Flack said, with a tone in his voice and sparkle in his eye that let Danny know he was damn proud of the woman he loved.

"Got him to crack, huh? Good for her. She's a tiny thing but man, she can have those perps quaking in their boots, huh? What was the thing with the missing clothes?"

"Guess some homeless person robbed the body of the clothes," Flack said. "Or at least that's our best guess."

"So what's up?" Danny asked"You got nothing better to do than come up here and hang around all the time?"

"Just wanted to talk to you," Flack said. "Give you the heads up."

"About?" Danny asked, nodding at Hawkes as he stepped into the room and joined the two men at the work station they stood at.

"Sam. The pregnancy. That type of thing."

"Congratulations about that, Flack," Hawkes said and offered his hand. "Another baby. Exciting. Just got a call from Jess. All giggly and squealing. I guess Sam had just called her with the news. Said there was more to it but I got a page to autopsy and she didn't get a chance to finish."

"Yeah…there's more to it," Flack agreed. "A lot more."

Danny turned away from the computer and gave his best friend his utmost attention. "Every thing alright? With Sam and the baby? I know she was going for that ultrasound but I never heard anything about it from her. Things are good?"

"Things are fine. A little crazy, but fine. We're just going around to the different people, telling them our extra bit of news."

"Yeah?" Danny asked. "What's that?"

"Nothing major," Flack replied. "Just that we're having triplets."

Both Hawkes and Danny stared at their colleague. Unspeaking and unmoving.

"Get outta here," Danny waved it off after a couple of minutes. "That's not funny. Why would you even joke about something like that. Just to see our reactions? Well you've seen them. I nearly shit myself here. Are you happy?Quit goofing around."

"I'm not," Flack said seriously. "It's true. Ultrasound showed we're having triplets."

"That's just…that's just…" Danny attempted to find something nice to say. But his brain and his mouth just couldn't seem to get it together. "Triplets? As in three? Uno? Due? Tre?"

"Three," Flack confirmed. "No mistake, no seeing things. There was three. Of everything. Three umlical cords, three heads, three sets of limbs. Three heartbeats. This is no joke."

"That is just…" Danny shook his head and whistled softly. "Whoa…that is just whoa…I don't know whether to send you a condolence card or congratulate you."

"The latter would be nice," Flack chuckled. "But the scenarios that have been going on in my head? A condolence card may be just the thing."

"Do you know how hard it is to conceive triplets?" Hawkes asked. "It's a one in ten thousand chance. And that's just in families that already have multiples in the blood line. Unless you or Sam have a family history of multiple pregnancies, your chances were more into the one in twenty thousand. That's staggering when you think about it. Conceiving three babies naturally. Without the aide of fertility drugs of any kind."

"People have triplets all the time, Doc," Danny said.

"How many sets of triplets have you seen up close and personal?" Hawkes asked. "It's not as common as you'd think. Just the whole science that goes into conception is incredible. Did the doctor say if they were trizygotic or dizygotic?"

"Who and what?" Danny asked.

"Trizygotic is the most common," Hawkes explained. "Meaning that each child forms from a separate zygote, or egg/sperm combination. They are commonly described as "fraternal" multiples, and share the same genetic similarities as any siblings. Whereas, dizygotic occurs when two eggs are fertilized by sperm, and one of the fertilized eggs splits into two. Essentially, two of the triplets are monozygotic -- or identical -- twins, sharing the same general DNA characteristics, while the third multiple has a unique genetic heritage."

"Far as I know, from what they could tell through checking the placentas and what not on the ultrasound, it was the latter one," Flack said. "The dizy-whatever."

"Do you not see the amazing thing about all of this?" Hawkes asked excitedly. "It's absolutely incredible. The whole science behind it all and the fact that this even occurred, to someone that we know? It's unreal."

"So what you're saying is that Flack has some seriously superhuman sperm," Danny quipped. "That he nailed that nailed that one egg so hard he actually split it into two?"

"Something like that," Hawkes laughed. "But there's a little more involved than simply fertilizing two eggs and one breaking apart. It's an entire process where…"

"Congratulations is fine, Doc," Flack said. "I don't need an in depth explanation into why my sperm did what it did or why Sam's eggs did what they did. Congratulations is fine with me. It happened."

"Boom," Danny said. "If it's gonna happen to anyone, it's gonna be Flack."

"It's incredible news," Hawkes said to the detective and offered his hand. "Congratulations. You two will definitely have your work cut out for you."

"It's a shock," Flack admitted, shaking the other man's hand. "Gonna take a while to get totally comfortable with the idea. And there's lots apparently that can go wrong with multiple births and things that one or more of the babies are susceptible because they are multiples. We just wanna worry about stuff like that a little further down the road. Get used to the idea that there's more than one in there."

"Lots of time to do research and prepare yourself," Hawkes said. "Take your time. No rush. Revel in the news and the miracle you've been given."

"I'll be sending you a gift basket loaded down with anti-stress meds and relaxants when those kids come out," Danny chuckled. "Guess I just can't picture you being able to preserve your sanity when you've got three screaming newborns to feed and a toddler to chase around, all at the same time. Seriously, Flack. You couldn't just knock her up with one? You had to go all out with three?"

"It just happened, Mess. I didn't round up the troops before hand and make up a game plan. I made love to my wife and it happened. Plain and simple."

"You need to play the lottery," Danny said. "With those odds? In in twenty thousand? One in ten thousand, even? You need to seriously hit the tables down in AC or drop a few bucks in the state lotto. 'Cause let's face it, with those many kids? You're going to need all the cash you can get."

"You're funny, Messer. Freak me out even more than I already am. Thanks a lot."

"You know I'm just goofing around," Danny said. "Gonna be a lot of hard work for you guys, though. A lot to deal with."

Flack nodded solemnly.

"You guys will do great though," Danny assured his best friend, clapping him on the shoulder. "Look at the amazing job you guys are doing with K. All that love in that house? Those babies are damn lucky they're being born to you and Brooklyn."

The detective smiled. "Thanks, Mess…means a lot hearing that. We've been a little freaked out. About the thought of having so many kids and how we're going to afford them all. Where we're going to put them all. It's a little scary, you know?"

Both Danny and Hawkes nodded.

"Where are you going to put them all?" Danny asked. "Never mind that. Where's Brooklyn going to put them all in her tiny body?"

"That's one of the mysteries of this entire thing," Flack laughed. "Listen, I gotta go. I've got an appointment down at the bank to apply for a mortgage."

"A mortgage?" Danny chuckled as his best friend headed for the door. "What's next? White picket fence? A mini van?"

"Bite your goddamn tongue!" Flack shouted over his shoulder, than disappeared down the hall.

Danny laughed and shook his head and glanced over at Hawkes. "Can you believe that?" he asked. "Triplets?"

"It's surprising," Hawkes agreed. "And medically and scientifically amazing."

Danny snorted and went back to work. "Trizygotic and dizygotic," he snorted. "You're such a nerd."

* * *

It was well after nine at night when Samantha finally stepped into her apartment. It was the first time in a long time that her husband had actually beat her home. Usually he was the one that came in dragging his feet long after she had, bitching and moaning and grumbling about the day he had had, warming up a plate of food she prepared for him and left in the microwave. They'd sit around the table, share stories about their respective days and he'd have a coffee or two or finish up some paper work while she cleaned the dishes or tidied the kitchen. Normal, every day domestic stuff that may have seemed boring to outsiders, but was welcome and familiar and part of their routine together. A routine they were happy and comfortable with and had no desire to change.

Paper work from the Bryce Cabot case had taken longer than she had expected. She'd called home at six to deliver the bad news. Flack had just gotten in from picking Kieran up at his folks and was in the midst of making himself and the baby something to eat. He didn't sound to thrilled at the thought of her working late and leaving him alone with all the kid stuff and household stuff to do. Sam wondered if maybe it was really the thought of her working with Chester Lake that was bothering her husband. He'd promised her that he'd let go of some of the jealously and possessiveness. He knew she wasn't going anywhere. That she was happy with her life and would always come home to him at the end of the day. But Sam knew that it was just part of her husband's personality. He'd always been that way and it was going to take a damn miracle to cure him of it completely.

But he was trying. It was hard for him but he was trying. And Sam respected and loved him for that.

She unlocked the door and slipped into the apartment. The faint smell of pasta sauce lingered in the air. The kitchen light was on and in the living room the television was going and turned down to a respectable volume. She heard no talking or any signs of movement. Kieran would have been put to bed at least an hour and a half ago and she was pretty sure, by the sounds of her husband's voice, that he wasn't going to be far behind. She locked the door behind her and toed off her boots and sat them on the rubber mat by the door. Hanging her coat in the closet, she headed into the kitchen and dropped her keys alongside of Flack's on the top of the microwave. The door to the appliance was open slightly. She peered inside and smiled at the neatly prepared plate of a piece of breaded pork schnitzel, white rice and corn covered in plastic and waiting to be re-heated.

I love you, she thought, and peeling the plastic off the plate, closed the microwave door and set the cook time for four minutes. She yawned noisily and went to the table and picked up the stack of opened mail resting on top of small stack of case folders. Bills, bills and more bills. She sighed and put them back.

She headed into the living room to flick the television off and than stopped in her tracks at the heart warming scene that greeted her.

Her husband, stretched out across the couch on his back, fast asleep and snoring lightly. One leg and one arm dangling over the edge of the sofa, while his other arm was wrapped securely, and protectively around the peaceful around their son. Kieran was out like a light as well, face down on his father's chest, his head turned to the side and his lips moving as if he was sucking on a bottle. The blanket father had passed down to son, resting over the baby's back.

Sam smiled at the sight. Remembering the days when Kieran was an infant and she'd come out in the morning and find him and his father in the exact same pose. It was a sight that never got boring. A big, strong, tough man with a baby fast asleep on his chest.

She reached for the remote control on the coffee table and flicked the television off. She didn't have the heart to wake them, but she also knew it was neither comfortable in the long run for her husband's already bad back, or safe for Kieran. His dad was a notorious tosser and turner, and the last thing Sam wanted was the one year old being dumped onto the floor.

"Donnie…" she spoke quietly as she laid her hand on her husband's shoulder and shook him awake. "Donnie…"

Flack murmured incoherently and reached up to push his wife's hand off of his shoulder.

"Donnie!" she shook more vigorously and spoke louder. "Wake up! Donnie!"

"What?" he mumbled and cracked open his eyes. "What…what's going on?"

"I see you found yourself a new sleeping buddy," she grinned, nodding down at their son.

Flack smiled sleepily. "He was having a hard time falling asleep," he explained. "Probably from his teeth and a bit of an ear ache. I put some drops in his ears and I gave him some Tylenol but it only made a bit of a dent. So I brought him out here and figured maybe putting him on my chest like old times would help."

"Looks like it worked like a charm," Sam said. "You've even got the Flackie blankie going on."

"If I didn't love you as much as I do, I'd kick your ass for calling it, and me that."

She smiled and leaned down to kiss her husband softly.

"What time is it?" Flack asked.

"Just before nine thirty. I'm going to take him and put him to bed.."

"I'll do it babe, he's heavy."

"I can do it," she insisted, and peeling the blanket off of her son's sleeping form, lifted him gently into her arms. "Besides, I want some cuddle time with him. I haven't seen him all day. It nearly killed me."

Flack smiled and groaned loudly as he sat up and handed her the blanket.

"I think you need to go to bed too," Sam commented with a giggle, as she carried their son from the room.

"Are you kidding me?" he called after her. "And miss my cuddle time? Not in a million years."

"I'll be out to cuddle you in a few minutes," she assured him.

"I'll be waiting," he told her.

He had her dinner and a glass of milk waiting on the coffee table when she finally emerged from the bedroom close to twenty minutes later.

"He went down okay?" Flack asked, as his wife plopped down on the couch beside him.

"He woke up when I tried to put him in his crib," she sighed. "I just sat and rocked him in the glider for a bit. Sang him that Elvis song I used to use on him when he was a tiny thing. You know. That Wooden Heart song. I sang to him and stroked his nose and he fell back asleep in no time. Now he's got his arm wrapped around the Flackie blankie for dear life."

"You and that damn Flackie blankie. I never should have let you know I had a security blanket."

"I think I would have figured it out, Donnie. Our first night together I woke up and you had it over your feet. What did you do? Have incredible sex with me and wait until I fell asleep and grabbed it?"

He grinned. "That is exactly what I did. I hid it under my pillow until you fell asleep."

"The sex wasn't good enough to render you unconscious?" she teased.

"It was amazing sex. Best sex I ever had in my life. But come on…it's my blankie, Sam. I'd get rid of you before I'd get rid of my blankie."

"That's not nice!" she laughed and elbowed him in the gut. "After all the nice things I do for you, you tell me that you'd dump me for a blanket?"

"I wouldn't dump you for the blanket. I said I'd get rid of you before I got rid of the blanket."

"Same damn thing!" she leaned sideways and kissed the side of his neck and his cheek. "You're such an asshole sometimes," she declared. Than pressed her lips to his ear and flicked her tongue against it.

"Okay…that's enough…" Flack said and moved away from her.

"When do you ever turn down my advances?"

"I'm not turning them down. I'm putting them on hold. Now eat. You've got three little ones to feed woman. Get started."

She stuck her tongue out at him and dug into her food. "Thank you," she said. "For having something ready for me."

He shrugged it off. "You do it for me all the time. Just returning the gesture."

"Well it was awfully sweet," she concluded. "And it tastes delicious."

"I am a regular Jamie Oliver or whatever the hell that guy's name is you like to watch."

"The Naked Chef," she said. "Too bad he's not really naked on the show."

Flack stared at her, snorted and shook his head.

"Don't be jealous baby," Sam laughed, popping some rice into her mouth. "I love you best. I'll never get tired of seeing you naked. Just so you know, everyone now knows about the trippies. Carmen and Stella and Angell did the obligatory squealing and jumping around and Tim…well Tim thinks we're nuts and wishes us all the best and hopes we enjoy our stay in hell."

Flack smirked. "Wait until Devine ends up knocked up again. I am going to ride his ass like no tomorrow."

Sam giggled.

"What?"

"That just sounded so crude," she said.

"What is with you? Everything someone says or does becomes one big perverted comment to you."

"I can't help it," she said. "I'm perpetually horny like you told me at the Moran's that day. And it's up to you, my dear, to keep me happy and satisfied. At all costs," she glanced at the television. "What are we watching?" she asked. "Some movie about hockey?"

"It's that Miracle movie Disney made a few years ago. About the 1980 men's Olympic hockey team that won the gold medal."

"Is it good?" she asked.

Flack shrugged. "It's a Disney movie. As good as it gets, I guess. Besides, there's nothing with explosions and excessive violence on so I had to settle for this."

"Hmm…" she said, her eyes narrowing as she studied the television. "Whose that?" she asked, pointing her fork at the screen.

"You don't know Kurt Russell? He's like one of the best actors out there."

"I know him. I mean the other guy. The young guy he's talking to. He's really cute. Who is he?"

"I don't know. I don't follow actors' names like you do. All I know is that he's the goalie and his name's Jim something or other. Craig I think."

"He's adorable," Sam declared. "He looks like a younger version of you."

"Get outta here. You're crazy."

"He does!" she insisted. "I'm serious. That's what Kieran's going to look like at that age."

"You're nuts," Flack declared and picked up a can of Coke sitting on the coffee table and taking a swig. "By the way," he said, reaching out to rub her back. "You were awesome today. With Cabot. You handled it really well. I'm proud of you."

She smiled at him.

He winked and leaned across the couch and kissed her softly. "And I got some good news," he told her.

"About the mortgage?" she asked hopefully.

He nodded.

"Were we approved?"

"Within seconds," he confirmed.

She gave a little shriek and tossed her arm around him and hugged him to her. "That's awesome! What did they say? How much is it for?"

"It's for a hundred and fifty g's and it's a fixed rate of 5.54 percent for ten years."

"That's good, right? I don't know much about it."

"It's pretty damn good considering our salaries aren't that great. I think it helped that my parents put that fifty g's in our savings for us and we've got all that money left from Zack. Best thing that fucker ever did was get himself killed and be dumb enough to never change his will when you guys split."

"I'm so excited!" she shrieked, bouncing up and down happily on the couch. "We're going to have our own house, Donnie! Something we can call our own! Something with a backyard our kids can play in!"

"It won't be much, Sammie. We're not going to be able to afford a brownstone or something majorlly fancy."

"I don't care if it's a three bedroom run down shack we have to fix up," she said. "It's our home. Ours. Not something we rent and can't do up the way we want. Ours. That's the most important thing."

He smiled and laid a hand on the back of her neck and kissed her cheek. "You're going to have me doing all kinds of shit aren't you? Fixing things, building things. I'm going to be your own personal Bob Villa."

"Never mind Bob Villa!" she cried. "You're going to be my own personal Ty Pennington! That guy is hot!"

Flack smirked and shook his head. "You're something else, you know that?"

"I'm even going to buy you some steel toed boots and a hard hat and tool belt. And that's for just in the bedroom."

He laughed heartily at that. "And you say I have some strange kinks. Now you want me to play carpenter with you? What happened to our cops and robbers thing we liked so much?"

"Well that is still my favourite game ever," she declared. "This is amazing news, baby. All of this great things happening to us all at once. The triplets and now news that we can get our own house. Everything seems so perfect right now. It's almost too hard to believe. Like nothing can go wrong and all of this is too good to be true."

Flack sighed .

That was exactly what he was worried about.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing. The reviews mean a lot to me and keep me going on days, such as today, when I seriously consider scrapping every thing and not doing these stories anymore. So thanks for all of your support and kind words! It's very much appreciated! I appreciate all you lurkers too!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**muchmadness**

**hope4sall**

**brttmclv**

**shopaholic20**

**Forest Angel**

**GregRox**

**ImaSupernaturalCSI**

**Bluehaven4220**

**Soccer-bitch**


	43. it usually is

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN…YOU GUYS KNOW THE REST**

**A/N: SO IT BEGINS. A LITTLE SOMETHING ME AND MY GALS LAURZZ, BRTTMCLV AND MUCHMADNESS AND I HAVE COINED LESSING-MADNESS**

* * *

…**it usually is**

"All men with stars upon the chest  
Save yourselves, your family,  
don't worry 'bout the rest  
Small child receives light through the crack  
The human mile, they're never coming back  
Hold out your hand and ask for some  
Now and again she sits beneath the tree  
The sign above reads  
Hard Work will Set you Free  
Hold out your hand and ask for some  
Too late for another direction  
Always what we've got in store  
Hurry back we've all been waiting  
We can't take much anymore  
Where are the days where brothers are brothers  
A childless mother  
Leave it except for one."  
-Hold Out Your Hand, Nickelback

* * *

It was the sensations raining down on her face that woke Samantha up Wednesday morning. Whisper soft, feathery strokes across her forehead and her cheeks and down her nose. It tickled yet was soothing all at the same time. As if a butterfly's wings were fluttering them against her skin. She cracked her eyes open and was nearly blinded by the strong rays of sunlight that filtered into the bedroom. Sometime during the night, she'd rolled over onto her left hand side, facing the window, as opposed to lying either on her stomach or on her right hand side.

She blinked at the harsh intrusion of light and felt something warm and soft brushing against her left cheek. She turned over onto her opposite side and found herself staring into the vibrant, beautiful blue eyes of her one year old son. Who, in his baby blue two piece polar fleece Happy Feet jammies and his own feet surprisingly bare despite the cold hardwood floors, had been kneeling behind her and using his fingertips to trace patterns on her skin. The same technique she'd been using to soothe him to sleep since he was a tiny infant.

"Good morning, baby boy," she greeted groggily.

"Shhh, mommy," he responded and reached out to stroke her forehead. "Sweep."

"Let's both go back to sleep," Sam said, and wrapping her arms around her son's little body and rolling over onto her back so he ended up lying on her chest.

"No, mommy…" he argued, as she rolled onto her "No sweep."

"Yes," she insisted. "Sleep time. Let's sleep in and stay in bed all day. We won't get out of our jammies until the afternoon. Sound good?"

"No sweep," Kieran insisted, attempting to push himself off of her, and instead finding himself being flipped over onto his back on the mattress.

"But I want to sleep!" Sam cried and pouted dramatically. "Don't make mommy cry. You don't want mommy to cry, do you?"

He shook his head.

"Than let's go back to sleep," she said, and yanked the comforter over their heads.

"No, mommy!" he cried. "No sweep!"

"Well if you're not going to sleep, baby boy, than I am just going to…" she held her hand up and scrunched her fingers up into a claw, a clear indication that she was going to tickle him. A sign that he had come to associate with their favourite early morning game that they'd been practicing since he was old enough to enjoy it.

His blue eyes widened. He squealed in anticipation as he saw his mother wiggling her fingers as her hand neared his body.

"…tickle you!" Sam finished her sentence, and 'attacked' her son's stomach until he was shrieking and flailing and rolling around in pure and utter happiness.

And that was how Flack found them when he wandered into the bedroom to announce that breakfast was ready. A lump of two giggling bodies under the thick, heavy duvet. Smiling to himself at the wonderful simplicity of it all. His wife and first born child cuddling and laughing together. Kieran's babyish giggle and Sam's musical, heart warming one filling the room.

"Well no one's here," he said, loud enough for them both to hear. "So I guess I get to eat all the pancakes myself. No breakfast for anyone but me."

"Shhh, Kieran," Sam whispered, as the two shapes shifted under the duvet. "Don't let daddy know we're here!"

"'Tay, mommy," he whispered back and giggled noisily. "No daddy."

"I'm going to leave than," Flack announced. "Seeing as mommy and Kieran have mysteriously vanished into thin air. Oh well. I guess I'm just going to have to eat all those banana pancakes and Frosted Cheerios myself."

"No!" Kieran cried and sat up, still covered by the comforter. "Me, daddy!" he squealed. "Daddeee! Me!"

"I hope mommy and Kieran get back soon," Flack continued as he headed for the door, walking backwards to keep an eye on his son's reaction. "Because I know how much mommy and baby K love pancakes. And if mommy and baby K are gone too long, daddy sure will miss them and get really, really sad."

"Dad-deee!" Kieran shrieked and yanked the duvet off of his head "Me! Daddy me!"

Flack feigned utter shock and surprise. Much to the delight of his toddler son. "You scared me, K!" he exclaimed. "I didn't know you were there! Were you hiding on me?"

Kieran nodded enthusiastically and than reached out and tore the blankets off of his mother. "Mommeeee!" he shrieked at his father, pointing at her.

"How could you!" Sam cried with a giggle. "You gave me away to the big bad police man!"

"You guys hiding on me?" Flack asked, as he crossed the room and joined them on the bed, lying on his stomach alongside of his wife. He laid a hand on the small of her back and softly kissed her good morning.

"Me!" Kieran cried and threw himself face down in between his parents. Flopping over onto his back, he reached up for his dad and puckered his lips.

Flack leaned over his son and allowed the one year old to plant a noisy, messy kiss on his lips. "You woke mommy up, huh? Just like I told you to."

"Mommy," Kieran said, and combed his tiny fingers through Sam's hair.

"I knew that you two had to be in on it," Sam grumbled, and reaching out, tousled her husband's hair affectionately. "Mommy's two boys."

Flack grinned and propped himself on his elbow and leaned over their son to kiss her softly.

"No daddy!" Kieran cried. "My mommy! Mine!"

"She's mine too, you know," he informed his son. "Mommy's daddy's sweetheart."

"No," the one year old shook his head vigorously "Mine! My mommy!"

"Hey, if it wasn't for me you wouldn't even be here squirt," Flack teased his little boy and covered him up once more with comforter.

So began a rousing game of Where's Kieran? Something that had started when the baby was eight months old and discovered what a great thing it was to hide himself, his toys, or even his parents heads, under a blanket or a towel. He'd cover himself up, wait until his parents asked, "Has anyone seen Kieran? I wonder where Kieran is?" and than he'd toss the blanket off and erupt into a peel of laughter. Than he'd toss the blanket over his mother or father and the game would be continued. Where's mommy? Where's daddy? And Kieran would rip the cover off of them and laugh and laugh until tears streamed down his face and he was hiccupping from the sheer hilarity of it all.

When the novelty of the game had worn itself thin, the Flack family lay together on the rumbled Queen sized bed. Enjoying the silence of the morning and the warm sunlight that cascaded through the window and bathed them in warmth. Flack glanced over at his wife who had her eyes closed and a soft smile on her face and a hand resting on her noticeable baby bump. It was small and unnoticeable when she had her work clothes on, but lying there stretched out, it was clearly straining against the plaid pyjama bottoms she wore. He smiled at the sight and reached out and laid a hand on the top of her head and stroked her hair.

She opened her eyes and turned her face towards him. Her smiled brightened and she brought her hand up to capture his and entwined her fingers with him. Revelling in the peaceful, relaxing serenity that had enveloped them.

Kieran hiccupped noisily. Breaking the silence. Once, twice, three times. Than let out a giggle.

"You're silly," Sam told him, and tousled his hair.

"We should get up," Flack said with a sigh. "Danny will be here soon."

Sam frowned. "What time is it?" she asked.

"Just after nine."

"What do you mean he'll be here soon? His flight isn't until three thirty."

"Yeah, but you know how you need to get to the airport at least a couple hours early. And I told him that you'd make him something to eat before he headed on his way. That he should be here around eleven."

"You what?" Sam nearly shrieked and bolted up into a sitting position. "Why didn't you wake me up sooner?"

"That's why I plopped Kieran on the bed. To wake you up while I made breakfast."

"Jesus, Donnie!" she quickly scurried off the bed. "I need to get Kieran fed, I need to take a shower and clean myself up. I can't be walking around the house in my pyjamas when Danny gets here!"

"Why not?" Flack asked, picking up his son under the arms and hoisting the kid high into the air.

Kieran laughed and tossed his arms and legs out and his head back. His 'flying' game.

"Because it's Danny! Your best friend! I don't want to be walking around in my jammies in front of him!"

"What's the difference between you walking around in your pyjamas in front of Danny and you showing your goods to Hawkes?"

"Because I didn't have a choice with Hawkes! He's a doctor. It was either let him have a sneaky peeky or deliver your son yourself on our living room floor!"

"Good point," Flack said. "But it's only Danny, babe. And it's not like you're walking around in Victoria's Secret or La Perla. You're in damn plaid pyjama pants and a t-shirt. What's there to see?"

"My boobs!" she exclaimed, and snatched a pillow and swatted him in the face with it. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly small up top! And I'm not wearing a bra and something about not wearing a bra around Danny just grosses me out."

"Okay, okay. Just relax. And yes, I have noticed you're extremely well endowed. Even more so since Kieran. And I look at your girls every chance I get and thank God for being so gracious and kind for sending them my way."

"Pig!" she scolded and snatched her housecoat from the back of the door and yanked it on while stomping out of the room.

"I love you, too, honey!" Flack called after her. "Little piece of advice," he said to his son, as he tossed the one year old in the air one last time and caught him effortlessly in his arms. "Stay far away from the Brooklyn girls."

* * *

"What do I say to her, Brooklyn?"

Sam glanced over at Danny Messer as he sat at her kitchen table, staring into his steaming mug of coffee. In the living room she could hear her husband talking in several different animated voices, as he sat on the floor in front of the television with Kieran on his lap, the two of them entertaining themselves with Baby V-Tech video game system Mac and Stella had bought Kieran for his birthday.

"Lindsay you mean?" Sam asked, as she went back to the scrambled eggs and bacon she was cooking up.

"This will be the first time I've come face to face with her in nearly two years. Talking to someone on line is one thing. Actually seeing them?" he shook his head. "That's an entirely different story."

"I guess you just tell her what's in your heart," Sam said. "Tell her how you feel. About her and about how you screwed things up so badly the first time around."

"Thanks, Brooklyn. Make me the bad guy."

"I'm just saying. As far as Lindsay is concerned, you started the whole damn mess when you closed yourself off after your little friend Ruben. And I'm not telling you that you didn't have a right to grieve, but you didn't have the right to treats Linds like that. She didn't deserve that. All she wanted to do was love you and support you and you shit all over her. Had I know this when I first arrived here, I never would have been on your side."

Danny snorted. "Nice, Sam. Nice."

"I shoot from the hip, Danny. You know that. But you know what? It's not my place to judge. Because I've screwed up a lot in my life too on the love front and no one ever held it over my head. I got you this far. Now it's up to you to get your ass on that plane, to Lindsay's front door and back into her life. And if you dare even come back to New York City alone, Don and I will kick your ass."

"Just because I go there and spill my guts and hand her my heart doesn't mean she's just going to throw her arms around me and take me back. Or give up the life she has to come back here. You know, her and the governor."

"Oh fuck the governor," Sam said, sipping a mug of tea. "I've gone on the web and read up on him. He sounds like a pompous ass. And looks like Kenny Rogers. No word of a lie."

"Young Kenny Rogers or what Kenny Rogers looks like now?" Danny asked curiously.

"I'd say Kenny Rogers circa 1985."

Danny grimaced. "What's she doing with grandpa anyway?"

Sam shrugged.

"Oh come on Brooklyn. I know that you two have been talking practically non stop since you tracked her down. You can't tell me that you didn't ask her what the hell she was thinking hooking up with someone like that."

"I asked her if she loved him. That's what I asked."

"And?" Danny asked. "Does she?"

"She said she thought highly of him."

The CSI snorted. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Means that you still stand a chance on scoring the girl," Sam said, as she dumped a heaping amount of eggs and several slices of crispy bacon onto a plate. She switched off the stove and carried the meal and her cup of tea to the table.

"You seem pretty optimistic about the whole thing," Danny commented.

"I am an optimistic kind of girl, Messer. The glass is always half full with me. You know that."

"Thanks," he said in appreciation as she sat the breakfast down in front of him. "You really think she's just going to listen to what I have to say and than throw her arms around me and give up her life to come back here and start a new one with me?"

"I can't speak for Lindsay," Sam said, as she took a seat across from her friend. "But if it was me, and Don was spilling his heart and soul out to me and asked me to run away with him, I wouldn't have a second thought about it. I'd go in a heartbeat."

"You can say that though because you and Flack are happily married and madly in love. He's never screwed you around like I did Montana. He's never had to show up on your doorstep and beg for forgiveness."

"No, he hasn't," she said and sipped her tea. "But hypothetically speaking, if he ever did something so bad that he came to me begging to take him back, it wouldn't take much convincing on his part. Mind you, don't ever tell him that because he's liable to try every fuck up in the book just because he knows he can."

"Naw," Danny shook his head. "He loves you too much to hurt you or Kieran. He doesn't want to lose you guys. And now a new baby on the way? Excuse me. New babies. Still can't believe your guys luck."

"It's taking some adjusting," Sam sighed. "But we're getting there with it. We've decided to join this on line support group of sorts for people that are going through, or have been through, carrying multiples. You know there's women on there that have had four, five, even six babies? At once?"

"Insanity," Danny declared. "Pure insanity. And whatever the Flack is going in there talking like Yogi Bear is pretty damn nuts too."

"He's playing that Baby V tech thing with Kieran. They do this all the time. Kieran sits in his lap and Donnie plays the actual game and talks away in all these crazy voices. Bet you didn't know that was my husband's secret talent, huh? Cartoon voices? You should hear his Scrappy Doo. It's awesome. And his Cartman from South Park? Sounds exactly like the Cartman on the show. It's hilarious. I nearly pee my pants when he really gets going."

"The things you do not learn about someone," Danny said. "I've known him for nearly ten years now and I never knew he even had a secret talent."

"Oh he has a couple," Sam said with a giggle. "Only the rest are X-rated and I don't feel like sharing them with you."

"Yeah…keep them dirty things to yourself, Brooklyn. Unless you want to tell me your hidden talent."

She grinned. "You really want to know? It's not incredibly dirty or anything. Well, I guess it can be construed that way."

"By all means, share," Danny said.

"I don't know if your heart can take it, Messer."

"Try me."

"Okay," she sipped her tea and swallowed it. "I can tie the stem of a maraschino cherry in a knot. With my tongue."

Danny's eyes widened at that little piece of information. He sat unblinking and unmoving for a couple of minutes before he dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter and jumped up and hurried across the kitchen and tossed the fridge door open.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked.

"Checking to see if you and Flack got any of them cherries kicking around in your fridge."

"Very back, left hand side," Sam told him.

Danny rummaged through the fully stocked fridge until he located the jar in question. "I want you to prove this to me," he said, as he carried the cherries to the table and screwed off the lid before holding the jar out to her.

"My pleasure," she said with a playful wink and plucked out a maraschino cherry. She removed the cherry from the tiny green stem, sat the small piece of fruit on Danny's plate, than popped the stem into her mouth.

He could see her cheeks moving as her tongue went to work inside of her closed mouth. And after a couple of minutes, she gave another wink and stuck her tongue out to reveal the now knotted stem.

"There is something so unbelievably hot and sexy about that," Danny declared.

"Jesus Christ," Flack complained, as he carried Kieran on his hip into his kitchen and saw what his wife and best friend were up to. "She's doing that damn maraschino cherry trick for you, Mess?"

Sam nodded and turned her head to show her husband the finished product resting on her protruding tongue.

"You are on lucky bastard, Flack," Danny declared.

"That's it," the detective sighed. "Go and turn Messer on."

Sam plucked the stem off of her tongue and dropped it onto Danny's plate and than grabbed the cherry and popped it into her mouth. "Maybe I should teach your Lindsay that little trick," she told Danny.

"Please do," he begged. "But she's not my Lindsay," he reminded her as he returned to his seat. "She's someone else's Lindsay now. Someone else's Montana."

Sam shook her head. "That's something the two of you created and no on can take away. She'll always be your Montana in name. It's up to you to make sure that she's your Montana in person."

Danny sighed. "And how do I do that?"

"By offering nothing but your heart and soul," Sam said. "And praying she takes them."

* * *

Flack and Danny had left for the airport shortly before twelve. Relatively early considering Danny's flight wasn't scheduled to take off until three thirty, but with traffic the way it was due to all the snow on the ground, they had decided to leave sooner than later and avoid the chance of him missing the plane altogether. Sam guessed it was more than they wanted to have a boys only talk. Danny needed to get out some last minute fears regarding Lindsay and his best friend was the one who offered the best advice.

Leaving Sam alone with a rambunctious, precocious toddler that wouldn't sit still for one second and wanted to know every move she made and be right in the thick of things. He helped her sort laundry. Not that he knew the whole concept behind it, but he could follow simple commands, so she'd toss all the laundry on the floor and tell him which things to pick up and where to put them and he'd do his best to appease her. He seemed to get a kick out of helping her. Especially when she'd surprise him by throwing a shirt or a towel in the air and letting it fall on his head. Which in turn, led them into their Where's Kieran came all over again.

She made him spaghetti with chopped up wieners for lunch. She let him make a hideous mess out of feeding himself while she watched in both amusement and a little bit of disgust, as pasta and sauce and bits of wieners ended up on the floor and the walls and in his hair and all over his clothes and face. A cup of apple juice with the lid not done up tight enough had only added to the disaster he'd made of himself and his high chair.

It was into a warm bath after that. She let Kieran splash around for a good half an hour before finally getting down on her knees alongside of the tub and scrubbing him clean and washing his hair. He was exhausted and more than ready for his early afternoon nap after what was considered a busy morning in the life of a thirteen month old. So she put him in fresh clothes and grabbed him a bottle -she just didn't have the heart to force him to take a cup when he could barely keep his eyes open- and set him down in his playpen with his drink and his blankie and went to tend to her chores.

By the time Sam cleaned the bathtub and the kitchen, the bottle was drained and discarded in the corner of the playpen and Kieran was fast asleep on his left hand side, facing the wall with his beloved blankie clasped tightly in one tiny fist and resting against his face.

She seized the opportunity to get the laundry started. It had been something Sam had done a thousand times. Leave her son fast asleep while she ran something down to the garbage chute or went down to the lobby to check the mail or even upstairs to the laundry room on the top floor to toss a couple loads into the wash. So she gathered up the smart card for the machines and the bottle of liquid Tide from under the sink and dropped both, along with her keys, onto the top of the heavy basket of clothes.

She hurried as fast as she could. Locking the door behind her and than heading for the elevator and pressing the up button. The new neighbour across the hall, was just stepping off the lift as she went to climb on. He smiled sweetly at her, offered a pleasant hello and than held the door for her.

"Do you mind keeping an ear out for my son?" she asked before the door could close. "He's fast asleep and I need to get this wash upstairs and I.."

"No problem," the young man assured her. "Take your time. I'll leave my door propped open."

"Thanks," Sam said appreciatively and gave another friendly smile before pressing the button. She trusted the guy. He barely set foot out of his door and never threw any wild parties or caused a ruckus. In all intents and purposes, he was the ideal neighbour. Despite her husband's insane paranoia, she was pretty sure that Jack Doyle was nothing more than a shy, unassuming, clean cut boy next door. So what if he seemed a little too friendly with the questions he asked? Maybe he was just anxious to meet new people and was a little too eager to make a good impression. And so what if he barely left his house and never had friends over? Maybe he had social issues and was afraid of the outdoors. There was a number of reasons to explain why he was the way he was.

"Not everyone that shows an interest in children are pedophiles," she had told her husband only two weeks before when he'd complained that the new guy had asked him way too many questions about Kieran when they'd run into each other in the elevator. "He probably just like kids. Has that every occurred to you, Donnie?"

"I bet he likes kids," Flack had responded. "Like really, really, really likes them."

She'd snorted and rolled her eyes and informed her husband he had some serious trust issues that he needed to deal with.

Once upstairs, she hurriedly dumped detergent into the two washers she selected and slipped the card into the slot at the top of the machine. She waited until the water had reached the middle of the tubs in each and than tossed the clothes in.

The whole task had taken less than fifteen minutes and Kieran was still fast asleep and safe and secure in the apartment when she returned.

Sam used the half an hour wash cycle to pay bills on line and return emails. It was quarter to one when she once again slipped out of her apartment, locked the door behind her and hurried upstairs.

It took no more than ten minutes. From the time she had locked the door to the time she got back off the elevator on her floor. A thousand different thoughts were swirling through her brain as she headed down the hall to the apartment. She was contemplating calling Lindsay to tell her that Danny was on his way and to ask him to call when he got there so she'd know he'd arrived safe and sound. She was thinking about Patricia coming to watch Kieran so she and Flack could start their block of night shifts. She was even considering either emailing her parents or calling them with the news of three new grand babies on the way. Feeling immensely guilty that everyone they knew were aware of the triplets except for their grandparents.

Any and all thought completely abandoned Samantha as she reached her apartment door and found it cracked open. No more than two inches. But quite obvious that someone had been inside. It had been locked. She distinctly remembered locking the door because she'd dropped her keys afterwards and bitched and moaned as she bent down to pick them up.

That door had been locked.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her stomach felt sick, as she pushed her way inside and hurried into the living room.

The sight of the empty playpen made her head swim and her knees weak. Her stomach retched and bile burned her throat.

She glanced down. At the small droplets of bright red blood that stained the hardwood floor.

And that was when her world went completely black.

* * *

Traffic coming back from JFK was a bastard. Despite the bright sunshine, it was colder than a sonofabitch outside. The sub zero temperatures had resulted in the formation of sheets of ice under the inches of snow that blanketed the streets and expressways. While most motorists took things at a snail's pace, there was the occasional jackass who still drove as if they were in the Indy 500. As a results, numerous accidents had cropped up all over the city and snarled traffic terribly on the Queensboro Bridge.

Which was where Flack now found himself in the midst of one hell of a traffic jam. He had taken the squad as opposed to his own personal vehicle in case he was called into work sooner than his four pm scheduled start. It wasn't unusual to get called in early. Hell, it was almost a give in that you would be. Especially with the weather and the hideous traffic driving people absolutely insane. It wasn't uncommon for people to snap in a fit of frustration and rage and take such emotions out on the poor unsuspecting driver beside them. Which, in turn, made it a very long shift for the members of the NYPD.

Upon their arrival at JFK, Danny had been told that his flight had been delayed due to the slow process of de-icing the planes, and that passengers most likely wouldn't be boarding until closer to four thirty as opposed to the original take off time of three thirty. The disruption of Danny's scheduled plans only served to unnerve and frazzle him even more. He ranted and raved to Flack about how it was a sign. A sign that he wasn't meant to go to Montana after all. That things were happening the way they were to keep him in New York because going to Bozeman meant he was going to be met with certain doom and his would be shattered into a million pieces.

They'd gone to the airport bar and Flack ordered a couple of drinks in an attempt to calm his best friend down. He stuck to coffee for himself and they sat, talking about the great loves of their lives and the mistakes they'd made and regrets they had and the things that they could do to fix them if they could simply go back in time and change the coarse of fate.

Truth of the matter was, Flack wouldn't change a hell of a lot in his life. At least not in past two years that Samantha Ross had come into, and completely transformed him and his entire existence. They had had their fair share of problems. The bad times that threatened to destroy them. The often ridiculous fights that were blown way out of proportion. That carried on for days and had them living in silence because neither wanted to swallow their pride and admit they were wrong.

But they loved each other. Plain and simple. And what threatened to tear them apart had only managed to bring them closer together. Strengthen their bond. And he hoped things would always remain that way. That their love was strong enough to get them through anything.

He'd left Danny, up beat and anxious to see his Montana, reading a magazine in the departure area and headed for him. Anxious to get in some time with his kid and maybe a couple of hours of sleep before heading in to start his scheduled four in a row night shifts.

It was quarter to four when Flack finally managed to find his way off the bridge and hung a left onto FDR Parkway. He was heading for home when the police ban radio crackled to life and the dispatcher's commanding voice filled the entire squad car.

"All units…all units please respond…EMS on route to 1398 Jefferson Apartment 703...be advised, officer in medical distress…1398 Jefferson Apartment 703, officer in medical distress…"

His entire body was immediately filled with an overwhelming sense of horror. He was pretty sure that his heart had actually stopped beating at some point. That his lungs had seized up and unable to draw air. All he could hear was the incessant chatter on the PBR and his own address echoing in his ears. He felt as if he couldn't move. That all forms of rational thought or simple reactions had completely abandoned him.

Flack wasn't sure how much time actually passed. Or how he'd even managed to keep the car on the road in the state of limbo he was embroiled in. When the initial shock and distress passed, he snagged his cell phone from where it sat on the passenger's seat and flipped it open and dialled his home phone number.

"Come on, come on," he urged her to pick up. "Answer the goddamn phone, Sam."

She had to answer. She just had to. Because there was no way in hell that what he had just heard could be right. He had just seen her less than three and a half hours ago. Had kissed her and their son goodbye at the door and told them he loved them and that he'd be back soon. Nothing could have happened in such a short period of time.

Of course he knew that thought was irrational. It only took a few minutes, hell, in some cases even a few seconds, for things to go wrong.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" he shouted into the phone, as the call went to it's sixth ring. "Pick up the fucking phone!"

Two more rings and the call would go to voice mail. Sam never let it ring that much when she was home. She always managed to catch the call before that point. She always answered it. Especially when she saw his number.

_But maybe this time she isn't able to answer it, Flack thought. Maybe this time something had happened to her. Her and the babies. Or even to Kieran. Maybe something horrible had happened to my entire family._

_Maybe they're all…_

Flack forced that thought out of his mind. He snapped his phone closed and tossed it back onto the seat beside him. His hands shook. His heart hammered in his chest. Panic was threatening to consume him.

He needed to get a grip. Get control of himself. He wouldn't be any good to his family if he was in that kind of state. He drew in a deep, shaky breath and released it slowly and forced himself to get a handle on the emotions and thoughts that were rapidly spiralling out of control.

Calm, Flack, calm, he told himself. You need to be calm and cool and collected for your family.

_If you even have a family to go home to._

At that horrific, heart wrenching thought, Flack laid his foot on the gas and leaned forward to hit the button on the dash that turned on the lights and sirens.

He couldn't afford to waste any more time.

* * *

There was a uniform guarding the apartment. Yellow crime scene tape stretched from one side of the door to the other. An open lab kit with the name T. SPEEDLE written in black magic marker on a piece of masking tape attached to the top sat in the hallway. At the sight of the police tape, Flack felt light headed and was nearly overcome with nausea. His chest tightened and his entire body seemed to move in slow motion as he approached his own apartment.

"Sir," the uni stretched out his arm, using it to block Flack's way. "This is a crime scene. You can't go in there."

"Like hell he can't," Scagnetti growled as he appeared behind the baby faced rookie. "He lives here. He's also a member of the department."

Flack removed his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and showed the uniform his badge and identification to back up his partner's claim.

The uniform blushed slightly and offered up a sheepish apology. Scagnetti shot the kid an icy glare and than lifted the tape for Flack to duck under.

"What the hell is going on, Tony?" Flack asked. It was the first time he'd ever used his friend's first name. And doing so, addressed how concerned, and frightened, he really was. "I was coming back from the airport and heard the call for EMS."

"Your neighbour across the hall said he was coming out of his place to take some trash down the hall to the chute and saw your door wide open. Didn't hear any noise coming from inside and that spooked him enough to have the sense to check on things."

"And?" he pressed, as they headed through the apartment.

"Found Samantha passed out on the living room floor. I guess she smacked her head pretty hard after she fainted. EMS took her to Trinity to get some stitches and keep an eye out for a concussion. Doctor Hawkes told them she was pregnant and called ahead to make sure there was an ultrasound ready and waiting to make sure things are okay."

"You sure she fainted?" Flack asked. "Or did someone do something to her?"

"She told the EMS guys she fainted," Scagnetti replied. "Said she blacked out. She wasn't complaining of cramps or anything like that. So that's a good sign, right?"

Flack nodded.

They journeyed into the living room. Where Carmen was busy taking photos of the playpen and the area surrounding it. Hawkes was on his knees, using a swab from his kit to take a sample from a small drop, no bigger than a fifty scent piece on the floor.

Flack's eyes widened at the sight. "That blood?" he asked, although the answer was quite obvious.

"Two separate areas," Hawkes said, looking up at his friend with sympathy in his eyes. "The larger one is where Samantha split open the back of her head. This much smaller one here…it's a gravitational drop and some testing will tell me who it came from hopefully."

"What the hell is going on here?" Flack tried to remain calm. "I hear this call for EMS over the radio, I get here and find my place is a crime scene. What….?"

"You need to get to Trinity," Scagnetti told him. "See your wife. She's with Lake and Taylor. They're taking her statement."

"Her statement?" Flack's head swam from all the information. "What the fuck…."

He stopped mid sentence. Realizing that something was massively wrong. He took in the sight of the empty playpen, than glanced down at that small blood drop.

"Where's Kieran?" he asked in a shaky voice. "Where's my son?"

Hawkes looked away solemnly. Carmen cast a quick glance over her shoulder at her best friend's husband. Tears sparkled in her eyes. She tore her eyes away from Flack and sniffled noisily.

"You need to get to Trinity," Scagnetti said, and laid his hand on his partner's shoulder.

Flack angrily shoved that hand away. "Where the hell is my son?" he asked once again.

"Flack," Scagnetti spoke in a calm, yet firm voice. "Your wife needs you right now. You need to…"

"Where the fuck is my son!" he bellowed.

Scagnetti sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Don…"

"What? What do you mean you're sorry? What happened? Tell me what happened to my wife and my kid, Tony."

"He's gone, Flack. He's missing. Someone must have gotten into here somehow when Sammie stepped out. We're looking for him, but…he's gone. We don't know where he is or who has him."

The world seemed to stop. Flack heard nothing outside of the roar of blood in his brain and the thundering of his heart. Panic and horror once again threatened to take over.

"Missing?" he managed weakly.

Scagnetti's mouth was set in a grim line as he once again placed his hand on his partner's shoulder. The simple touch was warm and soothing. And supportive. "We'll find him, Flack," he promised. "You know we will. But right now…you need to be with your wife."

He nodded and swallowed noisily and ran a hand over his face as he somehow managed to hold back the tears. He glanced around at the living room once more, his eyes settling on the playpen for some time before he slowly nodded and turned on his heel and headed from the room.

Leaving his three colleagues to stare at his slumped shoulders and his departing back.

Scagnetti sighed and shook his head and rubbed at the back of that baby. "Get back to fucking work," he barked at the two CSIs, when he found them doing nothing more but staring off into space contemplatively.

Carmen blinked at the harshness in the detective's tone.

"You heard me!" he snapped. "This is all up to you guys! 'Cause if you people don't find that baby…" he shook his head. Finding himself too choked up to finish the sentence.

* * *

Danny had just stepped up to the boarding gate and handed in his ticket when his cell phone, clipped to the pocket of his well worn jeans, rang noisily.

"You'll have to turn that off before you board, sir," the airline hostess informed him coolly as she checked his ticket.

"I realize that, miss," he responded, just as coolly. He snagged his phone off of his pants and checked the caller ID. He had left a message on Lindsay's cell phone to let her know he was on his way, and was expecting to see her name appear on the caller ID.

MAC TAYLOR URGENT.

Danny frowned. He plucked his ticket out of the hostess' hands as she held it out in front of his face and stepped to the side, out of the way of other passenger's, to take the phone call.

He flipped open his cell and pressed talk. "Messer," he answered.

"Danny…we have an emergency."

He inwardly groaned.

"I know you were on your way to Montana," Mac said, sounding way more frazzled than the CSI had ever remembered hearing his boss in the years they had worked together. "But I need you. It's all hands on deck."

Oh hell no, Danny thought. "Come on, Mac," he complained. "You can't do without me? I just get the balls up to go after her and you do this to me?"

"This is serious, Danny. We have a missing child."

"And you've got tons of people who can handle something like that, Mac. What makes this missing kid so important you need us all on the case?"

"It's Kieran," Mac said simply.

Danny Messer swore his heart stopped. "Kieran?" he asked. "As in Kieran Flack? My godson?"

"I need you here, Danny. Flack needs you. Sam needs you. Kieran needs you."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly and briefly closed his eyes. "I'm on my way," he said, and hang up. "Change of plans," he told the startled hostess as he went rushing past her.

He would make arrangements with the airline to get his bags back that were already loaded into the cargo area. And he'd pay Hawkes back for the wasted trip. Or Sam. Whoever paid for the damn thing in the long run.

He dialled Lindsay's number. Praying she'd answer. When she didn't, he left a long winded message, telling her he wasn't going to be able to make it and explaining why. And begging her to call him back.

He knew where he was needed. Where he wanted to be.

With his 'family'.

* * *

Samantha had been mildly sedated upon her arrival at the emergency department . She'd been hysterical since she'd been brought in, restrained to the gurney, by EMS. She ranted and raved and screamed about having to find her baby. That nothing else mattered. She wasn't important. She had to find her baby before it was too late.

Now, following an ultrasound to confirm that the babies inside of her were alive and well, and having twelve stitches put in the back of her head to sew the gash closed, she sat tearful and trembling from head to toe, semi reclined, in a bed in a private room on the women's health ward. She'd be kept overnight for observation. Her concussion was graded medium, but the main concern was the history of high blood pressure and stress in her previous pregnancy and the problems both had caused. The doctors weren't taking any chances.

Mac sat in the bedside chair. His elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together while Chester Lake perched himself at the foot of the bed and took notes in his log book. Flack stood at the head of the bed, tightly holding his wife's cold, shaking hand.

"I know this is hard, Samantha," Mac said. "And we know you're scared and worried about Kieran. But we need a statement. The sooner you give us one, the sooner we can actively start looking for the baby."

"Just tell us what you remember," Lake told her in his gentle voice.

"I've already told you everything," she said.

"We just want to make sure we have everything we need," Mac told her. "You said that Kieran fell asleep…"

"I gave him a bath and a bottle of milk," she recounted. "He fell asleep and I put him in his playpen. Than I took the laundry upstairs."

"Is that something you commonly practice?" Mac inquired. "Leaving him alone for extended periods of time?"

Flack glared at the older man. "Come on, Mac. Don't make it sound like she's an unfit mother. That she's neglectful."

"We need to ask questions," the crime lab boss reminded him. "You know that, Flack. And that includes hard questions."

"Sometimes the only time you can get anything done is when they are sleeping," Sam said. "Trust me, you'll find that out soon enough. When Stella's running around like a chicken with her head cut off. Trying to cook and clean and take care of a baby all on her own while you're out working."

Mac blinked.

That's my girl, Flack thought. Tell Mac Taylor where it's fucking at.

"Did you lock the door?" Lake asked.

She nodded. "I wouldn't leave him and not lock it."

"So you came downstairs and everything was fine," Mac pressed her to continue.

"He was still asleep. I did a few small chores and went back upstairs to put the laundry in the dryer. And when I came back down, the door was open and Kieran…" she choked back a sob. "Kieran wasn't there. He was gone."

"It's okay, baby," Flack spoke to her in a soft, soothing tone, stroking her hair and tightening his hold on her hand. "Nice and calm. Just stay nice and calm."

Lake got up from the end of the bed and went to the side table. He picked up the box of Kleenexes and cup of ice water that rested there. He gently sat the tissues on Sam's stomach and held out the cup.

Sam gave a meek thank you and took the drink from her old friend. Lake and Flack's eyes met across the bed and Flack gave the other man a nod of appreciation.

"Are you sure you locked the door when you went back upstairs?" Mac asked.

Sam nodded.

"Are you absolutely sure?" he pressed.

"Mac!" Flack snapped. "She just fucking said…"

"I locked the door," Sam insisted. "I specifically remember doing it because I dropped my keys afterward and I bent down to pick them up and when I went to stand up, I hit the top of my head off the door knob."

Lake wrote it down. "And when you went inside the apartment, you went into the living room to check on your son…"

"And the playpen was empty!" she cried. "He was gone! Even his blanket was gone. And then I saw the blood on the floor and that's when I passed out."

"During your trips to the laundry room, did you see anything or hear anything suspicious?" Mac inquired.

Sam shook her head. She dropped her chin to her chest as hot, fat tears spilled down her face. "I'm sorry, Donnie," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't mean to do this. I didn't want someone to take our son."

Flack softly stroked her hair and wiped away her tears with gentle fingertips and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "It's okay, Sammie," he assured her. "We'll find him. You know we will. No one's going to hurt him."

He hoped and prayed he sounded more convincing than he felt.

"We're going to need a description of Kieran and what he was wearing at the time," Mac said. "And a current picture. The commissioner's already gone ahead and ordered an amber alert to be issued as soon as possible. We'll also have Kieran's picture on the television and all over tomorrow's papers."

"I don't want to talk to the press," Sam told him, a pleading look in her eyes. "Maybe Donnie can do it. I don't want to talk to them right now. I just…I can't do it right now."

"That's fine," Mac assured her with a soft smile. "Lake will take Kieran's info. Is that okay?"

She nodded.

Mac stood up. "Flack? Can I have a word with you?"

"Sure," the detective responded.

Sam grabbed his hand as he went to leave. "I'm sorry, Donnie…I didn't mean for this to happen."

"I know, baby. This wasn't your fault," he kissed her softly. "Everything's going to be okay. Just try and stay calm. For you and for Kieran and for the babies. Okay?"

She nodded.

He ran a gentle hand over her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead before following Mac out into the hallway.

* * *

"How are you holding up?" Mac asked, as he closed the door behind them.

Flack shook his head and leaned against the wall. Bending over, he put his hands on his thighs and closed his eyes tightly and tried to draw breaths into his lungs.

Mac laid his hand on the younger man's back. A small, comforting gesture. "I called your parents," he told the detective. "They're on their way here."

Flack nodded and opened his eyes and stood up. "He's my boy, Mac," he said, his voice a mere whisper. His eyes filled with tears. "Someone took him…someone took my boy…my son…my heart."

"We'll find him, Don. I promise you we will find him."

"Yeah…but is he going to be alive or dead when you do that? Because if anything happens to him and he ends up…" Flack shook his head. Too choked up to continue.

"We'll do whatever we can to make sure he's found safe and sound."

"It was Lessing," Flack concluded. "That's who did this. Because of that fucking article Reed did."

"You don't know that. That's just jumping to conclusions. You've made a lot of enemies during your career, Don. It could have been any number of them. We'll go through your cases and see if any perps you've arrested have been released on parole in the past six months. Anyone of them could have…"

"Anyone of them didn't blow up a fucking building and nearly kill me, Mac!" Flack snapped. "I survived his sick and twisted bullshit. That's why he took Kieran. I know it. And in your heart, you do too."

"I don't get paid to surmise anything," Mac said. "And you're too good of a cop too go into anything blind. You always want the facts and nothing but and we need to find just that if we want to find Kieran."

"I may be a good cop, Mac. A damn cop one at that. But I'm an even better father and that's my son and I know Lessing did this!"

Mac sighed. "I need a picture, Don."

Flack nodded and pulled out his wallet. Opening it, he gently removed the small family picture taken shortly before Christmas. He stared down at it. Tracing his thumb over his son's smiling face. And then the tears began to flow.

"What am I going to do?" he asked. "What am I going to do if we don't get him back? He's my everything. How am I going to go on without him if…"

"You're not going to think that way. You hear me?" Mac spoke firmly. Authoritatively. He swallowed the lump of emotion in his own throat.

"Just find him, Mac," Flack pleaded. "You're the best at what you do…I trust you…please just find my son."

"I will. You have my word," he vowed and took the picture. "I don't need to tell you that you're not allowed anywhere near this case."

"I know where I stand," the homicide detective said and sniffled loudly and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt.

Both men knew that it would be impossible for Flack to stay away.

"I know how bad it sounds and looks," Flack said. "That Sammie left him like that. But she's an amazing mother, Mac. I trust her with my son's life. With all my children's lives. Hell, with my life. She would never do anything to put any of us in harms way."

"I know she's been taking anxiety meds and anti-depressants," Mac said, pocketing the picture. "Has she gone off of her meds now she's pregnant? Maybe a sudden halt could have caused a manic episode and she.."

Flack immediately went on the defensive. "She's got clinical depression, Mac. She's not bi-polar or anything like that. And she's still on her meds. The doctor said they wouldn't hurt the baby. She would never, ever do anything to hurt our son. And for you to even think that.."

"I'm just covering all the angles, Don."

"Samantha's got her problems. With depression and anxiety. But she faithfully takes all her meds and the department psychologist said two months ago she was mentally and emotionally stable. My wife would never, ever do anything to Keiran. She hates to even raise her voice to him. I'm the one that's in charge of all the disciplinary shit. And you stand here, accusing her of doing something to our son?"

"Flack, I just…"

"Need to ask all the hard questions. Cover all the angles. I know. I get it. But get this, Mac. You're damn lucky I respect you as much as you do, or I'd be putting you right through this fucking wall."

"I know you're stressed and upset," Mac said. "I know that you're…"

"Keep your mouth off of my wife," Flack warned. "If I find out you're looking at her for this.." he shook his head and stepped away from his colleague and laid his hand on the door handle. "I am telling you right now, Mac. You even so much as ruffle a hair on her head, I will make sure your days as head of the crime lab are numbered. The name Flack still pulls a lot of weight with the big brass. And it may be the one and only time I toss my last name around. Understand me?"

Mac nodded, his lips pursed tightly together.

"So do me a favour, go to your lab and do what you gotta do," Flack said. "Do what you gotta do and find my son."

With that he opened the door and slipped back into his wife's room. Leaving Mac Taylor dumbfounded and speechless.

For once.

* * *

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	44. In the Still of Night

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN…BLAH, BLAH, BLAH**

**A/N: OKAY, THE MUSE DECIDED TO BE A BIT EVIL NEAR THE END OF THIS CHAP. I AM WARNING YOU KNOW. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE NO FLAMING PITCHFORKS FROM THE DIE HARD SAMFLACKIE FANS. ENJOY! BEG75**

* * *

**In the still of the night**

"Just a plain and simple chapel  
Where all good people go to pray  
I prayed the Lord that I'll grow stronger  
As I live from day to day

You'll search and you'll search but you'll never find  
No way on earth to gain peace of mind

Take your troubles to the chapel  
Get down on your knees and pray  
Then your burdens will be lighter  
And you'll surely find the way."  
-Crying in the Chapel, Elvis Presley

* * *

Flack paced the width of the hallway outside of his wife's hospital room. One hand covering his weary, tortured eyes and the other resting on his hip. Fighting tears of rage and frustration and utter heartbreak as he listened to Samantha screaming as she fought off the nurses attempting to make her swallow another helping of sedatives.

"You don't understand!" she shrieked, her voice frantic. "I don't want to take those! I don't want to take anymore! I just want to go home! I want to go home and find my baby! Why are you making me stay here?! I need to get out of here!"

"You have to stay here so the doctors can keep an eye on you," one of the nurses attempted to explain in a soft, calm voice. "You have a concussion and a history of pregnancy complications when you're stressed. For the good of you and for the good of the babies that you're carrying, it's in your best interest to take the medication, Mrs Flack."

"I don't want them!" Sam fought back. "I don't want to be a fucking zombie! I need to go and find my baby! Why won't you let me go and find my baby!? He's out there somewhere and he's scared and alone and he's cold and he needs me! He needs his mommy to come and get him! I take those pills and I can't go to him! Why don't you understand!?"

"There's a lot of highly skilled, competent people looking for your son," the second nurse, with a thick Scottish accent told her patient. "You need to stay here and look after yourself and your babies. This medicine will help you relax so you don't cause any damage to yourself, or them."

"But he's my baby!" Sam screamed. "Kieran's my baby! And you're keeping me from him! I'm his mommy! He needs his mommy! Please don't make me stay here!"

"You need to take the pills, Mrs Flack," the first nurse insisted sternly.

"No! I don't want them! I won't take them! YOU CAN' T MAKE ME TAKE THEM!"

There was a loud crash as something went flying across the room. Something Sam had either kicked or tossed. Within seconds of the clatter, Samantha was sobbing hysterically and begging and pleading in an obscenity laced tirade for the nurses to leave her alone. To not make her take anything. Because she needed to find her baby and doping herself up wasn't going to get her any closer to him. It was just keeping her further and further away from her son and why couldn't they understand that? Were they in on it? Did they have something to do with it? Was that why they were so hell bent on keeping her there? So that she'd never find him?

Grief and rage had made her inconsolable. And irrational.

The door to the room clicked open. Flack halted his pacing and removed his hand from his eyes and put it on his hips as the frazzled, agitated nurses, their uniforms and their hair messed and their cheeks flushed and chests heaving from exertion, stepped out, shutting the door behind them just as Samantha told them to fuck off. Fuck off and never come back with their poison.

"She can't be carrying on like this," the Scottish one told Flack. "She's uncontrollable and there's very sick people here."

"Her son, our son, was kidnapped!" he fought back. "She has a right to be upset! Do you realize what we see in our jobs every day! The children we come across that are brutally murdered and mutilated? That's what we deal with and that's what's on her mind right now and if you can't understand that, if you don't have the compassion and the empathy to put yourself in her shoes, than you shouldn't be doing this goddamn job!"

"But we are doing this job and when we are faced with patients that are out of control and violent…" the other nurse began.

"Violent?" Flack cut her off with a snort. "She's not violent! She's terrified that her son is lying dead in a gutter or a dumpster somewhere! All she wants to do is find him and you're making her feel like you're preventing her from doing that! Don't talk to her like she's an imbecile and maybe you'd get farther with her? Have you ever thought of that? Maybe being a little sympathetic about what she's going through? Do either of you have kids? Because if you do, but yourselves in her shoes and tell me how calm you'd be if your kid was missing."

"I understand that both you and your wife are distraught," the Scottish nurse said. "You have every right to be. But we have a job to do and that job is to protect your wife and those babies she's carrying. Because if she gets like this, this worked out and this stressed, she will lose those babies and that's something neither of you want, I'm sure."

Flack sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face. "So what do we do? How do we get her to calm down? 'Cause from where I'm standing, you fighting with her like that is only freaking her out even more and putting those babies, my babies, in danger."

"She needs sedatives," the first nurse told him. "And she won't take them manually. So we will have to resort to other measures."

"Other measures?" he asked. "And what the hell other measures are those?"

"We'll either have to put in an IV line and deliver the drugs through there," the Scottish woman informed him. "Or we have her transferred to the psychiatric ward and have her put in restraints and…"

"Are you kidding me!?" he laughed and shook his head. "That's a joke, right? You're going to tie down a three months pregnant woman and forcibly inject sedatives into her? Are all the people that work here out of their minds or just you two? Because that is just insane. My wife is not crazy! She doesn't need to be locked up in a rubber room and put in a straight jacket and be force fed pills or have drugs shot into her against her will! Someone kidnapped her son! Our son! She's scared and grieving and angry and you stand here and accuse her of being nuts?!"

"No one ever said that," the first nurse said, her voice calm.

"No. But that's what your insinuating right? That she's some kind of fucking wackadoo."

"Mr Flack," the Scottish nurse spoke to him as if she was a school teacher and he was one of her pupils talking out of turn in class. "Please watch your language."

"Watch my language? I won't watch my fucking language. My wife's medical care is my decision. I made all the choices when it comes to what she needs? Understand me."

The first nurse sighed heavily. "What do you suggest than?"

He took a deep breath and dropped his chin to his chest and shook his head slowly. He exhaled and looked up at the door to his wife's room. Contemplating his choices. Weighing the pros and cons of every available decision. He glanced at the small paper cup in the Scottish nurse's hand that held three small white tablets.

"Give me those goddamn things," he snapped, and tore them out of her hand. "Do me and my wife a favour," he said as he headed for the door. "Stay the hell away from both of us. You either tell her doctor I want new nurses looking after her, or I'll sign the papers to discharge her myself and move her to another hospital where the employees actually give a shit about their patients."

"Mr Flack, we didn't…" the first nurse began.

He ignored her. He opened the door, slipped into the room and slammed the door in their faces.

* * *

She was lying on her left hand side, facing the window, tightly curved into a foetal position. Her entire body shaking as she sobbed noisily. Flack's heart shattered at the sight of his wife so helpless and broken. A mere shadow of the vibrant, feisty thing that just the day before had gone toe to toe in an interrogation with a cold, calculate and unremorseful murder. Who just that very morning had been sprawled in the middle of their bed, the comforter pulled over top of her and their son as they giggled and played and basked in their relaxing morning together. Who had sat at the kitchen table and meddled in Danny's love life and tied maraschino cherry stems with her tongue much to amusement of her self described best boy friend.

This wasn't his wife. She wasn't the woman that he had fallen in love with and married and had a baby with. Who he was having more babies with. This wasn't Samantha.

And he wanted Samantha back. He would do anything and everything in his power to get her back. To see that smile again and hear her giggle and put up with all the smart ass comments and teasing she tossed at him. There was only one thing in the world that would bring her back. One person. And no one knew where he was or who he was with. No one knew if he was cold or lonely or scared or hungry. Or all mixed into one. They didn't know if he was sleeping peacefully or crying for his mommy and daddy.

They knew nothing. The amber alert was over seven hours old and still nothing. His parents had taken up residence at the apartment once the investigation there had been declared complete and the crime scene tape had been taken down. They had been sitting by the phone, which was already secured with a device to track and record any call that came into the place, for nearly five hours now and no demands for ransom or threats had been made.

It was as if Kieran had slipped off the face of the earth. That he had simply vanished.

Flack wanted nothing more to find his son and bring him home. To scour the streets of the city, one end to the other, and track him down and bring him home to his mommy and daddy and his unborn siblings and all of his toys and Slippers the Cat. To everyone that was hoping and praying for his safe return. Because getting their little boy back was the one and only thing that he knew would fix his wife. That would bring that smile and giggle back.

He paused at the side of her bed and stared down at the small cup of meds in his hands. He couldn't bring Kieran to her. It was impossible. But maybe those tiny white tablets would bring her some sort of peace. At least for a little while.

"Please go away," Samantha begged, as she sensed someone in the room behind her.

"It's me, baby," Flack told her. "It's okay now. The nurses are gone."

"Make them stay away," she pleaded. "I don't want them anywhere near me. Please don't let them come back."

"I won't," he assured her, and walked around the end of the bed to stand at the side closest to her.

She looked up at him and saw the cup of medication in his hands. "No, Donnie!" she cried, shaking her head vehemently. "Don't make me take those! Please don't make me take those."

"Samantha, you need to…"

"Don't do this to me," she begged, her face streaked with tears. "Please don't. You promised you'd take care of me. You'd promise you'd protect me. Please don't make me take those pills. I don't like the way they make me feel. Like a zombie. I don't want to feel that way."

"You need to take them. They'll make you feel better."

She continued to shake her head. Growing more and more agitated with each passing second. "You promised!" she cried. "You promised me you'd take care of me! And you're just like them! You're just like them, Donnie!"

He sighed. Deciding to take another approach with her instead. "Fine," he said, and calmly sat the cup of meds down on the bedside table. "You going to calm down? Relax? For you and those babies?"

She nodded. "I promise," she said. Sounding like a child who'd been admonished for doing something bad and who was vowing to never do it again. "I promise I'll be good. Just don't make me take them."

"Than why don't you move over and I'll lie down beside you. Hold you until you fall asleep. Sound good?"

She gave a small smiled and shifted sideways, making room for him.

The mattress and bed frame creaked under Flack's weight as he climbed onto the bed. There wasn't a hell of a lot of room in the thing, but somehow they managed to get at least a bit comfortable. He wrapped his arm around her slender shoulders and pulled her tightly against him. His lips buried in her hair as she rested her head on his shoulder and placed her hand on his stomach.

She began to cry again. A soft weeping that shook her body.

"It's okay, baby," he whispered. "Everything's going to be okay."

"I want him back. I want my baby back. I just want Kieran back."

"I know," Flack said, rubbing her shoulder softly with one hand, stroking her hair with the other. "And we'll get him back. I promise you with everything I am and everything I have that we'll get him back. If it's the last thing I do in this life, I swear I will bring him back to you, Samantha."

"I can't live without him," she whimpered. "I can't…he's my everything…he's my baby….I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't want anyone to take him from us."

"No one is saying you did," Flack told her. "No one even thought that."

"Mac did!" she cried. "Mac all but blamed me!"

"Mac's job is to ask questions like that," Flack reminded her. "He wasn't blaming you for anything."

"You blame me," she said. "I know you do."

"No, Sammie. I don't blame you. Not one bit. It was an accident. You didn't mean for someone to come into our house and take him. It was a simple accident."

"You hate me!"

'What? No. I could never hate you, babe. I love you. So much," he kissed the top of her head. "You know that."

"You said you'd never forgive me! If anything ever happened to him you'd…"

"I was angry about that article. I didn't mean a thing I said. This wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault and I'd never take Kieran from you. You're his mother. He loves you. You saw him this morning. The way he just lit up while you were playing with him. You're his mom and you can do no wrong as far as he's concerned. And I don't blame you and he isn't going to blame you either."

She sniffled loudly.

"I want you to get some sleep, okay? There's a lot of people that love Kieran working their asses off to find him and bring him back to us. And you know what? They're going to do it. He's going to be home soon and it will be like nothing ever happened. You'll be able to scoop him up and kiss him and blow those raspberries on his tummy that he likes so much."

She smiled through her tears.

"I promise you that Kieran will come home. Safe and sound. You trust me, don't you?"

Sam nodded.

"And you know that I'd do anything to protect you. That I'll take care of you no matter right? Right?"

Another nod.

Flack stopped stroking her hair and reached sideways to grab to cup of water and the meds from the table. "I want you to take these, Samantha. You need to take these. I wouldn't make you do something if I thought it as going to hurt you. You need to trust me, okay? Trust me and take the meds, baby."

She was silent. Contemplative. Finally she reached out and took the cup from his hand and tipped the contents into her mouth before taking the water and rinsing the pills down with a long sip. She swallowed, than proceeded to open her mouth wide and move her tongue around so he could see that she wasn't hiding the tablets.

"Smart ass," he said. "Was that really necessary?"

"Just in case you thought I was faking it," she told him. "We will get him back, right Donnie?" her eyes, and her voice were desperate for reassurance. "Please tell me we'll get Kieran back. He's our son and if anything happens to him I don't know if…"

He silenced her with a soft kiss. "I promise you, Samantha. We will get him back."

"Thank you," she whispered, and settled her face in his neck.

Flack sat the empty cup from the meds and the water on the table and than stretched his arm behind him to grab a hold of the chain attached to the fluorescent light at the back of the bed. Switching it off, he wrapped both of his arms around his wife's body and settled himself back against the pillows.

"We'll get him back," he vowed. "I'll find him myself if I have to. I'll find him and bring him back to you, Samantha."

Even if it kills me to do it, he thought. Closing his eyes to block the flood of tears.

* * *

Flack found himself standing in the basement of the New York City crime lab. The dungeon, as Samantha and Danny so fondly referred to the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner. It was brightly lit and various bodies, covered from head to toe in stark white sheets, took up residence on several of the cold metal slabs. Even more deceased victims lie in the coolers that took up the far wall. Each held in their own storage locker of sorts. Nothing more than a drawer that the ME could pull out if he was showing the body to next of kin or the investigating detective.

He and Hammerback were alone. Sid stood, at the head of one of the occupied examination tables. In his standard dark blue scrubs and the glasses that pulled apart in the middle dangling around his neck. His hair was slightly dishevelled. His eyes were rimmed red from emotion and his hands trembled as he stared down at the metal clipboard that he grasped so tightly his knuckles turned white. He didn't have to say it. It was written all over his face. This was one of the most difficult things the ME had ever had to do in his entire career.

"Multiples bruises and contusions to the body," Sid said, his voice wavering as he read off of the report in front of him. "A fractured left arm, shattered collarbone. Broken right orbital bone. Collapsed oesophagus and shattered jaw. Numerous fractures to the skull. A beaten so severe it caused tremendous swelling and bleeding on the brain and led to a massive stroke. Signs of…" Sid's voice broke. "Signs of sodomy."

Flack felt sick. His knees felt weak. Threatening to buckle any moment.

"I hate to do this, Detective Flack," Sid said. "But I need to…it's just standard policy…I know that it's him…but I need to…for the records…" he cleared his throat. "I need to ask you to identify the body."

Flack simply nodded.

Sid reached down and tugged the white sheet over the face of the tiny, innocent, broken and battered soul that lay there on his autopsy table. "Is this your son?" he asked, voice barely a whisper.

Flack couldn't speak. There were no words to adequately capture the horror of the moment. He reached out, his fingertips gently grazing over his toddler son's forehead, combing through Kieran's thick dark hair.

"Is this your son?" Sid repeated.

The detective nodded. Too stunned to speak. In utter terror and shock that the moment had come to this. That the life he had helped created was cold and far beyond any help he could render. "It's my son," he managed, trailing a finger down the baby's deeply bruised left cheek. And he bent, a picture of grief, and pressed a kiss to Kieran's forehead.

Flack's life was over.

Someone had taken everything that mattered to him and destroyed it. His heart and his soul had been crushed and could never, and would never, be mended.

Everything was gone.

* * *

With a startled, choked cry, Flack's eyes snapped open and he bolted up right in bed. His chest heaved as his lungs attempted to draw in air. His heart pounded and his blood raged through his sweat soaked body. He glanced frantically around the room. Relieved, to some extent, that instead of standing in the morgue, staring down at the battered and lifeless body of his first born, he was still in that cramped hospital bed, moonlight streaming through the windows. He was relieved that it was a dream. But the thought that their ordeal continued, that their son was still out there somewhere…

He squeezed his eyes shut and will the ache in his chest to go away. It was the start of a panic attack. He knew the signs and the symptoms all to well. The way his entire body trembled and felt short of breath. The rapid heart palpitations. The profuse sweating and the sensation of being unbearably cold. And the fight or fight response that overtook him. The intense desire to get away. To flee and hide from the feelings of going crazy.

Because that's exactly what the attacks, to him, felt like. That he was legitimately going insane. That he was losing complete and utter control of himself.

It wasn't the first time he'd had them and it wouldn't be the last. The first time had been shortly after the announcement of Lessing's upcoming release had been given and Flack had woken up in the middle of the night having difficulty breathing and the tightness in his chest and the hot and cold flashes and had been convinced he was having a heart attack. Sam had bundled herself and the baby up and the entire family had headed for the ER, where Flack was put on an EKG machine to monitor his heart rate. In the end, there'd been no threat of a coronary event. And he'd been diagnosed with suffering a panic attack.

It had happened twice since than. And Sam was forever having anxiety attacks that she managed and controlled with medication. But this was, by far, the worst one that Flack had ever been through.

He had to get away. He couldn't stay there, in that room, any longer. He felt as if he was suffocating. Choking. And he tossed the blanket of himself and his wife's sleeping form and climbed out of bed. The sedatives had done their trick. Within minutes of taking them, Samantha was out like a light and hadn't made a move or a sound, since. She was in a deep, peaceful slumber. Curled up tightly on her left hand side, a faint smile curving her lips.

I gotta get out of here, Flack thought, pacing at the foot of the bed, his fingers tunnelled in his hair. I can't stay here…I can't be here…I need to get out of here before I go completely mental.

He managed to get his breathing under control. The pain in his chest had started to wane. He forced one foot in front of the other and went to the side of the bed and leaned over and pressed a tender kiss to his wife's soft lips.

"I love you," he whispered, running a hand over her hair and along her face. "I love you but I need to go for a while…"

She gave a small, content sigh and nuzzled her face against her pillow.

He kissed her one more time. And than was gone.

* * *

It had been a long time since Don Flack Jr had believed in anything. Spiritually wise.

He had lost his faith -or at least put it on the back burner- during the years on the job. Temporarily losing his religion and wandering off the proverbial path was nothing more than a by product of the countless lifeless, often mutilated and grotesque bodies that he had had the unfortunate of standing over on many night such as this.

In the dead of winter when the wind burned your lungs and stole your breath and you swore you were going to freeze if you stayed out there any longer. In the ferocious heat of summer when a simple shirt and tie felt as if you were wearing a suit of armour or a heavy fur coat because the sun beat down on you so powerfully and the sweltering temperatures made you feel sick. In the heavy downpours of spring when rain drops hung on your eye lashes and dipped off the end of your nose and soaked you from head to toe. In the cool, crisp air of autumn when the leaves crackled under your feet and the fresh air invigorated your soul until the overwhelming stench of death permeated your senses.

His faith had hit the high road after what seemed like an endless parade of despondent, shattered families that he'd had the misfortune of breaking the news too. Of the husbands and wives and mothers and fathers who had broken down and clung to him as they sobbed, their bodies retching with grief. Of the children who'd been left behind with a widowed parent or in some cases, with no one to love and care for them and nothing but stays in foster homes and the system in their future. Of innocent boys and girls that while their parent cried in the other room after Flack had dealt the most horrible blow of all, had tugged on the bottom of his coat and looked up at him with tear filled eyes and wobbling bottom lips and asked why, if he was a police man, could he not bring back their mommy or daddy? Why didn't he protect them and keep them safe? Wasn't that what police men did?

God had forsaken those people. The innocent victims and those that loved them and were left behind.

And in turn, Flack had simply forsaken God.

Carmen had asked him once how that was possible. How could he not believe in something when he had met Sam so unexpectedly and things had developed so easily and quickly for him. How he could find a love like that and take on a wife and welcome a child into the world, and not believe that some greater power had a hand in all of that.

"God had nothing to do with it," he'd said. "He had nothing to do with how Sam and I felt about each other. We just felt it and it felt good and we went with it. He didn't make me fall in love with her or encourage me to marry her. Things just happened between us. It had to do with us. And we made Kieran. Together. Because of that love. God was nowhere around in all of that."

And it wasn't that he didn't believe. He simply had lost his way.

But the path -somewhat broken and beaten- was leading him slowly back. Because he needed something to hold onto. Something tangible that he could rely on and turn to during these dark, trying hours. That would n't forsake him and lead him wrong.

Which was why, and how, he had found himself sitting in the front pew of the small chapel in the hospital's second floor. It was a dimly lit, small room with little more than several pews and a basin of holy water and a large wooden crucifix hanging on the front wall. A table of candles in small red glass vases sat off to the right. Several were lit. The flames flickering and casting shadows on the walls.

His mind drifted back that day, over a year ago, when he'd held his newborn son in his arms for the first time. How tears of pride and relief had surged down his cheeks and he'd softly touched every inch of his son's face and ran his fingers through Kieran's hair and pressed a kiss to that wrinkled forehead and vowed to never let anything happen to him. To love and protect him forever.

To carry him for the rest of his life.

And he'd failed him. He'd let his first born, the light of his life and his entire heart and soul, down. Miserable. He'd let someone come into their home and take him. And the thought that someone was inflicting pain and torture on his son was to much to bear. He was a failure and nothing but.

_I failed him._

And that was when the tears came. When he lost complete and utter control of his emotions, and sank to his knees and cried like he never had before a day in his life. Gut wrenching, heart breaking and soul shattering sobs that he couldn't reign in even if he wanted to.

A soft hand fell on his shoulder. He felt someone standing to his left. Breathed in the faint scent of a floral based perfume. The touch and that smell somewhat comforting in the state he was in.

"It's okay, Don," the voice was gentle and soothing. "It's okay."

He shook his head vigorously. "No…it's not…it's not okay…"

"Everything is going to work out. I promise you. We'll find him."

"Alive or dead, Jess?" he removed his hands from his face and looked over and up at the attractive brunette standing beside him. "Alive or dead?"

"You know the answer to that, Don."

"No. No I don't. If I did I wouldn't be asking you. Do you have anything? Have you heard anything? Any leads? Any tips off the amber alert? Calls to the station after that interview I did for the evening news?"

She shook her head solemnly. "There's been no sighting. No nothing. No calls to your house for a ransom. Nothing."

"Not surprised. Why call for a ransom? He's just a cop's kid. Everyone knows a cop can't afford a ransom. Are you sure nothing's been called in? I can't believe that with all these people in this city no one has seen him. Or at least thought they saw him. And if a perp of mine did this, you just know they'd call to brag about it. You sure there's nothing?"

"I'm sorry, Don," Angell said simply.

"That's all people say to me," he sniffled noisily. "That they're sorry. I don't want to hear I'm sorry. I want you people to find my son."

"And we will," she assured him.

She undid the sash on her navy blue wool pea coat, followed by the buttons, than crossed the small chapel and went to the bowl of holy water on a small stand in front of the crucifix. She dipped the tips of the fingers of her right hand into the water and made the sign of the cross. She returned to where Flack remained on his knees, his eyes closed and his hands clasped tightly together. Pulling off her jacket, she draped it over the back of the pew and got down onto her knees alongside of him.

They remained quiet for several minutes. Both lost in deep, silent prayer.

"You believe in God," Flack said at long last. "Obviously."

"Born into a strong Roman Catholic family," Angell said. "Baptised, confirmed. The whole nine. Church on Saturday evenings and once on Sunday morning. Bible camp. All girl's school. You're Catholic, too, aren't you?"

"Lapsed," he admitted. "Very, very lapsed."

"But you believe in God? Don't you?"

"I believe in…" Flack thought about it. "I believe in something, I guess."

"Well you're here," Angell said. "That's a huge start in finding that something again. Getting in touch with it."

"I just…" he sighed and turned his eyes towards the cross mounted on the wall. "I just don't get that if there's a God, that supposedly loves us so much, why he does the shit he does. Why he lets terrible, horrible things happen to good people."

"He doesn't let them happen. He just doesn't stop them when they do," Angell reasoned.

"I guess so…" Flack sighed. "It's late, isn't it."

"Late, early. Whichever way you want to say it. It's quarter to six in the morning."

"I should go back to Sammie. In case she wakes up and…"

"I just checked on her," Angell told him. "I wanted to stop by on my way home and see how the two of you are holding up."

"We're…not holding up very well," Flack admitted.

"I know it's tough," Angell said, and laid a hand on his back and rubbed softly. "I know this is killing the two of you, Don. But you need to be strong. For Kieran. He needs his parents, especially his father, to be strong for him. Because if you can't be strong, than who does he have to believe in?"

"It's so hard, Jess," he sighed. "So hard…"

"I know. But he needs you, Don. Of all the people in the world, it's you he needs the most. And you know that. Daddy's the strong one. The one that makes everything better. The one that he goes to when mommy says no because he knows he can get whatever he wants from you."

Flack gave a small laugh at that. "They've got Sam all doped up," he told her. "When she's not on the meds, she's…it's just better she's on them."

"I'm sure," Angell said.

"So there's nothing? Nothing you can tell me?" His voice was pleading. Searching for anything. No matter how big or how small.

"All I can tell you is that the lab confirmed, by the condition of the door lock, that someone had picked it to gain access to the airport. So Sam was right. She did lock the door."

"You were doubting what she said?" Flack frowned.

"A little," Angell admitted. "Were you?"

He sighed. "I thought maybe she had thought she locked it. I mean, that happens to all of us. We think we do something and find out later we didn't. It would have been an honest mistake on her part."

"Well it was locked," Angell confirmed. "So it went down just like she said."

Flack nodded slowly. "He's dead, isn't he Jess. Kieran. He's dead."

Tears threatened in his eyes once again.

"What would make you say that?" she asked, laying a hand on the back of his head and stroking his hair.

"We do the job. We know the statistics. Forty seven percent die within the first hour. Seventy eight within the first twenty four."

"Those are just stats, Don. That's all they are. Kieran's on the other side of the scale. In the twenty two percent we find and return to their families."

"But he's just a baby," Flack said. "He couldn't survive if someone…you know…did things to him…"

"He's part Flack and part Ross," Angell reminded him. "Kid can survive anything with that combination. Please don't talk like this, Don. He's your son. Maybe whoever took him has plans on selling him on the black market. Or keeping him for themselves."

"And that makes it any better?" he asked.

"If he's dead, that's permanent," Angell replied. "The other ways? At least he's still alive and there's a chance of getting him back. When he's dead he's gone. He's never coming back. That happens? That happens and he's gone. He's just gone."

Angell's voice cracked at the permanence of those words. She couldn't stop the tears that escaped her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Don," she whispered. Her voice haunted. "I am so sorry. You and Sam didn't deserve this. I know the two of you. The way you love each other. The way you two love your son. And for all people for this to happen to…you two did not deserve this."

"It's okay, Jess," he said and laid a hand on the back of her head and pulled her closer to him.

* * *

She could feel his lips in her hair. Feel his warmth against her. Hear the beating of his heart in his chest. And despite the horrible circumstances playing out around them, and despite that this was her dear friend's husband and she herself was with an amazing, fantastic, loving man, she couldn't deny that something still lingered inside of her. How could it not? Her 'relationship' with Flack had been brief, but it had been powerful and unforgettable. And despite the many times that she'd told herself she was over him, it was quite clear she wasn't.

"Did you ever tell, Sam?" Angell asked, forcing herself to pull away from him.

"About?" Flack responded.

"The real deal with me and you. Did you ever tell her?"

Flack sighed. And answered her in the way she was least expecting. He nodded.

Angell blinked. "You did?"

"I told her just after we got married. I told her that there'd been more to me and you than I'd let on. She was a little pissed that I never told her from the get go, but she accepted it. I'm her husband. She knows I love her and I'm not going anywhere."

"But she still formed this friendship with me. This tight, amazing sister like thing. She did that knowing there was a me and you. I just don't…"

"She knows it was the past," Flack said. "Before I ever met her. And she knows that I'd never do anything with you. With anyone for that matter. She trusts me. And she trusts you."

Angell smiled and nodded and wiped her eyes on his shoulder. "What do you say we get out of her and grab a coffee?"

He grinned.

"Actual coffee grabbing this time," she laughed, and reached out to gently clear tears from his face with her fingertips.

"I think that's a good idea," he said. "Than I should head back upstairs. I want to be with Sam in case…you know, in case we hear anything."

"I'll stay for a bit," Angell told him, as she slipped from the pew and stood up.

"You don't have to," Flack said, and slid out of the pew as well.

"Well I want to," she informed him. "So there. Are you okay, now?"

"For the most part," he said.

She laid her hand on his back as they headed for the door. "Wait…" she said, and halted. "I want to do something. Just hang on a second."

"Jess, what…"

He watched as she headed across the room and went over to the table that held the candles. Pulling a lighter from her pocket, Angell picked up one of the small red vases and lit the candle inside.

"This is for Kieran," she told Flack. "And it's going to stay here, burning, until we find him. And when we do, and I'm the one that personally hands your son to you, than I'm going to come back and blow this candle out. Because this little flame? This is what's going to light his way home."

Flack was speechless. Emotion once again threatened to overcome him.

Angell sniffled noisily and joined him at the door. She laid her hands on his sides and looked up at him. "I promise you, Don. He will come home."

"Thank you," he said, his voice raspy.

"What are friends for?" she asked, rubbing his sides. "Come on, let's go and…"

He pressed a brief, feathery kiss to her lips, bringing an abrupt halt to her sentence and all thought in her head.

She jerked away from him as if she'd been scalded.

Flack blinked. As if just realizing what he'd done. "Jess…I'm sorry…I never…"

She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him towards her and down into a long, deep, smouldering kiss. Finding resistance at first, than revelling in the feel of his hand on the side of her face as he returned the kiss.

They broke apart. Tears in her eyes. Guilt and immense sadness in his.

"This is where this ends," Angell told him. "Whatever we had or could have had…this moment…this is where all that ends."

Flack nodded, than silently turned and opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

Angell sighed and briefly closed her eyes. As wrong as it had been, as guilty as she felt for doing it, regret was the farthest thing from her mind.

Letting him go was turning out to be a lot of a lot harder than she thought.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and everyone of you! Even the lurkers! And I know there's lots! Please, please, please send me some love folks! I'd appreciate it! Much love to all of you!**

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	45. Where is Baby K?

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN….BLAH,BLAH,BLAH**

**A/N: A SPECIAL WELCOME TO RYANLAUREL! **

**THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO HELPED ME REACH 500 REVIEWS! THANKS FOR ALL OF THE SUPPORT AND KIND WORDS ABOUT THIS STORY! MUCH LOVE, BEG 75**

* * *

**Where is Baby K?**

"If I die of Vanity, promise me, promise me  
That if they bury me some place I don't want to be  
That you'll dig me up and transport me  
Unceremoniously away from the swollen city breeze, garbage bag trees  
Whispers of disease, and acts of enormity  
And lower me slowly, sadly, and properly  
Get Ry Cooder to sing my eulogy."  
-At the Hundredth Meridian, The Tragically Hip

* * *

"The search continues this morning for thirteen month old Kieran Flack. The toddler son of two members of the New York City Police Department that was taken from his own home in a brazen daylight abduction that has residents of this city, and members of the police department, baffled."

Danny glanced up from the trace samples he was collecting off the mattress of the playpen taken from Flack's apartment. He was tired. Beyond tired was more like it. The only thing that was keeping him on his feet was the two dozen cups of coffee he'd guzzled since he'd arrived back at the lab late yesterday afternoon and the desire to find out who had taken his godson, and where the guilty party had actually taken him. The interview that Flack had given outside of Trinity was playing again. Save for the images on the television, Danny had not seen, or heard, from his best friend. Flack had no idea that Danny was even still in the city and working diligently on bringing the baby home.

The CSI had decided the best thing to do, was work his ass off and give Sam and Flack the space and privacy they needed at that point in time. They were going through sheer hell. Danny could see the torment and fear in his best friend's eyes as he watched that interview for what seemed like the thousandth time. He could hear the emotion playing in Flack's voice as he held up a picture of his son and begged for his return. For someone to come forward with information, big or small, that would help bring Kieran back to his family where he belonged.

The Amber Alert was running along the bottom of the screen. As it had been, non stop since five o'clock yesterday afternoon.

_Kieran Flack. Thirty one inches tall. Twenty two pounds. Short black hair. Blue eyes. Scar on the underside of his chin. Small red birthmark on the back of his left knee. Last seen in a pair of dark denim Osh-Gosh overalls and a red turtleneck with the Nike insignia on the collar. _

Danny swallowed noisily as emotion threatened to get the better of him. He'd bought Kieran that turtleneck. It went with the red and black fleece Nike sweat suit that Danny had seen at Sport Check and couldn't resist picking up for the little guy. Just the thought of it, of his nephew being out there in that freezing weather, in just that turtleneck and a pair of overalls, ate away at him. The fact that Kieran was cold and hungry and lonely. Crying for his mommy and daddy while some bastard did horrific, torturous things to him….

Danny shook his head and closed his eyes briefly, willing his brain to shed itself of such thoughts. Thinking things like that was not helping Kieran. It was only working him into a state and rendering him ineffective at his job. And he needed to be effective. He needed to suck it up and buckle down and throw his heart and soul into the investigation. Because no one was going to get away with hurting his godson. And he swore, that if it was the last thing he ever did, that he'd get his hands on whoever had snatched that precious little boy from his parents and put the fear of God into them. Make them wish they were never born.

"Fucking piece of shit…."

Danny's eyes snapped open and he glanced over at Adam. Surprised at the profanity that had just erupted from the lab tech's mouth. They shared the same work station. Danny concentrating on the playpen, Adam working methodically, and apparently not so successfully, on the guts of the lock that had been removed from Flack's apartment door.

Across the room, Kendall, watching the television intently, had been assigned the task of analyzing small particles of soil that had been found in, and around where Kieran had been sleeping so peacefully when he'd simply vanished from his own home.

"Take it easy, Adam," Danny said gently. "Things aren't going to go smoothly for you if you're getting this riled up."

"I just don't understand why something can't go right for once," the lab tech grumbled.

Adam had barely said two words to anyone since being given the news that his nephew had gone missing. He had simply buried himself in his work and turned on his I-pod so he didn't have to listen to, or pay attention to, anyone or anything.

"Because you need to just relax," Danny suggested. "Take a break. Go for a walk. Get some fresh air. Clear your head. That lock will still be here when you get back."

"And my nephew will still be missing," Adam said, not looking up from the lock he was so desperately trying to take apart. The evidence collected supported that someone had picked it. What Adam needed was any trace in the guts to say what it was picked with. "I don't take a break or go for a walk or get some fresh air until Kieran is found safe and sound. Understand?"

Danny blinked. Taken back by the firm, harsh tone in the younger man's voice. He understood where Adam was coming from. It was his nephew. His flesh and blood. And the not knowing and the thoughts of what could be happening or what could have already happened, were driving him absolutely mental. It was doing that to everyone. But Adam had extra stock, extra reason, to be suffering that whole lot more.

"I understand a hundred per cent," Danny assured him. "I just don't want ya burning yourself out is all. Mac sees you all tense like this and he's pulling you off this case. And I don't think that's what you want is it?"

"At this point in time," Adam sighed. "I really don't care what Mac does to be honest."

Danny had to admit, seeing this side of Adam was damn intriguing. And impressive. He wondered if the guy ever thought of making his way out of the lab and into the streets on a permanent basis.

"The New York City crime lab is working diligently on this case," Chief Sinclair appeared on the television in a live press conference taking place outside of the lab at that moment. "Any time something happens to one of our officers or their family members, we put all available man power to work. I trust in Detective Mac Taylor and his team of forensic experts and I know, that they will do everything they can to bring Kieran Flack home safely."

"Detective Taylor, do you have any leads?" a female reporter shouted.

Mac's face appeared on the television screen. "At this time we have no solid leads but are looking at a wide variety of scenarios."

"Any suspects?" another reporter questioned.

"Once again at this time we have nothing solid," Mac repeated.

"Is it true that the mother left the child unattended in an unlocked apartment?"

"The mother did leave the child unattended, but the apartment door was locked," Mac answered.

"Is Child Protective Services looking into, if the child should be returned safely, investigating the mother or having her charged with child endangerment?" yet another reporter called out.

Adam dropped the lock to the table with a loud clatter. He stared at the television, vehemence in his narrowed eyes, his mouth set in a grim line.

"At this time we have had no contact with anyone from CPS," Mac responded. It was clear by his rigid jaw and the way he was gripping the edges of the podium he stood at, that he was struggling to keep his composure. "The child was in an apartment that was locked and someone broke into the residence. This was not a case of negligence. This child is loved by his parents and comes from a stable, positive home. His mother did nothing wrong."

"Do you have children, Detective Taylor? Would you leave them alone, locked apartment or not?"

"I have no children and I have no answer for that," he replied.

"Is it true that the mother is being treated for on going depression and an anxiety disorder?"

Danny's eyes narrowed at the sound of the reporter's voice.

"Was that Reed Garrett?" Adam asked, his voice a harsh whisper. "Please tell me that that was not Reed Garrett asking something like that about my sister."

"Samantha Flack has been diagnosed with clinical depression," Mac confirmed. "But is on medication and is under constant watch of the NYPD psychologist and has never been, at any time, a threat to herself or her child."

"I'm sure that the family and friends of Susan Smith and Andrea Yates said the same thing," the reporter tossed out. The camera zeroed in. On Reed.

"That little sonofabitch!" Adam managed through gritted teeth.

"Susan Smith and Andrea Yates were both suffering from depression and both murdered their children. Susan Smith went as far as naming an assailant that never existed. Could it be possible that…"

"Let me make something very clear," Sinclair stepped in front of Mac. Fury blazed in his eyes as he addressed the mass of reporters. "It is obvious that we are dealing with an abduction of a child by an outside party. Both Samantha Flack and her husband are well respected members of this department. And for you to even suggest that she would ever do anything to harm their child is slanderous and defamatory. And if such suggestion appears in any of your publications, I will personally see to it that you face criminal charges and never, ever work in this city again. Now this press conference is over and I am instructing that all members of the department and of the crime lab, not take part in any further interviews or press conferences."

* * *

"You fucking tell him, Chief," Danny praised, the press conference ending abruptly as Sinclair practically dragged Mac away.

"I can't believe that he would say that," Adam's voice was a near whisper. His face and ears flushed red and his eyes downcast as he gripped the lock so tight his knuckles turned white. "Reed…I can't believe he'd say my sister would ever do something like that."

"He's a fucking prick," Danny declared. "And believe you me, when I get a hold of him…" he shook his head and smirked. "He's gonna regret ever saying something like that. Trust me."

"He's got a valid point," Kendall spoke up.

"What did you say?" Adam's head snapped up, his angry eyes zeroed in on his ex.

"He's got a valid point," she repeated, not looking away from her work. "She has been diagnosed with depression and an anxiety disorder."

"And that's your fucking business because…?" Danny asked snidely.

"There's been numerous cases of women that have gone off of medication and done things like this," Kendall replied. "It wouldn't be the first and it won't be the last."

"My sister would never do anything to hurt Kieran," Adam fought back. "She's a great mother. She loves him."

"A great mother wouldn't have left her son alone, locked apartment or not," Kendall said.

Adam snapped. He smashed the lock down on the table with such force that the glass splintered and than bolted across the room and before anyone could react, had a terrified Kendall by the upper arms and was shaking her aggressively.

"Are you fucking insane?" he bellowed. "That's my sister! My sister would never do anything to hurt my nephew! Never! What is wrong with you!?"

"Adam…Adam…." Danny was on top of the situation in a shot. Laying a comforting, supportive hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Take it easy, buddy. Just take it easy."

"My sister loves her son!" the lab tech continued. "She loves him and would never do anything to him!"

"Easy…" Danny attempted to pry Adam's iron tight grasp from Kendall's arms. "Easy…"

"You don't know my sister!" he cried. "At all! Just like you never knew me! And if you say anything like that about my sister ever again, I swear to God, Kendall, I will strangle you with my bare hands! Do you hear me? Do you fucking hear me?!"

She nodded weakly.

"Don't ever say anything about her ever again," he warned, finally releasing her and stepping away. Tears streaming down his face. "Ever."

"It's okay, Adam…" Danny rubbed the younger man's back soothingly. "I know you're freaked out and upset. I know this is hard on you. But getting like this? Getting like this isn't helping your sister or Kieran. It's not helping bring K home."

"I just want him back," Adam sobbed. "I just want him back."

"I know you do," Danny pulled the lab tech into a tight hug, a hand on the back of Adam's head as he cried into Danny's shoulder. "We all do. But you need to be strong, okay? You need to be strong for K and for Flack and for your sister. That's what they need right now. Alright?"

Adam nodded and sniffled noisily and pulled away from the CSI.

"You alright now?" Danny asked, laying his hand on the back of Adam's neck. "You good?"

He nodded. "I think so."

"Go and clean yourself up," Danny instructed. "You go, clean yourself up, get yourself a coffee and clear your head a bit and than come back here and we'll work on some things. Kapish?"

"Kapish," Adam agreed, and turned and headed for the door, snapping off his latex gloves and tossing them in the trash as he went.

"Guys!" Hawkes exclaimed, as he rushed into the lab holding aloft a case folder. "We've got a lead! DNA came back on the blood I collected off the living room floor."

"Someone in the system?" Danny asked, hurrying over to join Adam and Hawkes.

"It wasn't just blood," Hawkes said. "It was blood mixed with saliva. I was able to get two separate DNA profiles. The saliva came from Kieran."

"So it wasn't his blood?" Danny asked, relief in his voice.

Hawkes shook his head. "The blood belonged to someone already in CODIS. An ex con released eight months ago and living at no fixed address. In the system for break and enter, assault, and sexual interference of a minor. He's a registered sex offender."

"A child molester?" Adam felt, and sounded, sick at the sheer thought.

"I thought sex offenders could only be released if they had an address," Danny said.

"He was released into the care of his sister," Hawkes explained. "He moved out of her home over a month ago and she hasn't heard from his since. I already called and asked. She doesn't know his whereabouts, but did give me the number of his parole officer. Who told me that he's missed two scheduled check ins."

"Who is this fucking asshole dirt bag," Danny said, and snatched the report from his hand.

"Someone named Jack Doyle."

Danny's heart stopped. He looked at Hawkes. "What did you say?"

"Jack Doyle," the other man repeated.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Danny muttered, and flipped open the report. His eyes widening at the sight of the mug shot that stared up at him. "That mother fucking piece of shit," he ground out.

"You know him?" Hawkes asked.

"That sonofabitch," Danny held up the picture. "I just saw yesterday morning!"

"Where?" Adam asked.

"Flack's. I went there to hang out a bit before he drove me to the airport. This asshole here?" Danny shook the piece of paper in his hand. "Is Flack's neighbour! Across the hall!"

"The one that called EMS?" Hawkes asked dumbfounded. "But how…."

"Flack knew," Danny shook his head. "He knew that there was something not quite right about this guy. He could feel it, you know? Kept asking questions about Brooklyn and K. Flack was going to check him out and than decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He knew! He knew this guy was trouble!"

"He was in on it all along?" Adam couldn't quite comprehend what he was hearing. "He took Kieran and than made it look like he was innocent by coming back and finding Sammie and calling EMS?"

Danny looked at the picture once again and snorted and shook his head. Than took off out of the lab.

"Where are you going?" Hawkes asked his colleague.

"To find Mac!" Danny called without looking back. "Whatever you guys do, do not tell Flack about this!"

Adam waited until Hawkes had taken off after Danny to pull his cell phone from the pocket of his lap coat. He flipped it open and dialled the familiar number. "I'm sorry, Danny," he mumbled. "But I just can't do that."

* * *

Jack Doyle had figured that if he stayed in his apartment, just mere feet from where he had snatched Kieran Flack from his own home, that it made him the least likely suspect in the eyes of the NYPD. After all, he was the one who had found the apartment door open and had gone in to check on everything and discovered the mother passed out on the living floor and bleeding from a nasty gash to the back of her head. He'd been the one that had called 911 and given a calm, courteous statement to the first officer on the scene. So calm and so courteous that no one from the crime lab or even the investigating detectives, had found any reason to question him on the baby's disappearance.

He had certainly underestimated the wonders of modern day science and the brains of the investigators in the crime lab. Because when NYPD officers kicked in his door, Jack Doyle had been relaxing in his living room watching all the latest news and taped interviews regarding Kieran's disappearance. He'd been just sitting there, with a proud, smug smirk on his face, admiring his handiwork. Without a care or a worry in the world. He briefly, and unsuccessfully, attempted to make to his fire escape once he got over the initial shock of his door exploding in a shower of wood. He'd made it halfway across the room when he'd met up with a highly pissed off Tim Speedle and a madder than hell Danny Messer, who'd both proceeded to take the guy down none to gently.

Half an hour later he was in interrogation. Nursing a split lip and broken nose and proclaiming innocence. Kieran hadn't been in the apartment. There'd be no sign that he'd ever been there. But Carmen and Hawkes were in the process of pulling the place apart in the hopes of finding something, anything, to prove otherwise.

Angell sat silently across the table from the registered sex offender, a look of pure disgust on her face as she regarded the pathetic excuse for a human being in front of her. She'd been instructed, by Mac, to not start the interrogation until he was in the room. So she waited, impatiently, fighting off the urge to beat Jack Doyle into oblivion, while Mac and Danny stood in the hallway just outside the door, embroiled in an intense discussion.

"Danny, I have already told you this. You are not taking part in this interrogation," Mac informed his CSI. For what seemed like the hundredth time. "You are way too personally involved. Kieran is your godson and…"

"You're right, Mac. He is my godson. My nephew. I love that kid like he's my own flesh and blood. Which is why you can't keep me out there! I need to do this for Flack and for Sam. For Kieran! I can get that guy to crack and you know I can!"

"How?" Mac asked. "Using your fists? Tuning him up? You've already done enough damage to his face. You're lucky he's not having you charged with assault by an officer."

Danny snorted. "He was fighting with me and Speed while we were trying to arrest him," he argued. "My elbow accidentally slipped on it's own accord. I didn't mean to bust his nose and knock out a few teeth."

Mac raised his eyebrows.

"Okay…so maybe I did mean it," Danny conceded. "But I did it subtly and proclaimed my innocence afterwards and swore it was a mistake. He's lucky I didn't toss him out the fucking window."

"You're not arguing your case very well Danny," Mac informed him.

"You can't keep my out of there!" he argued, gesturing wildly towards the interrogation room. "You can't keep my away from the one guy who knows where my godson is! He took Kieran, Mac! He took him and he's the only person who knows where that baby is!"

"And you beating the information out of him isn't going to solve anything!" Mac shot back. "We have his blood at the scene. He has a history of break and enter. But there's no proof that he took Kieran."

"Are you kidding me, Mac? He's a registered sex offender! Kieran's saliva was found in his blood! Of course he took that baby! I don't know where K is now, but I know that that sonofabitch took him and so do you! We need to go in there and find out where the hell he took Kieran! We need to go in there and…"

"Are you prepared to hear what he has to say, Danny?" Mac's voice was grave. "Are you prepared to hear it if he confesses? Because there was no sign that Kieran was ever in that apartment. And if he was, he's long gone now. Are you prepare for that?"

Danny's eyes narrowed. "What are you trying to say, Mac? Spit it out."

"Kieran's been missing almost twenty hours now," the older man said, picking his words gently. "And you know the statistics."

"Don't even say it….don't even think it…"

"You know that the chance is great that we won't find Kieran alive."

Tears of rage and grief filled Danny's eyes. He pursed his lips together and put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "Don't even think that about him, Mac. He's alive. I know he is. I can feel it. I don't know what kind of shape he's in or what that sick, twisted SOB did to him, but I know that he's alive. I can feel it in my heart. And for you to just give up hope on him like that."

"I'm not giving up hope. I'm preparing myself, and you, from what we might hear in there. Can you handle that, Danny? Hearing something like that? If he confesses and tells us that he molested Kieran? If he tells us word for word what he did. Can you hear it if he tells us that Kieran is dead?"

"He is NOT dead, Mac!" Danny snapped. "You hear me, he's not dead!"

"You have to prepare yourself!" Mac insisted. "Can you handle hearing him say that Kieran is dead!?"

Danny took a deep breath. "I don't know," he admitted. "I honestly don't know. But I do know that I can't stand the thought of not hearing what happened. Because if that's the case, Mac, I want to be the one to tell Flack that his son is…" he hung his head. Unable to say the word. "He's my best friend. I love him like a brother. I want to be the one to tell him."

Mac slowly nodded. "If you do this interrogation, you promise me that you'll stay in control? That you'll keep your head on straight?"

"I promise you, Mac. I promise you."

"I'll be sitting right beside you. If you feel you need to leave the room at any time…"

"I'll leave. I swear to you that I will leave."

"You get out of hand at any time, Danny, and I will yank you, understand me?"

The CSI nodded. "Are you ready, Mac?" he asked "Are you ready to hear it if that's the final outcome? Are you prepared to hear that the little boy you love like a grandson is dead? Are you ready for that?"

The older man sighed and shook his head.

"He's alive," Danny insisted passionately. "I can feel it. My instincts tell me he's okay."

Mac laid a hand on Danny's shoulder and turned towards the door to the interrogation room. "Let's hope and pray that your instincts are right," he said.

* * *

She had hopped on the first available flight to New York City. Making arrangements the moment she had checked her voice mail and got the voice message that Danny had left her. His apology had been sincere. His reasons for not being able to make it more than reasonable and understandable. His voice had been calm and steady, but Lindsay had seen right through it. She knew, lingering just below the surface, was immense worry and concern. Kieran was his nephew. His godson, and there was nothing that Danny wouldn't do for that little boy.

There'd been no doubt in her mind that going to New York City was the best thing to do. She and Sam hadn't been talking and corresponding for that long, but their friendship was growing stronger by each passing day. They confided things in each other that even the men in their lives didn't know. Things that they had kept inside for so long that had caused them to shed tears when the secrets were out, but also made them feel closer, and as if the weight of the world had been lifted off of their shoulders.

Samantha would need someone. Someone that wasn't on the job. Someone that could sit with her and hold her hand. Think outside of the science and the police work. Who could offer unconditional support and understanding. Someone who would be there to listen when she needed to cry and rant and rave. Someone who would be there, by her side, if that dreaded, horrific phone call arrived.

Lindsay tried her best not to think of such things. She wanted to believe in her heart of hearts that Kieran Flack was alive and well somewhere. That whoever had taken him had no devious, terrible plans for him. That there wouldn't be a phone call delivering tragic news. That that little boy was going to be found and brought to his parents, happy and healthy and safe. But there was a part of her that couldn't turn off the CSI. She hadn't worked for the Bozeman crime lab in over eight months. She had taken the offer of soon to be trophy wife and relished being able to stay home all day long if she felt like it.

But the police officer in her still remained. And it was that small part that made her think of the stats. Of all the children that went missing each and every day, and of the staggering numbers of those that never made it home. That were still out there somewhere. And in worst cases, dead.

She prayed that Kieran wouldn't be another statistic. That he'd somehow beat the odds. That the sick, twisted person who had taken him would look into those beautiful blue eyes and see that innocent smile and realize what a horrible mistake he had made and do the right thing and just give the baby back to his family and everyone who loved him.

It was those optimistic thoughts Lindsay clung to as she climbed from the backseat of the taxi in front of 1398 Jefferson. She closed the door behind her and than gave the driver enough to cover her fare and a five dollar tip after he retrieved her two bags from the trunk.

She had called from JFK. She hadn't wanted to go all the way to the apartment and find out that Samantha and Flack weren't there. She had heard on the news, the night before, that Samantha had been taken to the hospital and was being treated for shock and a slight concussion and would be held overnight for observation. When she'd called the apartment, Lindsay had spoken briefly to Flack's mother who'd said that her daughter in law had been released three hours before and had holed herself up in Kieran's room. She wouldn't speak , she wouldn't eat, she wouldn't take the medication the physician had prescribed. She simply sat in the chair by the window, rocking back and forth and staring out at the grey sky, clutching a toy and a pair of pyjamas belonging to her son. She was despondent and unreachable. And Patricia's fear was that her daughter in law had given up all hope of ever seeing her son again. And a life without Kieran, to his mother was not a life worth living.

It was shortly before noon hour when Lindsay found herself stepping off of the elevator and making her way down the hall, checking the numbers on the apartment doors, pulling the small wheelie suitcase behind her, her carry on slung over her right shoulder.

She stopped in front of apartment 703. Despite the superintendent being quick to install a new door, remnants of crime scene tape still lingered on the edges of the door frame. She couldn't resist the urge to peel off the bits of sticky tape. As of ridding the area of anything related to what had gone down would suddenly and miraculously make everything right in the world once again. Lindsay toed off her snowy Ugg boots and bent down to place them neatly beside the door before standing upright and taking a deep breath. Exhaling slowly, she briefly closed her eyes and prayed for everything to go nice and smooth. Than raised her hand and rapped her knuckles loudly on the door.

It was two or three minutes before she heard the unlatching of a dead bolt. When the door was finally pulled open, she found herself looking up into the same blue eyes and handsome face that Flack possessed. Only this man was much older. His hair was nearly snow white and the underside of his eyes were lined by both worry and age. He was tall and broad shouldered. Strong looking. It was quite clear who his son had taken after.

"Mr Flack?" she asked. "I spoke to your wife about an hour ago. I'm Lindsay Monroe. From Montana. I used to work with your son and Samantha."

"I was hoping you were someone here to give us some sort of news," he admitted with a heavy sigh. He stepped back and held the door open with his hip for her, reaching out to take the carry on off of her shoulder and the suitcase from her hands. "Let me get those," he offered with a small smile.

"Thank you," she said graciously and gave a tiny smile of her own. "I was I wish, too. Someone here to give you some news about Kieran. How are you holding up?"

He shrugged his broad shoulders. "I just want my grandson back," he said. "One way or the other."

"Well hopefully, by the grace of God, he'll come back safe and sound. Has there been any news? Are there any leads? Suspects? Anything?" she asked hopefully.

"Donnie just left about half an hour ago like a bat out of hell," Flack Sr replied, closing the door behind her and locking it securely. "Something about the neighbour across the hall's DNA being found. He was damn near hysterical with rage, I couldn't understand half of what he was saying. No news on the baby though. I know what they say, the chances of him still being alive after this long, but I just can't…" he sighed once more and shook his head. "I can't give up on my grandson."

Lindsay reached out and laid a hand on his arm and rubbed affectionately. "He's going to be fine," she assured him. "And I'm not giving up on him either."

"Thank you," Flack Sr's voice was a near whisper. Tears welled in his blue eyes. This man, who had mistreated his wife and his children so many years ago, who had never, a day in his life, cried or showed emotion to anyone or anything, was utterly heartbroken. "I just…he's my whole world that little guy…I screwed up so badly with his father…I thought by being close as I am to him, it was like making amends for the way I was with my boy. If anything happens to my Kieran…" he fought back the wave of emotion. "…if anything happens to him it will destroy my son. And that will destroy me."

"It's going to be okay," Lindsay told him, hoping she didn't sound as lame and unconvincing as she imagined she did. "Kieran is just like his father. And his father is a survivor. If Flack," she paused briefly in order to correct herself. "If Don can get through the bombing, than Kieran can get through this."

"Dear God I hope so," he gave a choked sob and threw his arms around the tiny woman before him. "Dear God I hope so…."

Lindsay embraced him in return, rubbing his back soothingly. There were no words that she could find that offered the kind of support and hope that this man so desperately needed. So she said nothing, and they stood there, their arms around each other, two strangers, united in worry and grief.

"I'm sorry," Flack Sr said, after several minutes passed and his sobbing subsided and he composed himself and drew away from the young woman. "I don't know what…I don't know why…"

"It's because you love your grandson," she told him. "There's no need to apologize for loving him as much as you do."

He nodded, cleared his throat noisily and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his NYPD sweatshirt. "My wife just had to run some errands," he said. "I'm just hanging around in the living room. Manning the phones. In case someone calls with news or it's the perp demanding a ransom or some other shit. Can I get you something, Miss Monroe? A coffee? Cup of tea? Something to eat?"

"A cup of tea would hit the spot nicely," she said. "Thank you. Is Samantha sleeping or….?"

"She's in the baby's room. Won't come out. Won't talk to anyone. Won't even eat a thing. Donnie's worried about her. We all are. Maybe you could try. Go in there and see if she'll open up to you. She's a hair shy of losing it completely. It's what we're all concerned about. That she'll lose it and end up in the hospital and than Donnie won't have anything left."

"She's just worried," Lindsay assured him. "She's distraught. Once Kieran is home, she'll be back to her old self."

"And if he doesn't come home?" he asked. "What than? What happens to her than?"

Lindsay didn't respond. The truth was, she didn't have an answer for that. And the scenario that was running through her mind was too tragic to bear.

"Do you think you could try?" Flack Sr asked hopefully. "Try and get through to her? I don't want to see my daughter in law like this. And it's killing my son to see her like this. She's his wife and he loves her and he can't lose her too. Do you think you could try?"

She nodded and offered a brave, sympathetic smile. "I think I can," she replied.

* * *

Samantha sat, in an over-sized man's hockey jersey and a pair of blue and green plaid pyjama bottoms and fluffy pink slippers, in the white and yellow glider chair by the window, next to Kieran's crib. It was a beautiful little room. Baby blue walls with huge, fluffy white clouds hand painted on them and white crown moulding along the tops of the walls. A navy blue roller shade with bright yellow moons decorated the window. Glow in the dark stars and planets dotted the ceiling. A glass fronted shadow box hung on the far wall, in which was proudly displayed a child's sized New York Yankees jersey autographed by Alex Rodriquez. A much treasured gift from Danny to his even more treasured godson.

Toys were neatly tucked away with the corners of the room. A bright yellow three in one ride and walk dump truck that was hauling an assortment of wooden blocks, a fluffy white teddy bear that stood at least three feet in height, a glistening silver and blue ribbon around his neck. A Little People garage complete with tow truck and police cruiser. A small, toddler sized hockey net with plastic sticks and a soft, cushiony ball. Toys that were well loved and well used by the looks of them.

Along the wall where the crib sat, was a long white wooden shelf that held six large wooden blocks. Each one adorned with a letter of the alphabet. Spelling out the name of the occupant of the room.

**K I E R A N**

Tightly clutched to her chest with one hand, was the pyjamas that she had taken her son out of just the morning before. They were soiled with food, but his smell was there. She couldn't bear to throw the jammies in the wash for fear that his smell would be lost forever. If he never came back to her, at least she still had his scent. In her other hand she held the Iggle-Piggle doll that Sid had given Kieran for his birthday.

Lindsay stood in the open doorway, as her friend, lost in her own little world, fought with her mind numbing grief and sadness.

And as Sam sat there and methodically rocked back and forth, her eyes riveted on the grey sky outside of the window, tears streaming down her face, she spoke, in a choked, tormented, harsh whisper, the same words over and over again.

"_Someone I know is warm and snug and drifting off to sleep. Round and round, a little boat no bigger than your hand, out in the ocean, far from land. Take the little sail down, light the little light, this is the way to the garden in the night."_

Lindsay's heart broke. The tears finally spilled down her cheeks and she placed a hand over her eyes in an attempt to compose herself. To keep herself together. To be the strong, supportive one. The shoulder to cry on. And she steeled herself and wiped away her tears and at the sound of her friend weeping openly, made her way into the nursery.

"Kieran…" his mother sobbed unabashedly, holding his jammies to her face. "Please Kieran….please….don't do this to mommy….please…"

Lindsay sank to her knees in front of the glider and laid a gentle hand on the other woman's knee. "It's okay, Samantha," she whispered. "Everything's going to be okay."

"Lindsay?" she asked, removing the pyjamas from her face, turning her weary, tortured eyes down to the woman before her.

"I thought that you could use someone," Lindsay told her.

"That's his favourite show," Sam explained. "Kieran loves that show. He watches it every day. It makes me feel close to him. Smelling his clothes…I have to remember what he smells like. I can't forget what he smells like."

"You do whatever helps, Samantha," Lindsay said, and rose to a crouched position and reached out to clear the tears away from the other woman's face with gentle fingertips.

"You came all this way?" Sam asked. "All this way just for me?"

"For you. For Flack. For Kieran. I just…I didn't want you to go through this alone."

"Thank you," she whispered, than broke down completely. "I want my baby back….I just want him back….I want Kieran back…"

Lindsay swallowed noisily and drew her friend into her arms.

"He's gone, Lindsay," she cried. "He's gone."

"Never lose hope," Lindsay said, stroking Sam's hair. "Don't ever give up on him. Mommies never give up."

"I hope he knows I love him. That I never meant for this to happen. That I never wanted someone to hurt him."

"He knows, Samantha. He knows. And when he comes back, you're going to be able to scoop him up and kiss and love him to death and listen to all those cute little giggles you're always telling me about. Don't abandon, him. He needs you. He needs his mommy."

"I just want him back," she whispered.

"They're working on it," Lindsay assured her. "That's one thing I know for sure. They're working on it and Danny won't give up until that little boy is back in your arms. For good. Trust in Danny, Samantha. He won't let you down. If anyone can find Kieran, it's him. You know that right?"

She nodded.

"Just trust in him, Samantha. Trust in Danny."

_Like I do, _Lindsay thought. _Like I always have. Like I always will._

* * *

Speed glanced over as the door to the observation room, where he and Chester Lake stood, prepared to listen to the interrogation of Jack Doyle, clicked open. His eyes widening at the sight of Flack, fury and determination on his face, stepped into the room looking as if he was ready to kill. Unshaven and exhausted, sporting a pair of baggy, faded jeans and a ball cap and a Henley style shirt as opposed to the suit and tie he wore to work each and every day.

"Flack, you can't…" Speed began.

The detective held up his hand, indicating for the other man to just keep his mouth shut. "It's my son," he said. "And no one's keeping me from the person that took my son. Understand me?"

Speed nodded and sighed.

"There was no sign of Kieran?" he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets as he fixed his intense blue eyes on the man sitting across the table from Angell and Mac. Danny paced the room like a caged tiger, his hands on his hips. Ready to pounce any moment.

"Carmen and Hawkes went through his apartment," Lake replied. "There was no sign that Kieran was ever there."

"Well he's somewhere," Flack said. "And that piece of shit knows exactly where. He say anything? Do anything? Other than just sitting there with that fucking smirk on his face?"

"Mac and Danny just got in there," Speed told him. "No one's said a word yet. He fought Danny and I pretty good when we went and picked him up."

"That how he got that split lip and that bloody nose?" Flack asked. Sounding mildly amused over the condition of the perp.

"Danny's elbow slipped," Lake responded. "He didn't mean to knock out some teeth and bust up his nose."

"Lucky I wasn't there," Flack declared. "Because his head would be so far shoved up his ass by now…."

"How's Sam holding up?" Speed asked. Anxious to change the subject. The anger bubbling inside of his friend was unsettling. And frightening.

Flack shrugged. "About as good as she can be when someone broke into her house and kidnapped her son, I guess."

Speed frowned. "Don, I…"

"I know what you said, Speedle," Flack's voice was eerily calm. "I read the paper this morning. I saw what you told Reed Garrett. About Samantha's problems. About the meds she takes and the depression. I saw it."

"It was relevant to the investigation," Speed defended his actions. "Her moods and temperament are totally relevant to this and you…"

"I what? I know that?" Flack snorted. "You all but said she was a suspect."

"I never said that," Speed argued. "I said that…"

"I know what you fucking said!" Flack bellowed. "You think she did it? You think my wife kidnapped our son? Killed him? Shoved his body somewhere? Because she had some kind of mental episode or some crap like that? Is that what you think happened?"

"Easy, Flack," Lake said, in his calm and quiet tone as he stepped in between the two men. "We all know that Samantha would never hurt Kieran. She loves him. He's her son. Everyone's just a little on edge right now. We've got this guy in custody and we know that he had something to do with it. So that clears Sammie of any suspicion."

"What did you just call her?" Flack asked his colleague. "Please tell me that you didn't just call her that."

"I called her Sammie. What…?"

"No one calls her that. Okay? That's an affectionate thing. Only certain people call her that. Her brother and me. Not you. Never you. Got that?"

Lake held up his hands in self defence.

"Just both of you…" Flack sighed heavily and shook his head. "Both of you just back the hell off. Alright?"

"You're not going to do anything stupid are you?" Speed asked. "Like go in there and go postal on the guy?"

Flack snorted and turned back to the glass. "He's lucky if that's all I do," he said.

"So what is this?" Jack Doyle asked, taking in the sight of the two cops at the table and the sonofabitch who'd messed him up with a cheap shot that paced the room. "The three Musketeers?"

"Congratulations," Danny replied. "You know how to count. Got past first grade."

Doyle's eyes narrowed. "Who the hell you think you are? Pacing around like that like you're something big and bad."

"Who do I think I am?" Danny chuckled. "Who do I think I am…let me tell you who the hell I think I am!" he shouted and pounced on the perp, only to have Mac on his feet and stopping him from doing anything stupid. "I'm the godfather of that baby you snatched, Doyle! And you're damn lucky it isn't just me and you in here! Because I promise you if it was, one of us wouldn't be walking out of here. And trust me, I'd be leaving on my own accord. So don't make me show you how big and bad I can be!"

"Oooo…." Doyle mocked him, shuddering dramatically. "I'm terrified."

"Oh you will be!" Danny promised. "Me and you, buddy. Me and you and that baby's father and we'd fucked you up something serious."

"Danny!" Mac pointed towards the window ledge. "Take a seat or you're out the door! You hear me?"

"You're letting him laugh at us!" Danny told his boss. "You're letting him laugh at us! Laugh at Kieran!"

"Danny!" Mac warned one final time.

"Fine!" the CSI held his hands up in surrender and retreated to the window ledge and took a seat.

Mac sighed heavily and returned to his seat. "Where's the baby?" he asked Doyle.

"Baby?" the perp asked, than squinted his eyes as if in deep thought. "Baby…baby…baby…sorry…don't know no babies."

"Than let's refresh your shitty memory," Angell snapped and opened the case folder in front of her. She removed a picture of Kieran and slid it across the table. "That baby," she said. "The one that bit your arm hard enough to draw blood. We know that that's what the bandage on your left arm is covering up. He bit you. Hard enough to make you bleed. It's how we found you. Your DNA."

Doyle glanced down at the picture. "Kid lives across the hall from me," he told her. "So what? He's cute and all. But I know nothing about what happened to him. Mind you, he is my type."

Danny somehow managed to fight off the urge to storm across the room and beat the man into oblivion. "You disgusting piece of shit," he said through gritted teeth. "That baby…my godson….is thirteen months old…"

Doyle shrugged. "As long as they're old enough to crawl, they're in the right position…"

Danny was already on his feet, prepared to grab a hold of Jack Doyle and face a lifetime in prison for what he was going to do to the man, when the door to the interrogation room flew open with such force that the glass in the window shattered when the door collided with the wall.

* * *

Before anyone could react, Flack already had Jack Doyle by the front of his shirt and against the glass Speed and Lake watched the interrogation behind. A large, strong forearm across the perp's throat, cutting off all air to the startled, terrified man's lung. Collapsing the trachea a little at a time. Flack's other hand on Doyle's shirt, holding the man inches off of the ground, his legs squirming and kicking wildly.

"Where's my son!?" Flack bellowed, his voice thundering.

"I don't know…." Doyle choked out.

"I am going to ask you again!" Flack pressed his forearm harder into the man's throat. "Where is my son!?"

"I….I don't….I don't know….he's….I just….."

"What did you do to him!?" the detective yelled. "Tell me what you did to him!?"

"Flack!" Danny managed to get between Mac and his best friend, as the crime lab boss attempted to pull Flack off of the perp. "Don't do this! You do this and we won't ever find Kieran!"

"I'm about three seconds away from busting your throat," Flack told Doyle. "If you don't tell me what I want to know in three seconds…."

"I….don't…know…where…he…is…."

"But you took him right? You're the one that took my kid?!"

Doyle nodded. "He…paid…me…."

"Who paid you?" Flack asked. "Who paid you to take my kid?"

"I…don't…know…his…name…."

"Wrong fucking answer!" Flack yelled and laid more pressure on the man's neck. "Tell me who paid you to take my son!"

"Get him the hell out of here!" Gerrard ordered from the door. "Flack! Jesus Christ! What the hell are you doing? Taylor! Get him the hell out of here!"

"Easy, Don…." Danny spoke softly, soothingly. "Don't do this…for Kieran…if you want him back, don't to this…."

"Who paid you?" Flack repeated. "You don't tell me and I'll kill you where I stand and it will be worth spending the rest of my life in jail! Tell me!"

"A guy…" Doyle managed, his face bright red, gasping for air, his fingers clawing weakly at the strong forearm.

"This guy have a name?" Flack asked.

"I don't know it…honest…."

"What's he look like? Tell me what he looks like!" Flack demanded.

"Would someone get him the hell out of here!" Gerrard fumed. "Before he loses his kid and his badge!"

"Shut the hell up!" Danny shot back at the inspector. "Just shut the hell up!"

"Five ten…" Doyle choked out. "Medium build….dark hair…dark eyes….said….said he was an old friend of yours…that you survived his experiment."

"Lessing," Mac concluded. "Angell!" he shouted over his shoulder. "Track down whatever you can on Dean Lessing! Now!"

Angell hurried from the room.

"He….paid me to take your son…." Doyle continued, breathing easier as Flack relieved some of the pressure off his throat. "Said he needed the baby."

"For what?" Danny asked.

"Just said he needed him….that he was special…gave me three grand to snatch him…I knew he was alone…I saw the mother leave the apartment with laundry…asked me to keep an ear open for her kid because he was sleeping in the apartment…I waited…until she left again….that's when I did it…"

"How did you know she was going to leave him alone?" Danny asked.

"I took the chance…he wanted me to….wanted me to get him anyway possible…"

"What were you going to do if she didn't leave him? If she was with him?" Flack inquired. "And tell me the fucking truth or so help me God…"

"He told me to get the baby at all costs. Even if it meant killing the mother. And I didn't want to do that. She was always nice to me. I didn't want to hurt her."

"Where'd you take the baby?" Mac asked. "Tell us where he is."

Tears spilled down Doyle's face. "He told me to take him to the parking lot off of Dock 13 at the Port Authority. To leave him in the car, engine running, heat on. That he didn't want the kid hurt. "

"Did you do anything to him?" Danny asked. "Did you touch him in any way?"

Doyle shook his head adamantly. "No…I…I wanted to but I didn't…."

"You sick, pathetic piece of shit!" Flack bellowed, and grabbing a hold of Doyle by the shirt once again, picked the man up and tossed him to the floor. His hand reaching under his shirt for the gun he wore in the holster hidden under his shirt. Stepping over the perp, he pulled the weapon out, pulled back on the chamber to load it, and flicked off the safety.

"Don!" Danny grabbed a hold of his friend's arm. "Don't do it, man! Don't do it! He's not worth it! You do this and it won't matter if we find Kieran! Because you'll never see him again! Or Sam! Don't toss away your life with your wife and your kid for him!"

Flack shoved his friend's hand off his arm, bent down and pressed his gun between the perp's eyes.

And pulled the trigger.

* * *

There was a dull click.

Danny and Mac stood there stunned at what had just gone down.

 Doyle broke into hysterical sobs and wet his own pants.

"You better hope my kid is alive," Flack hissed. "Because if he's not…I'll come for you and I promise you, this time, it will be loaded. Understand me?"

Doyle nodded.

Flack sighed heavily and stood up and tucked his weapon back into its holster. "You better find Lessing before I do," he told Danny and Mac, than calmly left the room.

* * *

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	46. Shattered

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN…YOU GUYS KNOW THE REST**

**A/N: THE MADNESS CONTINUES! **

**A SPECIAL WELCOME TO MIONEJAINA561**

**AND A THANKS TO ALL WHO ARE ADDING ME AND THIS STORY TO ALERTS AND FAVOURITES!**

* * *

**Shattered**

"The wild and windy night  
That the rain washed away  
Has left a pool of tears  
Crying for the day  
Why leave me standing here  
Let me know the way  
Many times Ive been alone  
And many times Ive cried  
Any way you'll never know  
The many ways I've tried  
But still they lead me back  
To the long winding road  
You left me standing here  
A long long time ago  
Dont leave me waiting here  
Lead me to your door."  
-The Long and Winding Road, The Beatles

* * *

Ignoring the curious whispers and the sympathetic stares, Flack stumbled out of the front doors of the precinct and into the bitter cold and the blinding snow. He stood, in the middle of the sidewalk, bent over at the waist with his eyes closed and his hands on his knees and his lungs gasping for breath. Sucking in the cold, early February air until his chest and his throat burned. His entire body trembled. From both the frigid temperatures and the ordeal that he had just put himself willingly through. His heart pounded in his chest and the rush of blood thundered in his brain.

The enormity of what he has just done hit hard. Tears burned his eyes and his stomach wretched as he righted himself and he took off in jog down the sidewalk and around the corner to the left and into the empty alleyway behind the precinct. He placed his palms on the cold bricks and dropped his head and proceeded to vomit violently and profusely onto the snow below him. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his back and neck as he stood there, suffering in both torment and agony, sobs wracking his entire body.

He cried until he didn't think he had any tears left. Sobbed until his throat felt hoarse and his stomach ached. Until the pain subsided. Even if just for a brief moment. Than he turned, moved several feet down the alley, and slowly slid down the ragged bricks until he was ass first in the inch deep snow. He stretched his legs out and closed his eyes and rested his head back against the wall. The coldness of the brick acting as pain relief for his throbbing head. Trails of tears remained on his face and burned his flushed cheeks.

_Medium build…dark hair…dark eyes…said he was an old friend of yours…that you had survived his experiment._

Fucking Dean Lessing. Fucking Dean Lessing and his sick and twisted obsession with the city and the country not being prepared. He'd put that bomb in the building nearly four years ago and to Flack it seemed as if it was yesterday. That he'd gone to work that Sunday, praying and hoping that it would be one of those lazy, kick back and relax weekend shifts where you spent the majority of your time socializing up in the crime lab or at your desk catching up on what seemed like an endless, massive mountain of paper work that was the bane of your existence. He'd never suspected, as he drove to that crime scene in Greenwich and took a look a what was in store for his afternoon, that in less than half an hour all hell was going to break loose and his life changed forever. He'd never imagined in a million years, as he met a smiling, cheerful Lindsay Monroe and told her about the spring time block parties that were stables of New York City life, that he'd soon be fighting for his life.

"Well where do they have them in Montana?" he remembered asking as if he was reliving the entire moment.

"Wyoming," Lindsay had replied and he'd given a little laugh at the country girl's witty, charming sense of humour and they'd continued towards the crime scene in a companionable silence.

He even remembered what Lindsay Monroe had been wearing that day. A thin, cotton off white blouse with a scooped neck underneath this smart little green blazer that came to her elbows and grey pants. He'd thought, as he watched her climb of her department issued vehicle, that she looked way too damn cute and pure to be walking and working, the streets of New York City. She was young and vibrant and down to earth. A bubbly personality unlike any woman he'd ever come across until he'd met his future wife two years later. Truth of the matter, if Danny had never showed interest or made a move, Flack had been seriously considering doing so himself.

But Danny had made a move and expressed interest and Flack had backed off out of respect for his best friend. It hadn't stopped him from having a serious crush on the girl from Montana. Until things started going south for her and Danny and Flack had thanked his lucky stars that he'd never got embroiled in that mess.

Darwin Judge. He even remembered the dead security guard's name. Lying there on his back at the foot of the stairs. Mac had handed Monroe the camera to finish up on the overalls and pointed out a latent blood trail that travelled up the stairwell. He and Flack had followed it while Monroe announced she was going back to her truck to get an electrostatic dust lifter or some shit like that. Flack remembered how badly he wanted to go with her. Just head back onto the sunshine and skip work and do absolutely fuck all with the rest of the day. Just sit around and take it easy and forget about the troubles of the world for a little while. But no, he was on the clock and there he'd stay. Flashlight in hand, following Mac Taylor and thinking how that man was just a little too devoted to the job. He remembered very clearly that the blood led to the second floor. He could even remember the sound of the door opening and than clicking softly shut behind him as he and Mac stepped out into the barren, quiet hallway.

Mac had made some comment about how must be nice to have Sunday off. Flack wasn't sure what he had said in return, but remembered he'd thought Must be fucking nice is more like it. His thoughts were on getting the hell out of that brokerage firm. For some reason he didn't understand than and still didn't know, the quietness and desolation had freaked him out a little.

And that's when they came across that overturned ladder in the middle of hallway and the slightly askew ceiling panel above them. Flack could still recall, as Mac turned that ladder upright and climbed towards the ceiling, that he wished they could just fucking get out of there already. That Mac would just quit the super scientist shit and get on with the job already.

Bomb. He could hear Mac announce it like it was yesterday. Still see the look of panic on the older man's face as he scrambled down that ladder. Flack had hit the fire alarm to clear the building and he and the crime lab boss took off in an attempt to evacuate anyone who was stupid enough to not get the hell out at the sound of the alarms. Monroe had been warned by Mac to stay where she was, to move people away from the building. She'd been the lucky one. She'd come through relatively unscathed. Little more than a nasty gash to the head. But it had been Flack, who'd gone back down the hall to yell at that jackass in the noise cancelling head phones to get the hell out, that had bore the full burnt of Dean Lessing's fucking insanity.

And now Kieran, Flack's first born son, was bearing the brunt because his father had somehow, beyond all hope, survived the 'experiment'.

_If I'd died none of this would be happening, _Flack thought, beating the back of his head off of the brick wall behind him. _If I'd just given up and died, Samantha wouldn't be going through complete and utter hell. Her life wouldn't be the mess it was now. She wouldn't be one foot in the mental hospital if you'd just fucking gave up._

_You're a selfish bastard for thinking that way, _the rational part of his mind told him. _Because that woman loves you and you love her. She's the best goddamn thing that's ever happened to you and she takes your shit and sticks around and keeps coming back for more. And she gave you a son. She created the miracle of life with you, you ungrateful sonofabitch. And all you can do is sit here and feel sorry for yourself! Get a grip. Grow the fuck up!_

Flack opened his eyes and coughed noisily. The air was starting to burn his lungs. Make his knees and his back ache. And sitting in the snow didn't help matters any either.

_Get your ass up and go home to your wife. Take her in your arms and tell you love her and thank her for putting up with all of your crap. Tell her your sorry for ever blaming her and doubting her for what happened. Kiss away her tears and tell her that everything is going to be okay. That you're going to find your son and bring him home. Even if it kills you. _

His cell phone, clipped to the waist band of his jeans and hidden by his shirt, vibrated against his stomach. Flack reached under the garment and snatched the phone and brought it out into view. Flipping it open, he checked the call display and frowned. UNKNOWN NAME, UNKNOWN NUMBER. The fifth time in half an hour that that had appeared and he'd ignored it.

_Well now it's the sixth time, _he thought, and hit end and snapped the cell closed. _Want me bad enough, leave a fucking message._

He coughed once again and turned his head to the side and spit out phlegm and left over vomit that had been lingering in his mouth. The pain in his head had gone away. His stomach had finally finished turning circles and he was just about ready to head home. Put together a game plan. Do some research. Find where Dean Lessing was and get his son back.

* * *

"Hell of a show you put on in there," a familiar voice said in way of greeting as the not so welcome face joined him in the alley.

"How is it you always manage to track me down?" Flack asked, turning his head to spit once again. "You always find me. You got a tracking device attached to my ass?"

"Up it, actually," Angell replied.

Flack snorted.

She tossed him his winter jacket. "Left this at your desk. Figured you'd be freezing without it."

"Freezing is the least of my worries," Flack said, letting the coat fall into his lap. "Should be the least of yours, too. How'd you know you weren't coming out here to find my body? That I didn't blow my brains out?"

"Maybe because everyone knows that you pulled the trigger on your empty weapon to scare the shit out of Doyle. So you don't have any bullets on you to do away with yourself."

Flack smirked and laid a hand in the snow to help boost himself up onto his feet. Shrugging into his coat, he reached into one of the pockets and pulled out the clip for his weapon. The full clip. And as Angell watched with wide, shocked eyes, he took his gun from his holster and snapped the bullets into place.

"Always tell people they underestimate me too much," he said, and returned his gun to his hip. "You know, on my way here, I had it all planned out. I was going to go in there, scare the guy into confessing what he'd done to my son and where he'd left him, and than I was going to shoot him right between the eyes. That was my plan. Because losing my son? That would have been decent grounds for a temporary insanity plea, don't you think?"

"What made you change your mind?" Angell asked.

"The fact that I have a wife at home that needs me," Flack replied. "Who I love more than life itself and needs me to be strong for her and the babies she's carrying. She doesn't need me doing something stupid and fucking her life up even more."

"And you don't think nearly breaking that guy's neck and pulling the trigger on an empty gun and scaring him until he pisses himself qualifies as stupid?" Angell inquired.

"Guy admitted he wanted to molest my son, Jess," Flack informed her. "And he probably would have if he'd had more time alone with him. So you tell me. You think I was just going to sit back and let some pathetic piece of shit tell me he wanted to fuck my thirteen month old son? You think that Hawkes wouldn't do the same damn thing if you guys had a kid and had to hear something like that?"

"You and Sheldon are two completely different people, Don," Angell responded.

"Yeah…I know. But I guess last night you got the two of us mixed up and thought I was him. That could be the only reason to explain what you did."

"What I did?" she grabbed a hold of his arm as he attempted to step past her. "You kissed me first!" she reminded him.

"I gave you a kiss that a family member gives another family member. That's it. It was nothing major. It was a show of affection. Don't read into it."

"I don't know what your family does, Flack, but in mine, we don't go around kissing people like that. And I'm not a family member of yours. I'm a colleague. I'm a friend of yours and your wife's. And I also happen to be your ex girlfriend?"

"Ex girlfriend?" he laughed at that. "You were an ex something. I wouldn't call it a girlfriend. Don't fool yourself, Jess. Don't trick yourself into thinking that there was more to it. Just like you'd tricked yourself when were together, or whatever the hell we were, into thinking that something major was going to come of us."

"Do you always have to be a bastard, Flack? Do you? Do you always have to get that parting shot in? Rip peoples' hearts out? Shit all over them?"

"I'm just telling it the way it is, Jess. You kissed me and I kissed you back. I'm not denying that. And you know what? It was nice. But it was a moment. I was weak and I needed someone and you were there for me. I was reaching for something and there you were. And I reacted. Badly. But I can't take back what happened no matter how bad I want to."

"You never wanted it to happen?" Angell asked. "Because you really seemed into it last night."

"A moment. What did I just say? I was caught up in the moment. And yeah, if I could I'd take it back."

She sighed heavily and looked away from him. "That's harsh, Flack," she said.

"What the hell do you want me to say? You want me to tell you that I loved it? That I love you? That's never going to happen, Jess! Because I don't love you. I love my wife! Did you expect me to just up and leave her? That I'd feel something when you kissed me and…"

"We kissed, Flack! Get it right!"

"Whatever. When we kissed, than. Did you think I'd suddenly feel this undying and unwavering love for you? That I'd leave my wife and break up my family? Is that what you thought?"

"Honesty?" Angell asked. "Maybe…somewhere deep down? Yeah. There was that hope."

"Are you fucking kidding me!?" he laughed at that. "You can't be serious! You just can't! I've never felt that way about you, Jess! Not than, not now. I'm a married man! A happily married man! And regardless of what you think, I love my wife!"

"I never said you didn't, Don," she said quietly. "I know you love, Samantha. Everyone knows that she's your entire world. They see it every time you so as much speak her name or look at her. You'd have to be an idiot not to see it. But there's also part of me that…"

He held up his hand to silence her. "Spare me, okay? Because there's someone else involved her other them me, you and Sam. Hawkes. Remember him? You're boyfriend? Or did you just suddenly forget about him?"

"Of course not."

"Sheldon Hawkes is a very, very good friend to Sam and me," Flack reminded her. "He's always been there when we've needed him. And I have more respect for that man than I do for my own family members. He's a hell of a guy and he deserves better than someone pining away for some guy she can't have. Do you even realize what an amazing guy you have?"

"I know you guys are close…"

"He delivered my son! On my living room floor! So I'm not going to stand here and let you disrespect Hawkes like that! ! If it wasn't for him being there when Sam and I needed him, Kieran probably wouldn't even be here right now and I…"

Flack stopped when he realized what he had just said about his son.

"Don…" Angell took a step towards him.

"Don't…just don't. Don't come near me. I can't believe you even have the nerve to bring stuff like this up with everything else that is going on. My son is missing! Dean Lessing has my son and all you can do is stand here and throw last night up in my face and bitch and moan about what might have been? How can you do that? How can you disrespect me and my wife and my son like that?!"

"I just thought…"

"Well you thought wrong. Okay? You thought terribly, terribly wrong. I have zero fucking tolerance for this shit right now, Jess. Zero fucking tolerance!"

He yanked his arm out of her grip and started off down the alleyway.

"Don, I'm sorry!" Angell called after him. "I never…"

"Save it!" he yelled back. "And while you're at it, stay the hell away from me! Permanently!"

Angell sighed heavily and shoved her hands in her pockets and watched his departing back.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "But I can't do that."

* * *

Lindsay glanced up as she heard the apartment door click open. She was standing at the counter, preparing a pot of tea and a separate mug of the awful tasting decaffeinated crap that Samantha was relegated to drinking. She had somehow managed to get her friend to not only agree to have something to drink, but eat a little of the garden salad and turkey sandwich that Linds had made for her. It took a lot of coaxing and a lot of talking about how she needed to strength and the energy for the babies she was carrying, and for when Kieran finally came home, but after several minutes of silently staring at the food offered to her on a plastic plate that belonged to her son, Sam had caved in and began to eat.

And now, against all odds whatsoever, Lindsay had managed to convince her to come out of the nursery. Her friend now sat on the couch, under the watchful eye of her in laws, with the television and radio off in order to avoid the news and talk about what had happened, and still clutching the stuffed toy and the jammies in her hands. She wasn't ready to give them up, and no one was forcing her to.

"There's a sight I'd never thought I'd see," Flack commented, as he stood in the kitchen doorway. "Lindsay Monroe making something in my kitchen. Anyone's kitchen for that matter."

She gave a little grin. "I'll have you know, Flack, that I happen to be an excellent cook."

"Not that hard to throw frozen shit in the oven or press start on a microwave," he chided.

"Ha, ha," Lindsay responded. "Very damn funny. You don't seem overly shocked to see me."

"I guess I'm more relieved to see you here than anything," he said, journeying into the kitchen. "I know you and Sammie are getting kinda tight online and what not. And I was hoping…I don't know…I guess I was hoping that she'd have someone here that wasn't on the job. Someone that was just here for her. Carmen's her best friend and Kieran's godmother and all, but she's working the case so it's hard for her to be cop and friend all at the same time. I don't know…" he leaned against the counter next to where Lindsay was busy preparing a plate of cookies and sweets for everyone. "I just wanted someone to be here for her."

"Well…" she said, and reached out to rub his arm softly. "Here I am."

"Thank you," he said, appreciation in his eyes and voice.

"No problem," she assured him. "I'd like to think that Sam and you would do the same thing for me if a situation like this ever occurred."

"We would." Flack said. "Any situation and we would."

Lindsay smiled. "I'm sorry, Don. That you guys have to go through this. But for what it's worth, I know that Kieran is going to be okay. That he's going to be found safe and found and back home with mommy and daddy and Socks…" she nodded down at the feline purring noisily and rubbing against her legs.

"Slippers," Flack corrected. "It's Slippers. She's our four legged, furry baby."

"You with a cat. Now there's a sight I never thought I'd see. I remember walking past you at my first crime scene at the zoo and you were sneezing away and bitching and crabbing about being allergic to cats. And you go and get one?"

"I didn't exactly go and get her," Flack said, bending down to scoop the cat up into his arms. "Slippers kind of came to us. Well, to Sammie actually. About a month after K was born, Sam bundled the baby up and put him in that snuggli thing so they could get some fresh air. She was out at the back of the building when this tiny, mangy, ugly kitten comes up and starts meowing at her and rubbing against her legs. So, Sam, whose unable to turn anyone or anything away, scooped her up and brought her home."

"And you were just okay with it?" Lindsay asked, intrigued by the story.

"She hid it," Flack replied, scratching the underside of Slippers' chin. "She put it in a cardboard box in the master bathroom. I came home, all tired from a shift, wanted to take a shower and she tells me I'm going to have to take one in the smaller bathroom. Gave me this excuse that there were no dryers available in the laundry room so there was clothes drying in the tub."

"And you actually bought that?"

"Hey, I was tired. Coming off a triple. So anyway, I don't think anything of it. We're in bed later and I'm exhausted and all of a sudden my eyes start burning and I start sneezing like crazy and I'm itchy as all hell. And Sam's saying well maybe it's the new laundry soap I wished the sheets in. Or maybe you have a cold. And she's making all these little excuses up and when Sam is guilty about something, she gets all flustered and starts rambling away. So I obviously know something is up, right?"

Lindsay nodded.

"All of a sudden, I hear this noise. Coming from the bathroom. Something scratching on the door. And than this meowing. And I look at Sam and you know what she says to me?"

Lindsay shook her head.

"She says, the neighbours must have got a cat."

Lindsay couldn't help but laugh.

"Seriously. That's what she tried telling me. So I get out of bed and I go and open the door and there's this kitten standing in our bathroom, torn toilet paper all over the place, and this half eaten can of tuna and a bowl of milk by the tub."

"And?"

"And I had a little freak out and told her first thing in the morning the cat was out of here and Sam begged and pleaded and cried and I just can't take when she gets like that. So I pretended I was boxing this cat up to take to a shelter and she was just hysterical. Man, she was bawling and so pissed at me. I came back a couple hours later and the cat's got a bath and she's been groomed and her nails trimmed and all her shots. Appointments made to get declawed and fixed. Brought home a litter box and food and proper bowls and everything else we'd need. And that was it. Slippers became part of the Flack family."

Lindsay smiled, both at the story, and at the sight of Don Flack cradling a cat in his arm as if it was a baby, stroking it's soft fur over and over again. The cat purring contently and wagging it's tail.

"And than it was twice a month allergy shots and daily meds for me," Flack said with a chuckle. "Wouldn't get rid of Slippers for anything in the world now. It's amazing how attached you can get to an animal. And she's good with Kieran. Puts up with him pulling her tail and yanking at her fur. Lets him lie on her. She's been wandering the place since he's been going. Crying a lot. Looking in his crib."

"Slippers probably misses her brother," Lindsay mused, reaching out to scratch the cat's head. "Animal's have feelings too. Your father told me that you'd gone rushing out because of the neighbour's DNA being found? Is there any leads on that or…"

"Guy that lives across the hall was the one that snatched Kieran," Flack told her. "He's got a record for B and E so he knew how to pick the lock. Danny and Speedle picked him up a while ago. We heard all the commotion over there but I kept Sam away from it. I didn't want her knowing right away that it was him. I wanted to wait to tell her as soon as we got all the facts and brought Kieran home."

"And is Kieran okay? Did they find him….?"

"Kieran was nowhere around. The guy was paid to take him."

Lindsay arched an eyebrow. "By who?"

Flack sighed heavily. "Dean Lessing," he replied, in a quiet voice.

"Are you serious? How?…What?…Why…?"

"I don't know the whole story yet. No one does. All we know is that Lessing paid him to kidnap Kieran and he drove to Trump Towers and left K in the car, engine running and the heater on. So that K wouldn't get sick."

"Which shows that Lessing isn't out to hurt him," Lindsay concluded. "If he was he wouldn't have cared if the baby got sick. And why would he want Kieran in the first place?"

"I don't know, Linds. I just don't know. But this is about me. It's not about Kieran. It's about me and the fact that I survived the bombing and in his sick brain, I guess he thinks because of that we're friends or something. I don't know. It's all crazy shit if you ask me. So now we're back to the drawing board. We know Kieran's alive and whose he with. We just don't know where they are."

"They'll find him, Don," she assured her, rubbing his arm affectionately. "I promise you, they'll find him."

Flack just nodded. "How's Sammie?" he asked, setting the cat down on the kitchen floor.

"She's…what's the best word? Coping. I managed to get her to come out of the nursery and to eat something. Not much, but it's a start. I'm trying to keep her from seeing or hearing anything about the case. For her own sanity."

"Thanks, Linds. For coming all this way. You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," she said with a smile. "You know, I can't say I was too surprised when Danny told me that you guys were expecting a baby and getting married. I think I knew, from the get go, that there was something there between you two. Something that went far beyond a casual thing for either of you. It was in the way you looked at each other. The way you found these ways to touch each other so subtly. It's hard to explain. I noticed it that day she got in shit with Sinclair and the two of you were in the hallway behind Mac's office. The way that you were standing so close together and your eyes never left each other's faces the whole time you talked. I don't know. It was just something I noticed between the two of you."

"You probably noticed it before we did," he chuckled, and peeled off his sweatshirt and tossed it on one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

Lindsay noticed, in the simple black t-shirt, how big Flack had gotten since the last time she'd seen him. At least twenty pounds heavier, if not more.

"It's Sam's cooking," he said, noticing her staring, and most likely wondering, about his weight gain. "But you probably were the first to noticed anything between me and Sammie."

"I knew right there and than that the two of you would have something special. And I remember I was so jealous because I wanted Danny to be just like you. To look at me with that same adoration and respect that you looked at Sam with. And I knew deep down that things were just too fractured between the two of us for that to ever happen."

"He never stopped loving you, Linds," Flack said. "He's with Erica but he never stopped loving you."

She sighed. "I know. And I never stopped loving him. It's just…things are complicated. Very, very complicated."

"Does he know you're in the city?"

"No one knows outside of you and Samantha. And I'd like to keep it that way. For a little bit. I want to concentrate and focus on you guys and helping you through this and than worry about seeing Danny and trying to make sense out of my personal life. So if you don't mind…"

"No problem," Flack said. "My lips are sealed. And thanks. For being here for us. We got a lot of friends and what not. But they're too busy being cops to worry about being here for us in other ways. So it means a lot to have you here."

"It means a lot to be here. And I'm glad there's no hard feelings. You know, considering…"

"Water under the bridge, Linds. It's all water under the bridge. We've all grown up. Or at least I have. Not sure about Messer though."

Lindsay gave a small laugh.

"It's good to see you, Lindsay," Flack said.

"It's good to you too, Don. I wish it was under better circumstances, mind you."

"Me too," he agreed with a sigh. "I'm going to go in and check on Sammie. Find a way to break the news to her. I never should have told her I thought that they'd found K. I should have just kept my mouth shut. But I wanted to give her something. Some shred of hope, you know?"

"You know he's alive. That is hope. And that's what you tell her."

Flack nodded, and taking a deep breath, released it slowly before heading out into the living room to face the consequences.

* * *

He stood by the side of the couch and ran a hand over her hair and pressed a tender kiss to her temple. It was killing him to see her like that. Just sitting there staring with that haunted, empty look in her usually vibrant golden eyes. It was if no one else in the room existed. Just her and her overwhelming sorrow and guilt.

She looked up at him. Tears sparkling in her eyes. "Did you find him?" she asked hopefully. "Is he okay, Donnie? Is Kieran okay? Is he at the hospital? Is he okay?"

Flack shook his head slowly.

Horror registered on her face. "He's dead?" she whispered. "He's dead? My baby's dead?"

"Kieran's alive," he assured her. "We just don't know where he is."

"But you know who took him, right? You got the guy that took him?"

"He's in custody. He admitted to breaking in here and taking Kieran."

"Who was it? Someone we know? Someone that you busted a long time ago that wanted to get back at you?"

"It doesn't matter right now who is was. Okay? What matters is that he's in custody and we know that Kieran is still alive. That the person who has him now isn't going to hurt him."

"The person that has him now? What's that suppose to mean? A second person has him?"

Flack nodded.

"I don't….I don't understand any of this. Who are these people? What do they want from us, Donnie? No one's called for a ransom. What haven't they called and asked for something?"

"Because the person who has him has something to prove, Sammie. That's all you need to know right now. That the person who has him is using him to teach the rest of us a lesson. He's not out to hurt or kill Kieran. I promise you that he's not going to hurt him."

"But how can you be sure? And what does he have to prove? Teach us a lesson? What…?"

"It's Dean Lessing," he told her.

Her eyes widened. Her chest constricted and her body trembled as she slowly rose to her feet. "Lessing? Lessing has our son?"

"He paid the first perp to take Kieran. He did his research and found someone that had a record for break and enter and paid him to get in here and take him. He was watching you. He knew that you left the apartment, alone. He waited until you left a second time to pick the lock and scoop Kieran."

"But the only person that knew I left the apartment was…." Realization and shook registered on her face. "Oh my God," she breathed, a hand to her forehead. "The guy across the hall!" she shrieked. "The fucking guy across the hall! He did this! He took our son?!"

"Calm down, Sammie," Flack laid his hands on her shoulders, spoke to her in a soft, soothing tone. "Just calm down."

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down!" she screamed and slapped his hands away. "You knew! You knew and never told me when you left!"

"I didn't want to…"

"You knew that there wasn't something quite right about him! You told me yourself he creeped you out! That you didn't trust him!"

"And you told me not to overreact and get paranoid and I listened to you, Samantha. Please, just calm down and…"

"You promised you'd protect us!" she yelled, beating her hand against his chest and than shoving him away from her. "You promised me, Don! You promised me that you would never let anyone hurt me or Kieran! You promised me!!"

"I know I did. I never thought that…."

"You never think! You never think about anything but yourself! You told me that you would never, ever let anyone hurt us! That you'd protect us! Why didn't you protect us! Why did you lie to me!"

"Samantha, there was no way I could have known that something like this would happen."

"You fucking lied to me!" she shrieked. "You lied to me! And to Kieran! How could you lie to us?! How could you let this happen?!"

"I never let anything happen, baby. I had no idea that something like this was going to happen. And neither did you and we need to…"

"Don't fucking touch me!" Sam screamed, pushing him away as he attempted to wrap his arms around her in an effort to calm her down. "Don't touch me! I hate you! This is your fault! It's your fault Kieran's gone! Because you said that you'd protect us and you lied! This is all your fault and I hate you!"

"Samantha…calm down…" Flack tried to remain calm, knowing that what she was saying, and the way she was acting, was nothing more than a by product of her fear and worry and grief. "Just calm down. You're going to do something to the babies and know you don't want that happening."

"I don't care anymore!" she yelled, tears streaming down her face. "Don't you understand that! I don't care! Kieran's gone! He's gone and he's never coming back!"

"Yes, he is, Samantha," Flack told her. "He's going to come back. We're going to find him and he's going to come home. I promise you that…"

"I don't believe you! I don't trust you! Because you promised me that you'd protect us! And now look!"

"This isn't my fault," he defended himself.

"Samantha…honey…" Patricia laid her hand on her daughter in law's arm. "Just calm down…"

"Don't touch me!" she screamed. "Don't fucking touch me! It's his fault this happened! Because he said he'd take care of us and protect us and he didn't!"

"Sammie, just please calm down," Flack begged, reaching for her hand. "You need to just calm down and take some of your medication and…"

"I SAID DON'T TOUCH ME!" she repeated, yanking her hand away from him. "YOU DON'T HAVE A RIGHT TO TOUCH ME! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU AND I WISH YOU WERE DEAD! NOT OUR SON! YOU!"

"You need to calm the fuck down," Flack felt his patience just snap. He advanced on her and grabbed her by the tops of her arms. Hard enough to hurt and leave a mark. "Calm down! Just fucking calm down!"

"Let go of me!" she shrieked and attempted to fight him off. "Get away from me and let go of me!"

"Donnie…." Patricia sounded terrified. "Don't hurt her. She doesn't know what she's doing. She doesn't mean what she's saying!"

"Samantha…calm the fuck down…" Flack repeated, as she tried to scratch and claw at his arms.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" she was a woman possessed. Tears pouring down her face, her head thrashing violently from side to side. "THIS IS YOUR FAULT! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"I SAID CALM DOWN!" he yelled at her.

"I HATE YOU!" she screamed back, than proceeded to drop her head and sink her teeth into his forearm.

"You little fucking bitch!" he bellowed, and dropping one of his hands from her arms, used it to grab her by her hair and literally pull her off of him. He grabbed her once again and forcefully backed her up to the couch, until the back of her legs hit the sofa and she tumbled into it. "Mom…get those needles that Hawkes brought by earlier….on the fridge in a plastic container…it's sedatives….get one for me…"

"NO!" Sam sobbed, attempting to fight him off. "NO! PLEASE DON'T! PLEASE DON'T DO THIS!"

"Listen to me, Samantha…" he climbed onto the couch, a knee on either side of her legs, his hands pinning her shoulders to the sofa. "Listen to me! You need the medicine! Okay? You need it! And this is going to hurt me a lot more than it's going to hurt you."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Donnie…" she wailed. "I didn't mean it! I'll be good! I promise you I'll be good. I love you. You know I do. You know I didn't mean it!"

"I know. Okay? I know. And I love you, too and you know I do. But this is for your own good, Samantha. You know it is."

Patricia hurried back, holding a syringe filled with medication in her hands. "Don…are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Hawkes gave her the first one this morning in the hospital and showed me how to do it. Wouldn't be the first time. I've had to give an epi shot to people out on the street a few times in the course of the job."

"I know, but…"

He snatched it out of her hand. "Dad, I need you to hold her. Stand behind the couch and hold her still."

Flack Sr nodded silently and did as his son asked.

Patricia began to cry. At seeing her daughter in law in such a state and the measures they had to take to care for her. Lindsay wrapped her arm around the older woman's shoulders and led her from the room.

Flack snapped the protective cap off of the top of the syringe and tossed it aside. Tapped the side of the needle to break up air bubbles. Depressed the plunger. Just like Hawkes had showed him.

"Please…" his wife begged. "Please don't…don't do this…"

"I'm sorry," tears slipped down his cheeks. Unabashedly. Unashamed. "I'm sorry, baby. You know I love you. I'm sorry."

"Don't!" she pleaded, as he pulled up the left arm of her t-shirt. "PLEASE DON'T!"

He took a deep breath, steeling himself before jabbing the needle into the side of her arm and quickly injecting her with the sedative.

"How could you do this to me!" she wailed, kicking and flailing and fighting against her father in law's strong grip. "How could you do this to me! You're suppose to love me!"

"That's why I did it," Flack told her, slowly removing the needle and climbing off of her. Sweat pouring down his forehead. He stood watching over her, as her shrieks quickly transformed into sobbing. Than sobbing into quiet weeping as the medicine began to take affect.

He nodded at his father, indicating he could let her go. Flack Sr backed off, held out his hand for the used syringe and than took it and quietly departed into the kitchen.

Flack wiped sweat from his brow with his forearm. The salt of the perspiration stinging the open wound. He looked down at it. She'd broken the skin and drawn blood. His heart pounded in his chest. His breathing was ragged. For such a little thing, she'd put up a hell of a fight.

And now, the woman who'd kicked and screamed and bit and who had seemed possessed by the devil, was curled up in a fetal position, weeping quietly, her tiny body shaking.

His heart broke as he stood watching her in that condition. Seeing her so torn and broken. Destroyed.

_Fuck you, Lessing, _he thought. _Fuck you for doing this to my family. I'm going to find you. And when I find you and I get my hands on you, I'm going to beat the living shit out of you. And than I'm going to put as many bullets into you as possible._

But first thing was first. He had to take care of his wife.

"It's okay, Sammie…" he whispered, dropping to his knees alongside of the couch. He stroked her hair and cleared tears from her face. "It's going to be okay."

"Kieran…" her son's name tumbled from her lips.

"We'll find him. I promise you we'll find him."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and stood up. Wiping away his own tears with the front of his t-shirt, he sat down on the couch and leaned his head back, eyes closed, composing himself. Than he cleared his throat and opened his eyes and leaned over and gathered her tiny body into his arms and pulled her into his lap. So she was sideways, legs dangling over his thighs. She weakly curled an arm around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder as he held her as tight as he possibly could.

And than, and only than, when he was sure that she was safe, did he allow himself to break down. Not caring that his parents or Lindsay Monroe watched from the doorway. Not caring if he seemed pathetic and weak.

All he wanted was his family back. For his life to go back to normal.

And he vowed to stop at nothing to make sure that happened.

* * *

Mac Taylor knew that the chances of Dean Lessing being at his registered address were slim to none. Lessing was too smart to stay at home, with a missing child. He was no doubt in hiding somewhere, plotting his next move. Planning the next stage of his 'experiment'. It was obvious that he wanted Kieran Flack alive and well. That the baby to him was someone to be revered. Worshiped of sorts. Because he was the offspring of someone that had, beyond all hope, managed to survive that bombing.

As twisted and sick as it was, it was also masterfully brilliant. What better of a way to get your message across than to use the baby?

The fear and worry was what exactly he had in store for Kieran. And that was why the time to act was now. They had to catch a mad man to save the life of an innocent, precocious thirteen month old. And despite the realization that Lessing was no doubt long gone and lying in wait somewhere, the team had adequately prepared themselves. Accompanied by the officers from the ESU division, they wore Kevlar vests as they drove, in a small convoy, to the lower east side of the city. They had to be prepared. It was highly likely that Lessing had left traps. Or that if he was there, he was heavily armed and extremely dangerous.

"What's the chances he's even going to be there?" Speed asked, as he drove himself and Mac to Lessing's address.

"Slim," Mac replied. "But if he's not there, there's bound to be something that will lead us to him. And Kieran. And finding Kieran is the top priority in all of this."

Speed nodded in agreement. "You know, if it was Addie…." he sighed heavily. "If it was Addie, my gun would have been loaded and I would have shot the guy."

"Well it wasn't Addie," Mac told the younger man coolly. "And it's unfair to Flack to even attempt to put yourself in his shoes. And even more unfair to him that the majority of you haven't been as supportive as you should have been."

Speed sighed. "If you're talking about the things I said to Reed…"

"What you said to Reed, about Samantha, was none of his business," Mac interrupted. "Because of what you said, the city has vilified her. Made her into some monster capable of killing her own child. And that's the farthest from the truth. She would never, and could never, hurt her son."

"I never said that…"

"I doesn't matter what you said," Mac snapped. "It's the fact that you said it in the first place. Because now everyone is looking at her like a suspect instead of a grieving mother."

"But that wasn't my intention," Speed said. "It wasn't. And now we have the proof that she wasn't involved and…"

"People won't care about the proof!" Mac exclaimed. "The damage has been done! The proof and the evidence won't matter. In the court of public opinion, she's a bad mother and nothing will ever change their minds."

"I didn't mean to…"

Mac's cell phone beeped noisily, interrupting Speed's attempt at an apology. The crime lab boss reached into into his jacket pocket and pulled his phone out and hit talk. "Detective Taylor…" he said in way of greeting. "What?" he asked. "When? … Where?…"

Speed arched a curious eyebrow at Mac's one sided conversation.

"Get this information out to the press right away!" Mac ordered. "Get it out to the commissioner! Get it released to every precinct, ever highway patrol unit. Anyone that you possibly can, Carmen! Call if you hear anything else!"

Speed glanced over as Mac hung up his phone. "What's….?"

"Get on the radio to dispatch," Mac told him. "Tell them to put the word out. Dean Lessing was spotted, two hours ago, at a CVS and a thrift store near Battery Park."

"His apartment is across from the park," Speed said. "What…?"

"He purchased two bottles of peroxide and baby diapers at the drug store," Mac continued. "And at the thrift store he picked up used clothing. Used toddler clothing for a girl!"

"You don't think that…."

"Dean Lessing is going to turn Kieran Flack into a girl," Mac concluded. "A little girl with blond hair."

"Jesus Christ…" Speed breathed in disbelief.

"It's how he's going to get Kieran out of the city. No one will expect him to be travelling with a blond haired, blue eyed blond little girl!"

"Sonofabitch is smart, Mac," Speed shook his head.

"Well unfortunately for him," the older man said. "He's met his goddamn match. And I'm coming for him."

* * *

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	47. Outside Help

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN…YOU KNOW THE REST**

**WARNING: SLIGHT MENTION OF CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE**

* * *

**Outside Help**

"Blurring and stirring -  
the truth and the I don't know what's real and what's not  
Always confusing the thoughts in my head  
So I can't trust myself anymore  
I'm dying again  
I'm going under

Drowning in you

I'm falling forever  
I've got to break through  
I'm...  
So go on and scream  
Scream at me I'm so far away  
I won't be broken again  
I've got to breathe  
I can't keep going under."  
-Going Under, Evanescence

* * *

A heavy, nearly blinding snow had begun to fall as the police department convoy pulled up in front of the ill kept, run down low rise apartment building across from Battery Park. Wind wiped through the naked trees, threatening to snap off the brittle limbs. The sun, which had made a last minute appearance an hour ago, was just beginning to disappear on the horizon, dropping the temperatures well below zero.

"Super hasn't seen Lessing all day," Scagnetti told Mac, as he met the crime lab boss as he slipped out of the department issued Avalanche. "Last time he saw him was last night with coming in the front door, carrying what he thinks was a little boy fast asleep in Lessing's arms."

"What he thinks?" Danny asked, one step behind. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Couldn't tell if it was a boy or girl," Scagnetti explained, as they hurried for the front entrance of the building. "Apparently there was blanket over the kid. But the description the super gave me of the blanket matches the blanket that Sam said Kieran was sleeping with when he was snatched."

"And no one has seen them since?" Mac asked, following two heavily armed ESU officers through the front doors.

"Already asked every neighbour on the floor," the homicide detective replied. "No one has seen a damn thing. But get a load of this. They said that there's been a kid crying inside for the last two hours. And when me and my guys went up, we heard it too. But that's all we heard. No adult talking, nothing."

"Bastard left him alone?" Danny suggested. "Maybe his partner in crime alerted him to the fact he'd been busted and we were closing in and took off? Punked out and left K all alone?"

"Lessing wouldn't just punk out," Mac said. "That isn't a man that gives up easily. He truly believes that he's in the right taking Kieran. That the baby is part of the greater good. Essential to proving a point, getting himself heard. You heard Doyle. Flack survived the experiment. Kieran is Flack's offspring. To Lessing, that makes Kieran nothing short of a miracle."

"And to me, that makes Lessing nothing short of a fucking wackjob," Scagnetti snorted. "I am telling you right now, he so as much touched a hair on that kid's head and I'm going put him through a serious world of hurt."

"You're next in line behind me," Danny declared.

"Anyone call Flack and tell him this is going down?" Scagnetti asked.

"No," Mac responded. "And it's going to stay that way. After what went down today in the interrogation room, the farther away from Dean Lessing that Flack is, the better. Has anyone heard from him since this afternoon?"

"Last I heard he was at Trinity with Sam," Scagnetti said.

"Problems with the babies?" Danny inquired. "I swear to God that if they lose those babies because of that piece of shit Lessing."

"Babies are fine. I guess Sam lost it earlier today and he had to restrain her and pump her full of sedatives. Guess it didn't to the trick, because she somehow got a hold of a copy of today's paper and read Reed Garrett's bullshit and went mental. He took her in. They're holding her in the psych ward."

"Jesus Christ…" Danny shook his head. "I know he's your step son, Mac, but you better hope and pray I don't run into that little prick out on the street."

"I'll take care of Reed," Mac vowed. "Don't worry about that."

"Flack was pretty torn up about having to take her in. Last thing he wanted was to have her committed," Scagnetti said. "But I think he knows that right now, the hospital is the best place for her. Only prob is, is that she's massively sedated and restrained and he's not allowed to see her. Hospital policy I guess,"

"Yeah?" Danny snorted. "Well fuck hospital policy. It's the man's wife. Give me a break."

"I'll call Sinclair," Mac said. "See if he can't get the commissioner to talk some sense into the hospital CEO and get Flack in to see Samantha. The last thing that they need to be is separated at a time like this. But first, let's concentrate on the task at hand. Everyone listen up!"

The small contingent of armed officers in Kevlar vests gathered in a tight group at the entrance of the building's main stairwell.

"We have reason to believe that Dean Lessing is holding Kieran Flack in his apartment," Mac addressed the group. "Because there's a child involved, we exercise extreme caution from the second that we go through the door. I don't want any itchy trigger fingers. It's possible, based on previous history, that Lessing is off his medication and extremely volatile. He's most likely armed and dangerous. He will not think twice about using lethal force. He's not going to give up that child easily. Kieran Flack is our priority at this time. His health and safety is our one and only concern at this time. Getting him home to his parents is our goal. Understand me?"

The members of the group nodded.

"However," Mac continued. "If you are engaged in fire or Lessing makes a move to harm Kieran, you are to take him down in whatever means possible. Is everyone locked and loaded?"

More nods. Dull clicks and snaps as weapons were loaded and prepared for action.

"Let's bring that baby home," Mac said, and opening the door, slipped into the stairwell.

"We're coming for you, K," Danny vowed in a whisper. "Uncle Danny's coming."

* * *

They approached the door slowly and cautiously. Weapons at ready, nerves steeled as best as they could be considering Lessing was in sole possession of someone so innocent and tiny. Someone they all loved beyond words. The crying could be heard the moment they made it out of the stairwell and moved swiftly done the hall. A small child sobbing. For comfort? For food? Out of sheer fear and agony? No one knew for sure. But Danny felt his resolve nearly break when through the cries, came the words Mommy and Daddy. As clear as day. In a voice that they all easily recognized.

_Easy, Messer, easy, _Danny silently attempted to calm himself. His hands were trembling. His stomach felt sick at the thought of what that evil bastard was putting his godson through. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his back. _Getting yourself all riled up isn't going to help K any. K needs you to be strong. He needs you to suck it up and be strong. 'Cause that's the only way you're getting him out of there in one piece. And you have to get him out of there. You have to bring him home. _

Mac halted in front of apartment 3C and stood to the left of the door as Scagnetti took up post to the right. The big detective nodded to the ESU member holding the small battering ram, silently giving the other man permission to break the door in.

"NYPD!" Scagnetti yelled, moments before the door exploding. Sending splinters of wood and dry wall cascading through the air and into the apartment and out into the hallway.

The team members flowed through the remains of the door swiftly and effortlessly, their guns trained and sweeping the sparsely furnished living room area. Officers branched off and searched the other rooms. The narrow, disgustingly filthy galley kitchen. The sole, messy bedroom that held no more than an air mattress on the floor and clothing and belongings in garbage bags. The postage stamp sized bathroom with it's cracked and fading tiles and bathtub faucet that dripped noisily and incessantly. Calls of "Clear!" began to echo through the apartment as guns were holstered and team members began congregating in the living room.

The sound of crying continued.

On the floor, in front of a small, dusty thirteen inch television, was a small pile of soiled and wet diapers, three empty baby bottles of milk and an open pizza box containing one left over slice. It was Speed that snapped on a pair of gloves and stuck his finger into the piece of food, and found it still lukewarm.

"He hasn't been gone for very long," Speed said. "An hour at the most."

"Check this out, Mac," Hawkes said as he put on his own gloves and crouched down to pick something up. He held aloft an empty bottle of peroxide.

Mac's eyes took in his surroundings. Falling on a lump of clothing by the small window that led out onto a snowy fire escape. He slowly and calmly walked over, and using the barrel of his gun, shifted through what turned out to be a tiny pair of denim overalls, a red turtleneck with a black Nike logo on its collar, and a well loved, tattered blue and yellow baby blanket.

"Is that Kieran's?" Scagnetti asked, feeling nauseous as he stood behind Mac, looking over the other man's shoulders.

Mac nodded slowly.

"You don't think that…"

"He's dyed Kieran's hair and dressed him in girls clothing," Mac told the detective. "He's disguising him, and most likely himself, so he can get Kieran out of the city and to safer ground."

"Couldn't have gotten that far in only an hour," Speed mused, a look of sheer disgust on his face as he glanced around at the dirty, dingy apartment. "Want me to go get our kits?"

"Take Hawkes with you," Mac instructed. "I want the three of us working on processing this apartment."

Speed nodded and clapped Hawkes on the shoulder as he passed the other man and motioned for Hawkes to follow him.

"Hey, Mac…." Danny called from where he stood by the television. "You have to see this."

"What is it?" the older man asked, as he joined his CSI who was pulling a pair of gloves from the pocket of his jeans and slipping them on.

"A tape recorder," Danny replied, picking up the black, handheld object that rested on the top of the television, that was turned on but showing nothing but static. "Lessing tricked us, Mac. Someone tipped him off that we were coming. He recorded Kieran crying and left it playing so we'd think he was here. That sonofabitch…"

"I'll get you to take that tape recorder and Kieran's clothing and blanket to the lab ASAP," Mac ordered.

"There's something stuck to the front of the VCR," Scagnetti observed. "Looks like one of them sticky notes."

Danny crouched down and reached out and plucked the note off of the VCR. "Play me," he read aloud. "With a damn smiley face next to it. This guy is really starting to piss me off now."

"Maybe we should listen to him," Mac mused. "See if there's some kind of message he's trying to send us."

"I'm almost scared to see what it is," Danny sighed, and pressed the play button on the ancient, dusty VCR before standing up and joining his boss and Scagnetti as they stood in front of the television.

The television flickered. Than went to a blue screen before finally getting to the substance of the video.

Scagnetti let out a startled gasp. Mac's fists and jaw clenched. Danny's eyes immediately filled with tears and his lips tightly pursed as he stood, his hands on his hips, staring in disbelief and horror at what greeted the three men.

Kieran Flack, sitting on Dean Lessing's soiled old couch. His black hair now bleach blond. His cherubic face filthy. His dirty cheeks streaked by tears, his blue eyes, focused on the man off screen, frightened and despondent, a pout on his full, rosy lips.

"Are you a good boy, Kieran?" Lessing's voice asked. "Have you been a good boy for your Uncle Dean? You've been such a good boy. You're a special boy, do you know that? Do you know how special you are, Kieran?"

"Jesus Christ," Scagnetti choked out.

"You're special because your daddy is a survivor. He made it through my experiment. He managed to survive what I did. That makes me and him comrades in arms. We share something in common now. We're both soldiers. Soldiers who have survived despite all odds. That's why he'll understand, in the end, why you were so valuable to me. Why you were better off with your Uncle Dean. It will hurt for a long time, but he'll realize, in the end, that this was for the best."

Danny cleared his throat noisily. And as much as he wanted to, he found it impossible to look away.

"You're brave and strong like your father," Lessing continued off screen. "You came from him. From a great soldier. And that's why you're so valuable to me. You've been such a good boy. I know you'll come in very useful to me. So I'll tell you what. Uncle Dean is going to take you on a trip. Somewhere warm and peaceful where you won't be scared or lonely or hungry ever again. Somewhere beautiful, where someone as special as you is treated like you deserve."

Mac shook his head in anger and disgust.

"So from here on out," Lessing said. "You're going to be called Katrina. If anyone asks that's your name, okay? If anyone stops us and asks, that's what I'll tell them your name is. I promise it won't be a long trip. That soon there will be no more sorrow and no more pain and suffering. So wave to the camera, Kieran. Wave to the camera."

The toddler, coaxed by Lessing, raised his left hand and opened his fist once, than twice.

"Now say goodbye to your mommy and daddy."

A hint of a smile played on Kieran's lips. He glanced hopefully around the room at the sound of the familiar names. "Mommy?" he asked in a tiny voice. "Daddy?"

"Say goodbye," Lessing said. Offering his own wave to the camera before the screen went blank.

Silence enveloped the apartment. The three men who stood in front of the television, unable to move or speak. Beside Mac, Scagnetti's face had gone ashen and his entire large, strong body shook in a mixture of anger and horror. Mac remained stone faced and calm. At least on the outside. On the inside he was furious and even more determined to nail Dean Lessing to a wall. And terrified of what fate awaited his honorary grandson.

"Danny," he said quietly, after several minutes passed. "I'm going to need you to.."

"That fucking bastard…" Danny whispered, his eyes closed, his chin tucked to his chest. His hands on his hips as he rocked back and forth on his heels. "That fucking dirty bastard," his voice rose in volume and intensity. "That fucking, dirty…BASTARD!"

He screamed the last word and bolted forward and angrily shoved the television so hard it toppled to the floor and shattered.

"Danny!" Mac yelled, and attempted to wrap his arms around his CSI to contain him.

"I can't believe that sonofabitch!" he roared, tears streaming down his face, shoving Mac away. "I can't believe he did this! I can't believe…Kieran! He's gone, Mac! Kieran's gone!"

"We'll find him, Danny," the older man assured him, laying his hands on Danny's shoulders. "I promise you we'll find him."

He shook his head. "It's too late!" he cried. "We're too late! He's gone! Long gone! Kieran's gone, Mac! We're never going to find him! You heard Lessing! You heard what he said! He's going to kill him, Mac!"

"We don't know that!" Mac shouted over the hysterical rambling of the younger man. "He didn't say that!"

"Somewhere warm and peaceful where there's no more pain and suffering!" Danny sobbed. "You heard him! He's as good as dead! If he's not already! What do I tell Flack? What do I tell Sam? How do I tell them that their son is dead!"

"We don't know where Kieran is," Mac reminded him. "We don't know where he is or what condition he's in."

"We're too late," Danny moaned. "We're too fucking late!"

"Calm down," Mac ordered. "Just calm down and…."

"We're too late!" the CSI screamed and pushed his boss away one more time. "We failed him! We let him down! He's dead, Mac! HE'S DEAD!"

"Take him outside," Mac ordered Scagnetti. "Take him back to the lab if you have to."

"Let's go, Messer," the big detective said as he wrapped a strong, supportive arm around the CSI's shoulders and all but dragged Danny towards the door. "We'll go somewhere you can calm down."

"He's dead," Danny sobbed, laying his head against the man keeping him on his feet. "Kieran's dead."

"You don't know that," Scagnetti told him. "Let's just get you out of here. Okay?

"What do I tell Flack?" Danny whimpered. "What do I tell him?"

"Nothing yet. You tell him nothing until we know for sure? You hear me?"

Mac sighed heavily as he watched the two men disappear from the apartment. He glanced at the television, at the sticky note that Danny had dropped to the floor. At the pile of Kieran's clothes and the empty peroxide bottle.

"What are you thinking?" Hawkes asked, in a soft, calm voice as he appeared at his boss' side.

"I'm thinking we're running out of time," Mac replied.

* * *

There was no way out.

All the entrances to the bridges and exits of the interchanges and thoroughfares were being guarded by uniformed officers and highway patrolmen. Every airport and bus and subway station were teeming with both officers in uniform, plain clothes detectives, and heavily armed members of the ESU. It would take a miracle for Dean Lessing to be able to make it out of New York City. Pictures of the newly blond Kieran Flack were plastered everywhere. Police officers handed them out to drivers stopped at red lights and passengers waiting for flights or trains. Volunteers -mostly off duty cops and members of the lab- passed them out to every one they possibly could on the street. Along with photos of Dean Lessing. One what he looked like normally, and one with blond hair.

The rat bastard had nowhere to go.

So why in the hell hadn't Kieran been found yet?

Danny just didn't understand where in the hell is godson could be. Patrolmen across the city had been checking storage facilities and empty buildings and seemingly abandoned vehicles for the last three hours and still nothing. There was no sign of the toddler. Danny had realized, as he processed his 'nephew's' clothing and tried in vain to get the images of the video tape out of his head, that Kieran had turned thirteen months old that very day. Not a remarkable milestone just coming off the monumental first birthday, but another month older none the less. And instead of spending that night warm and snug in his bed, surrounded by his toys and the love of his parents, Kieran was almost impossibly out of reach, at the hands of a mad man.

There only thing that Danny had found off of the clothes had been stray fibres, dried two percent milk, and equally as dried vomit. Kieran was allergic to milk with that high of a fat content. Something that he'd inherited from his mother. When he consumed large quantities of anything more than skim, he became stricken by horrific cramps, followed by diarrhea and profuse vomiting. There would have been no way that Dean Lessing would have known that. And judging by the empty bottles and jugs containing trace amounts of the same milk, he'd been feeding it to Kieran constantly. The little boy was in no doubt, in a considerable amount of agony and sick beyond belief.

Hawkes and Carmen had put in calls to all of the hospitals in the city and in all the other boroughs. If Kieran was that ill, the thinking was that maybe Lessing would panic and either take him into the ER, or simply drop him off there to get the care he needed. The latter was the most humane action. But no one ever said that man was humane.

What had bothered Danny the most was when he processed one of the solid diapers. They'd been headed for the garage when Mac had noticed what looked like blood inside one of them. Danny had sealed the item up in an evidence baggy and took it back to the lab. Fighting nausea and immense rage and sorrow, when he realized that it was blood inside of that diaper. A considerable amount of blood. And blood in that area, could only have meant one thing.

And that had sent Danny over the edge. He just couldn't take being around the evidence any longer. The clothes that his nephew had been in, the empty bottle of peroxide that had been used to bleach his nearly jet black hair, the diaper that told them Kieran had been put through a lot more suffering than just being fed the wrong milk and having his hair dyed and than being dressed like a girl. Word of that had spread around the place like wild fire. Everyone felt shocked. And utterly and completely disgusted.

Danny retreated to the silence of the office he shared with Samantha. He left the door slightly ajar and kicked off his shoes and sat down on the small couch in front of the window. He stretched out his legs and propped his feet on the table and put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. He needed time to regroup. Time to come to some sort of acceptance of what had happened.

The hope that Kieran was still alive had started to fade. That flicker hadn't diminished completely, but was in dire straights. The longer the time the baby was missing, the less likely chance that they'd ever find him. Alive or dead. And he briefly wondered, as much as it tore Danny apart to do so, if because of the trauma his godson had obviously been put through, it death at this point was much more tolerable than the alternative.

A knock came to the partially opened door.

_Just go away,_ Danny pleaded silently. _Just go away and leave with my misery. Give me the time to grieve._

But it wasn't over yet. He couldn't let it be over. If Kieran was still alive, and it seemed a big if now, Danny couldn't, and wouldn't give up on him.

"Enter," he instructed whoever was lingering by the door.

Adam -his hair wildly dishevelled past anything Danny had ever seen before, his eyes rimmed red from the bouts of emotion he'd been suffering from- poked his head into the room.

"What's up, Adam?" Danny asked. "Can't you see I'm one step away from either going to a bar and drinking myself into oblivion or having a good old fashioned mental break down?"

"I have some results," the lab tech said, holding aloft a report.

"Do I even want to know?" Danny asked.

"Probably not," Adam sighed. "But it's relevant. Disgusting, but relevant."

Danny prepared himself mentally for what he was about to hear.

"I ran samples on the contents of the diaper," Adam told the CSI. Finding it extremely difficult to get the words out. "Both the urine and the blood are Kieran's."

Danny fought back bile.

"Based on the lower PH level in the urine and the state of the blood, I was able to determine that the matter in the diaper was more than twenty four hours old. So it was most likely the diaper Kieran was wearing in between Doyle snatching him and Lessing picking him up. And there's more…"

"Naturally," Danny murmured.

"I..uh…I…" Adam stuttered and stammered, clearly uncomfortable with the news he was about to deliver. He'd already gone to the bathroom immediately after discovering what he had, and vomited profusely and sank down on his knees and had a good cry. "I found semen…in the diaper. It was degraded, but still enough to get a sample."

Danny squeezed his eyes shut. Willed himself to stay strong. Stay calm and strong. "Lessing, that motherfucker…" he hissed.

"It wasn't Lessing," Adam told him. "It wasn't Lessing that did that to Kieran. It was Jack Doyle."

"Sonofabitch," Danny snorted and shook his head. "That sick, twisted sonofabitch lied to us. Flack asked him. Asked him if he touched K like that and Doyle said no. That he wanted to, but didn't.."

"Mac's on his way to Central Booking right now where Doyle's being held," Adam said, stretching his arm out to pass the report to the CSI. "To lay charges of molestation on top of the kidnapping."

"Good," Danny declared, taking the file. "Can't wait to see what happen to that rat bastard when he gets to Sing Sing. Child molesters are regarded as the lowest of the low among all the cons. He's going to get getting a lot of beat downs. Among other things."

"I just…" Adam struggled with his emotions once again. "I can't believe he'd do that to my nephew. I just can't…"

Danny opened his eyes and glanced over at the lab tech. "You should go home," he said gently. "Take yourself off of this case. You're too personally involved. You're going to drive yourself insane."

"I can't…" Adam shook his head. "I need to…I need to see this through. For Flack and my sister. For my nephew."

Danny just nodded in understanding.

"Look, Danny," Adam began. "I know that AV is my specialty and that no one works the computers better than me and Stella and Carmen are down there looking at that tape.."

"Mac made the decision. He made the decision that you didn't need to see that. That you didn't need to see your nephew like that. And he's right, Adam. Because to be honest, I wish I had never seen it."

"I was just going to say thanks," the lab tech said. "For keeping me out of there. 'Cause I didn't really want to see him like that. I didn't want to see Kieran…"

Adam's voice broke and he hung his head.

"It's going to be okay," Danny assured him. "We're going to find him Adam. One way or the other."

Adam snorted. "One way or the other…I need to…" he nodded down the hall. "I need to go and be alone."

"If you need to talk, buddy, I'm here," Danny told him.

"I know," Adam gave a brave smile. "I just need to…thanks.."

Danny nodded as the lab tech hurried off. Sighing heavily, he opened the file and scanned through the results that the DNA profiles had come up with. He felt sick at the confirmation of what he'd feared. His chest constricted and heart pounded and his hands trembled.

"You fucking bastard!" he screamed, and tossed the report across the room. Sending papers fluttering to the floor. He tore off his glasses and dropped them onto the coffee table. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees and his face and his hands and broke down.

* * *

Danny wasn't sure how long he'd actually cried and rocked back and forth for. Time had seemed to stand still. It could have been only minutes, it could have been hours. But eventually his sobbing subsided, leaving behind an unbearable ache in his heart and a sense of emptiness throughout his entire body.

"Danny…" the voice was soft. Gentle. And obviously a figment of his imagination.

There was no way that she was there. It was just his distraught and exhausted mind playing tricks on him.

"Danny," the voice repeated, louder this time. Sounding heartbroken and weary. Than a hand reached out and touched the back of his head delicately before fingers combed affectionately, and soothingly through his hair.

Than and only than, did tear his face out of his hands and look up. Finding himself staring directly into tear filled, doe like brown eyes.

"Lindsay?" he whispered, disbelieving.

"I'm here, Danny," she said, and laid her hand alongside of his face.

"How?" he asked. "When?"

"I've been here since this morning," Lindsay explained, softly stroking his unshaven cheek. "As soon as I got your message yesterday I made plans to come down. I couldn't let Sam and Flack go through this alone. I knew you'd take care of them, but.."

"All this way?" he inquired. "All this way for them?"

"They're my friends. They needed someone that wasn't on the job. Someone that could just be there as a shoulder to cry on. I wanted to wait to let you know that I was here. Until Kieran was home and me and you didn't take centre stage to what was going on. But when I heard on the radio that Lessing managed to get away.."

"He's gone, Linds. Kieran's gone," Danny whimpered. "We don't even know if he's alive anymore. And the bastard that took him…he molested him. Did some sick shit to him."

"Does Flack know?"

Danny shook his head. "I don't have the heart to tell him that part when I called to tell him that Lessing got away. He's convinced his boy is dead. That all we're going to find is K's body. If even that. It's destroying him, Linds. And if it's true that K is dead…he'll lose Sam, too. Because she'll never recover from that."

"What does your heart tell you, Danny?" Lindsay asked, trailing her fingertips over ever inch of his weary face. "What is it telling you?"

"I don't know anymore," he replied. "I just don't know. I want to believe. I want to believe that he's still alive. That we're going to find him. I want to believe so bad."

"You need to hold onto that," she told him. "Hold onto it as tight as you can. Because that's what's going to get you through this."

"I just…" he let the tears flow free and easy. "I just want this to be over. For Sam and Flack. For Kieran. I just want this whole nightmare to be over. It has to end. Some way. It has to end some way."

"Let's hope and pray for the most positive outcome," Lindsay encourage, and bending down, placed a soft, chaste kiss on his hips.

Danny's resolve broke. Overcome by the memories brought on by the feel of her hands and the smell of her hair and the taste of her lips. Of the want and longing and love that had been plaguing at him for nearly two years now. The guilt for what he had done, for how he had treated her, hit like a ton of bricks.

"I missed you, Montana," he whimpered, throwing his arms around her slender waist and pulling her down onto his lap. Revelling in the feel of her body against his after so long. "I missed you so much," he showered her face and her neck and her hair with kisses. "You have no idea how much I missed you, baby."

"It's okay, Danny," she brushed his tears away with one hand, as she curled her other arm around his neck. "I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere. We have lots of time to talk about that."

"I just missed you so much," he told her, breathing in her soft scene, his nose against her ear. "I've missed you every day for two years. I never stopped loving you. Ever. And things are so screwed up right now and I'm so confused and I'm so scared. I don't know what to do anymore.."

"Shhh, Danny," she pulled back from him and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Shhh. None of that is important right now. We have lots of time to talk about things like that. Lots of time to make amends. Right now we need to concentrate on our friends and their precious baby boy. There'll be time for us later. I promise."

"I don't know what to do anymore," Danny admitted. "I don't know how to find K. I'm lost, Montana. I'm so lost. It feels as if he's never going to be found. That Lessing has just upped and disappeared with him. And how do I tell Flack that? How do I tell him that he's never going to get his boy back?"

"You don't tell him anything until you know for sure one way or the other. And if it is the case, if Kieran is gone, whether it be through death or not, than you just tell him. Because it will be easier for him to hear it from you than for him to hear it through anyone else."

Danny nodded in agreement. "I'm so tired," he whispered. "So tired. I just…I just need some time. Some time to regroup. Get a hold of myself. Time to just sit here and hold you. That's all I need."

She smiled and pressed her lips to her forehead. "Actually, you know what you really need?"

He shook his head.

"You need me to hold you," she said.

And wrapping both arms around his weary body, she placed his head on her shoulder and did just that.

* * *

Stella stood in the doorway of her husband's office. Watching in heartbroken silence as he sat, his chair turned towards the window, a hand to his forehead and his eyes closed. The news that Kieran had been molested by Jack Doyle had hit everyone hard. Mac had been the one to head down to Central Booking and lay the extra charge, and he'd had a hell of a time restraining himself from inflicting some serious, brutal punishment on the man.

Since he'd arrived back at the lab, he hadn't spoken a word to anyone and had retreated to his office. His sanctuary. His safe haven. Lab reports and case folders and pictures of the inside of Lessing's apartment and stills taken from the video tape lay scattered across his normally pristine desk. The case was taking it's toll. He hadn't eaten, slept or left the lab since Kieran had disappeared. And he had no plans on doing anything else other than working until that little boy was found safe and sound. Or even…

Stella couldn't bring herself to think of such things. She stroked her pregnant belly as she quietly approached the desk. She laid her hands on her husband's shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

"We're running out of time, Stella," Mac said, laying a hand over one of hers. "It's been more than twenty-four hours. We're running out of time."

"We watched that tape over and over again," she told him. "We analyzed every second and there's no hint at where he's taking Kieran or what he's planning on doing to him."

"What about the tape recorder Danny found? The one with the crying on it?"

"We ran every possible test on it, Mac. The only other noise or voice you could hear in the background was Lessing telling Kieran over and over again that he was going to be okay, that he's a good boy. That's it."

"We scoured every inch of that apartment," Mac sighed. "And we didn't find a damn thing that could help us pinpoint where Lessing is holding him now. He has to be somewhere in the city. Based on the temperature of that pizza Speed found, Lessing had been in that apartment less than an hour before. He hasn't had the time to get out of the city. And every possible exit is being heavily guarded."

"So he's somewhere in New York," Stella concluded. "But where? There's millions upon millions of buildings here."

"I just don't know.." Mac sighed and shook his head. "Has anyone called Flack? Or the hospital? To check on how Samantha is?"

"He's hanging in there. Barely. Hawkes called him and said that he's pretty distraught that Lessing managed to get away. That he's nearly relegated himself to the fact that he's never going to see his son again. He truly believes, in his heart, that Kieran is dead."

Mac shook his head. "They didn't deserve this, Stella. Of all people…"

"No one deserves this," she said. "But on the plus side, Sinclair was able to pull strings and get Sam moved to a private room on another ward. So that Flack can stay with her. He told Hawkes to tell you thank you. And that he'll get in touch when he's able to hold himself together better."

"He's a tough, proud man, Stella. After what I saw him go through with the bombing and afterwards. He's tough. But this…this is going to break him. If we don't find his son…" Mac's voice trailed off.

The phone on his desk rang noisily. He sighed heavily and dropped his hand off of his wife's and turned his chair around to face his desk. He leaned forward and snatched the phone off of the cradle.

"Detective Taylor," he said in way of greeting.

Silence.

"Detective Taylor," he repeated, more forcefully.

"Nice to hear your voice again, Detective Taylor. It's been a long time."

Mac's blood nearly froze at the sound of that voice. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He glanced up at Stella, his eyes wide.

Lessing, he mouthed.

Her eyes widened as she sank down onto the edge of his desk.

"Lessing," Mac said into the phone. "Where's the baby? What have you done to him?"

"Nothing yet," the other man replied. "Don't worry. I'm taking very, very good care of your honorary grandson. Isn't that what you called him Detective Taylor? Did you not call him that to a reporter? I thought I read that in the paper this morning."

"What do you want with him?" Mac asked. "What did he do to you that you'd want to hurt him?"

"Hurt him? I never said anything about hurting him. That's the last thing I want to do. He's too useful to me. I'm not going to harm him at all."

"What do you mean he's useful to you? What do you want with him, Lessing?"

"Did you not watch my tape? He's something special. He's the offspring of the person who somehow managed to survive my first experiment. That makes Kieran nothing short of a miracle. Or should I say Katrina. That's his name now. Her name."

"His name is Kieran!" Mac snapped. "Kieran! He's a boy! And he's got a mother and father that are worried sick about him and want to know if he's okay!"

"He's fine. At this moment he's fast asleep. He's been rather sick though."

"He has an intolerance to the fat in the milk you've been giving him," Mac said. "He's probably been in agony for the last day and half! Why are you doing this to him? To his parents? Give them their baby back, Lessing. Give the little boy back to his mother and father."

"I'm sorry. I can't do that. They don't deserve him. They can't treat him the way I can. But I will give them a chance to see him. A chance to say goodbye."

"You'll never get out of the city Lessing."

"Maybe not alive," he chuckled. "But we'll get out another way, won't we Katrina?"

"Kieran!" Mac bellowed. "His name is Kieran!"

"Tell the parents they can see him one last time," Lessing said.

"What is it you want them to do?" Mac asked, grabbing a pad of paper and a pen.

"I want them to drive, in their personal vehicle, to the second underground parking level of 627 Greenwich. I want them to park in spot 231 on the west side of the lot. 11:00. Not one minute after. And I want them alone and unarmed. The mother stays in the car. I want to talk to the father and only the father. And I want both of them unarmed. Because if they try anything stupid…well I don't want the murder of their child to be on their consciences for the rest of their lives."

"And what happens after you talk to him?" Mac asked.

"That's for me to decide," Lessing said and hung up.

Mac slammed the phone down on the cradle and looked down at the information he'd jotted down. "627 Greenwich," he read aloud.

Stella arched an eyebrow. "Isn't that the…"

"That's the building across the street from where the explosion occurred," Mac told her. "The experiment that Flack survived."

"He's returning to the scene of his biggest failure," Stella said. "It's how he got caught…"

"He sees it as a victory. As a success," Mac told her. "Because Flack lived." He checked his watch and sprung to his feet. "We have two hours. Get the entire team assembled. And call Flack. We've just gotten our best possible chance of getting Kieran back."

* * *

"This is fucking insane!" Danny exclaimed, as he paced the width of Mac's office half an hour later. "I can't believe that he called you! I can't believe he thinks that he can get away with this!"

"We're not going to let him," Mac said, from where he sat perched on the edge of his desk.

"Come on, Mac, you heard him," Stella argued. "If anyone other than Samantha and Flack show up, Kieran's dead. Plain and simple. How are we going to get him back under those conditions? It's impossible."

"Flack will wear a wire," Mac concluded, nodding in the direction of Flack as he sat on the couch in the office, absorbing the news with his head in his hands.

"And what?" Danny asked. "What good is that going to do?"

"He offers to make a switch," Mac replied. "Himself for Kieran. We've already talked about this and…"

"Are you fucking crazy?" Danny looked back and forth between his boss and his best friend. "A switch! A goddamn switch? So Sam gets her kid back but loses her husband? What the hell kind of screwed up idea is that?"

"No one is going to lose anyone," Mac assured him. "Flack will get the baby from Lessing, place him in his car seat and say the words I'm yours, Lessing and back away. That's the code words for ESU to close in."

"And if they don't get there soon enough?" Danny asked. "What than? He's dead. Plain and simple."

"You have a better idea, Messer?" Flack asked, turning his tortured eyes up at his best friend. "Do you? Because I'm fresh out. This is as good as it gets. If this is the only way to get my son back, I have to take the chance. Chances are Lessing won't kill me."

"Flack's right," Stella said. "Lessing sees him as a comrade in arms so to speak. Because he survived the bombing. Chances are…"

"Chances!" Danny cried. "That's all these are! Chances! And aren't we all forgetting one thing? Samantha's in the hospital! There's no way she's up to this. No way. And if Lessing figures out that she's not in the car, Kieran and Flack are dead."

"Lessing specifically requested that the mother stay in the car," Mac told the CSI. "So we'll have a female in the car. Someone to pose as Samantha."

"He saw the paper I'm sure!" Danny argued. "He knows what she looks like! If he even catches a glimpse and sees it's not the real Samantha Flack, than they're all dead. And how the hell are we going to get an undercover here that quickly?"

"We're not," Mac responded. "We're going to use someone we have at our disposal."

"Who?" Danny asked. "Stella? She's pregnant and you wouldn't put her or the baby at risk like that? Angell? Angell's too tall and has no physical resemblance to Sam whatsoever. Who do we have that could possibly pass, even the tiniest bit, as Samantha. Tell me."

"Someone that may not, facial appearance wise, look like Samantha, but in body type, is nearly a double," Mac told him.

"Well I gotta see this," Danny snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Whose this mystery woman?"

A soft knock came to the office door.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mac said as he rose from the edge of his chest. "I'd like all of you to meet Samantha Flack."

Danny turned to face the woman standing in the doorway. Shaking his head at the sight of the person before them. At the sheer insanity of the thought of her putting herself, voluntarily, in such a dangerous position.

"What do you need me to do?" Lindsay asked.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and everyone of you! Even all the lurkers and those adding me to their alerts or favourites! Thanks for all the support! Please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

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**GregRox**


	48. Sins of the father

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN…YOU KNOW THE REST**

**A/N: I WANT TO SEND A HUGE THANKS TO HOPE4SALL AND LAURZZ WHO MADE IT POSSIBLE FOR ME TO GET THIS CHAP TOGETHER.**

**AND A BIGGER THANKS TO MY NEIGHBOUR, CAROL, WHO LET ME USE HER COMP TO GET THIS CHAPTER OUT TO YOU!**

**Also, bear with me if this is formatted a little odd. I am not on my own comp so things might not be 'normal'. But I didn't want to leave you guys hanging. **

* * *

**Sins of the father**

"This is the end  
Beautiful friend  
This is the end  
My only friend, the end

Of our elaborate plans, the end  
Of everything that stands, the end  
No safety or surprise, the end  
I'll never look into your eyes...again

Can you picture what will be  
So limitless and free  
Desperately in need...of some...strangers hand  
In a...desperate land."

-The End, The Doors

* * *

Lindsay shivered uncontrollably despite the warmth pouring out of the heating vents on the dashboard and along her window ledge. In her hands she clutched the real Samantha Flack's identification. Driver's licence, birth certificate, department credentials. A small insurance in case Lessing asked Flack for proof that that was indeed his wife in the passenger seat of the black SUV. She had gone as far as to dress herself in clothing that Flack had taken from his wife's locker. A pair of faded blue jeans and a long sleeved, ruby red top and a New Jersey Devils ball cap.

He remembered bitching and moaning endlessly when she'd scooped the hat off of the shelf during on of their many shopping excursions in mid town. And how'd she given him that little pout and flashed him those puppy dog eyes and gave that childish whine she had perfected very early on in their relationship.

"But, honey…I like it…I like it and I really, really want it…see how cute I look in it?"

She'd slipped the hat onto her head and Flack had to admit, she looked damn cute.

But he just couldn't bring himself, a loyal and true New Yorker and die hard Rangers fan, to shell out forty bucks on a hat that belonged to such a despised, rival team.

"I promise you that I'll make it up to you," she had said, laying her hands on his chest and letting them drift down to his waist, where the fingers off one began discreetly playing with his belt buckle. "I mean…really, really, really make it up to you."

They'd left that store ten minutes later. Sam with a new hat perched on her head, and Flack's wallet forty dollars lighter.

The memory made him laugh even now as he pulled the SUV into the parking spot that Lessing had designated in his phone call to Mac. It was ten minutes to eleven. The lot itself was nearly empty save for a couple of cars and a white panel van scattered about. ESU had closed off all entrances and exits to the garage. Making it impossible for innocent bystanders to stumble upon what was going to go down in a matter of minutes. And preventing Lessing from making an escape if he decided to bail, or kill the entire Flack family and attempt to take off.

Flack was nervous. His hand shook as he switched the SUV into park. He left the ignition running. Not only to keep Lindsay warm, but in case she had to get out of there in a hell of hurry. On the console between the front seats, was a locked and loaded police issued Glock handgun and a small, clear ear piece that Flack would slip into his left ear just moments before stepping out of the vehicle. Chances were, Lessing wouldn't notice the transparent device.

But than again, Lessing wasn't your average perp. He was cagey and smart. And the chances were better that he was going to not only pat Flack down, but search him for a wire.

"Good thing the windows are tinted," Lindsay commented nervously, as she glanced around the interior of the SUV.

"Let's just hope he doesn't actually come over and want to look inside," Flack said, lacing his fingers together and stretching out his arms and cracking his knuckles noisily.

"And if he does?" Lindsay asked.

Flack picked up the gun and checked to make sure the safety off and it was indeed, ready to go. He held it out to her. "You shoot him," he replied coolly. "No questions asked. He sticks his head in here and you shoot him. Got it?"

Lindsay nodded.

"This is our only chance, Monroe. Our only chance at getting my son back. And if you have to kill Lessing, trust me, no one will hold it against you. You'll probably get a damn reward. Here…" he sat the weapon in her lap. "But it in that little storage thing near the bottom of your door," Flack instructed. "It's easy to grab from there and he won't see it ahead of time."

Lindsay did as she was told. "Have you figured out what you're going to say to him?" she asked.

Flack shook his head. "Only thing I can think of is to beg and plead for him to give me my son back. Offer myself up like Mac and I agreed on. Outside of that? I have nothing."

"Do you think he'll go for it?"

"If I go along with his whole comrade in arms, kindred souls bullshit he's got going on. As long as I let him think that I'm on his side, that we're buddies and I get way he did what he did, than he'll be my best friend and go for anything. I need to keep my head on straight. Not let my emotions get the better of me. Honestly, Linds, the only thing I really want to do is kill that sonofabitch."

She nodded and reached out and rubbed his leg in understand and sympathy.

"I know I'm suppose to know better. That I'm supposed to be able to draw the line when it comes to the law. That I'm suppose to stop myself from crossing it. But this is my family. He kidnapped my son. He sent my wife to the mental ward. This just isn't some every day case involving strangers and I can go home at the end of the day and say, it's okay. It's behind me now. This is my family. And fuck with my family and you're going to pay, plain and simple."

"And you know that if that happened, say he got a little violent with you and you felt the need to protect yourself, that no one would think less of you because of it, right? Self defence. You're not actually going out there to kill the guy. But say he becomes a threat to you or Kieran. You know that you're completely in the right to defend yourself and your son right?"

Flack grinned. "Lindsay Monroe, I'm shocked at you. Are you suggesting I seek out some revenge? Some vigilante justice of sorts?"

"I'd never suggest such a thing," she said with a smirk. "I'm just merely saying that I'm in this car and I can be your witness and easily tell people that he came at you first. That you acted in the best interest of yourself, and your child. That's all I'm saying."

"I will keep that in mind," Flack said, than glanced through the rear view mirror at the sound of a car door opening in the near distance.

A lone figure, with bleached blond hair and wearing a black knit sweater and black pants, was climbing out of the driver's side door of the white panel van. He stopped and stood at the back of the van and simply nodded.

"If anything happens to me, Lindsay," Flack said, taking a deep breath and letting it slowly. "If I get Kieran in here and you get him to safety and something happens to me, I want you to tell Samantha that I did it for her. That I did what I had to do to bring her son back to her."

"Flack, don't…"

"Just tell her that," he said, as he pressed the surveillance device into his ear. "Make sure she understands that this was the best thing to do. And tell her that I love her and those babies. Okay? Can you tell her all that?"

Lindsay nodded and fought back tears. As he reached for the handle on his door, she leaned across the seat and pressed an affectionate kiss to his rough, unshaven cheek.

"Good luck, Don," she said. "God speed."

"Thanks," he gave a nervous smile and opened the door and slipped out of the SUV.

* * *

"Detective Flack," Lessing greeted, as he stood, blond hair gleaming in the lights over head, at the back of the panel van. "We finally meet face to face. I must admit, you look a lot different from when your picture was in the paper after you survived the bombing."

"It's called weight gain and a hair cut," Flack quipped, as he slowly approached the other man, leaving the driver's side door of his SUV open.

"You look pretty good for a man that had his stomach blown to shreds and his insides held together by a shoe lace," Lessing told him, nodding approvingly. "And what else did I read? That you had pieces of the bomb, specifically the detonator, lodged in your chest? That it took months, almost half of a year, for you to fully mend and get back on your feet again?"

"What can I say?" Flack asked with a shrug. "Call me a damn modern miracle."

"That's exactly what you are," Lessing praised. "That you somehow suffered so much brutal agony and torture yet were able to pull yourself back together in the long run and go on with a normal, protective life. Amazing. Nothing short of amazing."

"So now that we've concluded that I'm either a fast healing or the bionic man," Flack said, taking slow, easy steps towards the van. "Why don't you and I talk about why my wife and I am here. Where's our son?"

"Stop right where you are…" Lessing demanded, as Flack reached the middle of the garage. "Lift your shirt and your pant legs. I want proof you're not armed. And move slowly. Don't try anything stupid."

"Alright…alright…" Flack agreed, and lifted the bottom of his sweatshirt to reveal that there was no gun tucked into his waist band and he wore no holster on either hip.

"Turn around. Let me see your back."

"I heard your demands the first time, Lessing," Flack said, as he turned a slow circle. "You said unarmed and I'm unarmed. So is my wife."

"How do I know that is your wife?" he asked. "How do I know you didn't fool me? That that's some cop waiting in there, ready to pounce on me at your given word?"

"Here," Flack placed the identification down on the cement. "You know what she looks like. I'm sure you saw her interview, right? There's her I.D. Have a look for yourself. We're not playing any games with you. We just want to see our son. We just want to know that he's okay and that you're going to take good care of him. That's it."

Lessing cautiously approached the detective. "Take ten steps back," he instructed.

Flack did as he was ordered.

The other man bent down over the I.D. and picked it up. He studied each piece carefully and silently, than gave a nod of approval and set the cards back down onto the ground. "Pick them up," he ordered, than made his way, backwards, towards the van.

"So what is it you want, Lessing?" Flack asked, as he scooped up his wife's identification and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans. "Why are we here?"

"You're here to say goodbye to your son," he answered simply.

"Tell me why you want him so badly," Flack tried his best to keep his composure. To keep his fury and rage in check. To befriend the sick, crazy bastard in front of him.

"'Cause if my wife and I are just going to let you keep him, we want to know why. We want to know why we can trust you that you won't do anything to hurt him. 'Cause you can't take him if all you're planning on doing is killing him."

"Kill him?" Lessing laughed, the sound echoing off the high ceiling and cement walls. "Why would I kill him? I need him."

"For what?" Flack asked. "What could you want with a thirteen month old? You need a better argument than that, Lessing."

"Dean," he said with a smile. "Friends call each other by their first names in my world. And that's what we are, isn't it? Friends? Are we not friends, Don?"

Flack swallowed noisily. His hands clenched into tight fists, than opened again. He gave a warm smile. "Of course we are, Dean," he said. "But as my friend, you owe me an explanation to as why you want my son so badly. What you need him for. You owe me that. Out of respect. Isn't that what friends do? In your world? Respect each other, Dean?"

"You're really growing on me, Don," Lessing told him. "You're proving to be even more loyal and worthy than I thought."

"I am loyal. I am worthy. I'm a damn good guy to have around. So why don't you be loyal and worthy to me and let me see my son. Let me see him and hold him and you tell me what you want with him."

"Hmm…" Lessing considered it. "I can give you two out of three," he said. "I can let you see him and I can tell you what my plan is. But I can't let you hold him. Because than the two of you will just get to attached and you won't give him back to me. And I can't have that. Because that would just ruin our friendship. And you don't want that, do you?"

"Of course not," Flack assured him. "But if I'm just letting you have my son, my first born, the least you could do is let me kiss him goodbye. It's the least you can do."

"I'll think about," Lessing said, than popped open the back doors of the van.

"Come here, Kieran," he spoke surprisingly gently and reassuringly to the toddler cowered in the back corner. "Come and see your Uncle Dean. There's someone here who wants to see you and say bye-bye."

What Flack wouldn't have give to have his gun on him at that moment to shoot the man the moment he turned his back. Instead he put on a fake, calm smile as Lessing slowly turned around with Kieran in his arms.

"There's someone very, very special here to see you," Lessing said, pressing a tender kiss to the toddler's temple before setting him on the ground and kneeling down in front of him, blocking Flack's view. "Will you  
be a good boy for your Uncle Dean?"

He nodded meekly.

"Look whose here to see you," Lessing said, and stood up and stepped to the side of the little boy.

Flack's eyes widened at the sight in front of him. Time seemed to stand still. He had heard from Mac what Dean Lessing had done in an attempt to disguise Kieran, but nothing could prepare him from seeing the results first hand. His son, with a filthy face and a heedful of shocking nearly white hair, dressed in a pair of pink jeans, purple rain boots, and a bubble gum pink winter coat with white furry trim around the hood. Tears of relief, at the sight of his son alive and seemingly healthy, welled in his eyes. But the rage grew to an almost unbearable peak.

A bright smile took over Kieran's face at the sight of the familiar face. "Daddeee!" he shrieked, and attempted to toddle towards his father, only to be stopped by one of Dean Lessing's strong hands.

"Just let him come over here," Flack said. "Let him come over here and see me. I want to check him over for myself. To make sure that he's okay. Just put him down and let him see me."

"I don't think that's a very wise thing to do, do you?"

"Dean, listen to me," Flack held his hands up in surrender, showing that  
he wasn't a threat as he slowly approached the man holding his son captive.

"This is my son. My first born. I can't just let you take him away from me  
without letting me see him one last time."

"You are seeing him," Lessing said. "And if you knew what was best for  
both of you, you'd stop right where you are. You're getting a little too  
close now, Don. I agreed that you could see him, but I said nothing about  
you touching him."

"Daddeee?" Kieran reached for his father, the tips of his tiny fingers  
brushing against Flack's sweatshirt.

"Let him see me," Flack begged. "Let me at least hold him one last  
time. I'm not asking a lot here."

"Wrong," Lessing snapped. "You're asking way too much! Now back off  
and stand down!"

Kieran jumped, startled by the sudden shouting of the man holding him, and  
immediately began to wail in terror. "Daddy!" he screamed, vainly reaching  
for his father who was so close yet so far. "Daddy!"

"Now do you see what you've done?" Lessing roared. "You've upset  
him!"

"He's just scared, Dean. He just got scared by the way you yelled. He has  
sensory processing issues. He just got tubes put in his ears a couple of  
weeks ago. He hears things more clearly and things scare him easily. That's all.  
If you just hand him to me, I'll calm him down and you can have him  
back."

"Do you think I'm crazy?" Lessing laughed. "Do you? Why would I give  
him to you! You of all people?!"

"Because I'm his father," Flack reasoned. "If anyone can calm him  
down, it's me. Please, just let me take him and I'll give him back to  
you."

"You can't have him!" the other man backed towards the van. "You  
can't take care of him the way I can! Train him the way I can!"

"Is that what you want with him? To train him? To be one of your soldiers?  
To help you protect the country? The entire world? Is that what you want?"

"Together the two of us can put an end to all that is wrong with society  
today. Terrorism, genocide, wars. The massacres of innocents going on  
globally. He's your offspring! Don't you understand? You survived!  
You're an exemplary soldier and he comes from you! I thought you would  
understand that! That you'd see what he's destined to become!"

"I do, Dean. Honestly, I do. But he's just a baby. He's just a year old  
last month. Do you realize how long it will take to train him to be the way  
you want him to be? By the time he's ready to help you this world will be  
even farther down the shitter than it is! Hell, there might not even be a  
world left! Man kind will probably destroy each other by than. Do you  
understand what I'm telling you? Do you hear what I'm saying? It will be a  
dozen or more years until Kieran can be what you want him to be."

"I don't have a dozen more years to wait," Lessing declared.

"Exactly," Flack said. "And that's why I want to make a deal with  
you. An exchange."

The other man's eyes narrowed. "What kind of an exchange?" he asked.

"You want a soldier, right? One to help you fight the good fight. Someone  
you won't have to spend so many years training. One that's pretty much  
ready for action. Couple little minor adjustments, some training sessions  
and  
they're good to go. Right?"

Lessing nodded.

"Take me, Dean. I'll be your soldier. I'll fight for you. I'd be  
honoured to fight for you. Let me take my son to his mother and than I'll go  
with you. Willingly. How does that sound?"

"Why can't both of you come with me?" he asked.

"Kieran is just a baby," Flack replied. "He's no good to you. It's  
me you need, Dean. You need me to help you. Imagine what we can do together.  
The messages that we can get across. What we can solve. Why wait years to do  
that when you can teach me everything you need to know in a matter of weeks.  
Maybe a couple of months. Imagine what a team we'd be. I'm a fast  
learner. And like you said, I'm loyal and worthy. Imagine how great I'd be  
with such an amazing teacher such as yourself."

"Me and you?" Lessing asked, warming to the idea.

"We're comrades, Dean. You planting that bomb that day? Me getting  
caught in that blast and surviving? That all happened for a reason. It  
brought us to this moment. It brought us together. Can't you see that?"

The other man nodded enthusiastically. "I can. I've seen that for so  
long. I just didn't think you realized it. And I wanted you to realize  
it."

"And I do, Dean. And that's why I'm here. I am offering myself to you.  
In exchange for my son. He's an innocent. He has his whole life ahead of  
him. And his mother. Don't take him from his mother. It would kill her.  
She's willing, to let me go, if you'll leave Kieran behind."

"So she understands?" Lessing asked excitedly. "She understands why I  
did this?"

Flack nodded. "She understands that this needs to be done. But she'd  
rather I do it than our son. She gets it, Dean. She gets guys like us and  
why we need to band together. But she doesn't get why she has to give her baby  
up. So please, I am begging you, as a friend. As a colleague. As a comrade  
and a pupil. Please let me have my son so I can take him back to his mother."

"If you take him, you say goodbye and you come with me?" he asked  
hopefully.

"I promise you," Flack vowed. "I just want to give him to his mother  
and say goodbye to her and than we can leave. Okay?"

Lessing nodded and passed the baby over.

"Daddy." Kieran wailed, curling his tiny arms around his father's  
neck and resting his head on his dad's shoulder. His crying immediately  
downplayed to a mild whimper.

"It's okay now, Kieran," Flack assured him, kissing the top of his  
son's head and holding on to him for dear life. Tears burned his eyes. But  
he wasn't about to show Dean Lessing any weakness. Because weakness to  
someone like that was completely unacceptable. "Daddy's got you, K," he  
whispered into his son's ear, as he carried him to the waiting SUV.  
"Daddy's got you and it's all going to be over soon. It's all going to  
be over soon. You'll get to see your mommy very soon."

"Mommy?" the toddler asked cheerfully, sniffling noisily.

"Soon, K.." Flack assured him. "You'll see her soon."

"Make it quick!" Lessing called impatiently. "We've got a lot of work  
to do!"

Flack popped open the back door of the SUV and loaded Kieran into his car  
seat and buckled him up tightly. Closing the door, he went to the open  
driver's door and leaned into the front seat.

"Jesus Christ, Flack," Lindsay trembled uncontrollable from fear.  
"He's crazy. He's goddamn crazy. What are you going to do? How.?"

"Kiss me," Flack said.

She blinked. "What?"

"When I kiss you, kiss me back. Because he's watching and trust me, he  
notices everything. And he's going to wonder why a husband and wife didn't  
kiss goodbye. Okay?"

She nodded.

He leaned further across the seat and kissed her. Long and soft and tender.

She touched his face gently, returning the kiss.

"I can see why Messer finds it so hard to give up," Flack joked in a  
whisper.

Lindsay gave a small laugh. "Please be careful, Don. Please be careful."

"The second I close this door, I want you to get back behind the wheel and  
get the hell out of here. Don't look back, okay? Just get yourself and  
Kieran the hell out of here. Alright?"

She nodded and found it unable to hold the tears back any longer.

"Whatever happens," Flack said and took a deep breath and let it out  
slowly. "Whatever happens from here on out. Thank you. For helping me get  
my son back."

"Good luck," Lindsay whispered, and reached out to squeeze his hand  
gently.

Flack gave a small wink and backed out of the SUV. His eyes widened at the  
feel of something hard and cold pressed up against the back of his head. He  
heard the dull clicking noise as Lessing cocked the hammer of the revolver  
held calmly and steadily against his skull.

* * *

"You lied to me, Don," the man said in a low voice. "You told me that  
this is your wife."

"It is. I don't know what you're talking about."

Lessing reached out and snatched the surveillance piece from Flack's ear  
and tossed it aside. "That's so the cops can listen to us! So you can tell  
them when to come for me! And that!" Lessing gestured wildly into the  
vehicle. "Is not the woman that was in the pictures you showed me! That is  
not the woman that was on the paper! You lied to me!"

"Okay, listen to me, Dean. My wife. My wife is in the hospital. Kieran  
being missing drove her nearly insane and I had to have her committed. So  
she couldn't come tonight. It's why I brought a friend to take her place.  
There's nothing really scandalous about it, okay? I just brought her here so  
we could get Kieran back."

"It's not nice to lie to your friends. To trick them."

"I know. I know. But this doesn't change anything, Dean. I'm still  
going to come with you, okay? I'm not changing my mind about that. So just  
let my friend take Kieran and."

"I can't trust you now, Don. At all. And I can't have a soldier serving  
under me that I can't trust. So this is what you're going to do. You're  
going to pay the price for insubordination. You're going to pay the ultimate  
price. Understand me?"

Lindsay and Flack locked eyes. Without breaking the gaze, she calmly and  
quietly reached for the gun resting beside her.

Flack shook his head.

"Did you hear me, soldier?!" Lessing bellowed, and pressed the gun into  
Flack's skull. "You have to pay the price! The ultimate sacrifice for your  
betrayal! For being a traitor! Back up! Slowly! Back up and than drop to  
your knees and put your hands behind your head!"

"Dean, listen to me."

"On your knees! Now!" he yelled.

Flack sighed heavily and sunk down onto his knees of the cold concrete.

"Hands behind your head! Do it!"

"What is this going to solve, Dean? What is killing a cop going to  
solve?"

"It will show the world that traitors and liars will not be tolerated! Now  
get your goddamn hands behind your head!"

Flack brought one hand behind him, resting just above the back of his neck,  
followed by the other, than linked his fingers together.

"What's your name?" Lessing asked the terrified woman crying silently  
in the front passenger seat, the gun once against pressed to the back of  
Flack's head.

"Wh…what?" she asked.

"You heard me! Your name! What's your name?!"

"Lindsay." she stammered. "Lindsay Monroe."

"Is Don just a friend of yours, Miss Monroe?" Lessing asked. "Or is  
there more to it than that? Are you the other woman?"

"No," she shook her head. "No. We're friends. Just  
friends."

"Well than if you're not in love with him, it won't be as traumatic to  
you when you watch me kill him, will it?"

"Please." Lindsay begged. Don't do this. He has a little boy. A wife whose having another baby. Don't take him away from them!"

Lessing grabbed Flack by the hair and yanked his head back. "Is that true, Don? Your wife is with child?"

"What does it matter to you?" Flack asked. "If you're going to kill me, just kill me!"

"I asked you a goddamn question!" Lessing raged, and pointed the gun into the backseat at Kieran wailing in his car seat.

"Okay! Okay!" Flack exclaimed. "She's pregnant! Three months. We're having triplets. But what…"

"Now let me suggest an exchange," Lessing said. "Your wife and your unborn babies for you life and that of Miss Monroe and your precious, first born son."

Flack shook his head. "Never going to happen. Never. Not in a million years. My wife and my children are innocent, Lessing!"

"So we're back to last names now, Detective Flack? Well that's fine than. It won't pain me as much to kill you. So say goodbye. Say goodbye to Miss Monroe and your son. Say bye-bye to your daddy Kieran…"

Lindsay made a reach for the gun in the side panel next to her.

"What the hell are you doing?" Lessing roared.

Flack seized the opportunity as Lessing released the grip on his hair to concentrate on Lindsay. The detective dropped his left elbow from the back of his neck and drove his elbow into the stomach of the man holding them captive.

Lessing howled in a mixture of surprise, rage and pain, and as his knees buckled, Flack brought the same elbow up into the man's chin, sending Lessing toppling backwards and the gun skidding several feet away.

"You sick, twisted motherfucker!" Flack yelled, grabbing the other man by  
the back of his sweater and tossing him over onto his back.

He knelt over Dean Lessing and went completely ballistic. Yanking the man's head up by the hair  
before smashing the back of his skull off of the cement before unleashing powerful blows to his face. "You thought you'd get away with it!" he shouted. "With taking my son from me! With nearly destroying me! For nearly taking away everything that matters in my life?!"

"Flack!" Lindsay screamed from inside the SUV, as she frantically dialled  
911 on her cell phone. "Stop! Just stop! Let's just get the hell out of  
here and let the others handle this!"

He ignored her. So blinded by fury that all he could think of was punishing  
the injured, bleeding, battered man before him.

Lessing fought back. Slamming his forehead into Flack's before jabbing his  
fingers into the stronger man's throat. Sending the big detective rolling  
off of him and onto his side. His forehead split open, his hands grabbing at  
his own throat as he gasped for air.

Lessing struggled to get to his feet, wiping blood off his face and out of  
his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt before advancing on Flack. Landing  
several swift, damaging kicks to his ribs. Stomping hard on the kidneys when  
the man rolled over onto his stomach in an effort to protect himself.

Lessing took the time to catch his breath. Watching in supreme adulation and  
pride as the man that he failed to kill four years before, now lay gasping  
for breath and bleeding profusely.

"How does it feel, Detective Flack?" he asked. "Do know your life is  
going to end at the hands of the man who nearly took it away four years ago?  
How does that feel? To know that this is how your life is going to end?"

"Fuck you," Flack managed through gritted teeth, attempting to  
drag himself to the gun that lay several feet away. Wanting Lessing to think  
he was more injured than he was. Wanting the other man to underestimate him. "Just fuck you."

"Not so big and bad now, are you? Look at you. Weak and pathetic. I'm  
disappointed in you, Detective. You would have been a terrible disciple."

Flack's fingers brushed against the grip of the gun. Than bit back a roar  
of pain as Lessing once again brought his foot down on the small of his  
back.

"I don't think so," Lessing said, a smirk on his face as he flipped the  
detective over onto his back and scooped up the gun. "I'll tell you how  
this is going to end," he said, kneeling on Flack's forearms to pin him  
to the cement, than pressing the barrel of the gun to the detective's  
forehead. "Is it true?" he asked.

"Is what true?" Flack gasped. "That you're a sick fucking  
asshole?"

Lessing smirked. "That your life flashes before your eyes, is it true? What  
are you thinking about as you're lying there waiting to die?"

"I don't know. I guess that I haven't seen the Rangers when the Cup in  
a while. That I'm not going to see my wife again. That I won't get to hold  
our triplets. That I won't see Kieran's first day of school. Or help him  
over his first break up. Or see him off to college. See him get married and  
have kids of his own. Lots of things, I guess. I'm thinking that of all  
people I see before I die, it would be the sonofabitch that blew me up in  
fucking building."

"Such is life," Lessing said with a shrug. He placed a finger on the  
trigger. "And such is death as well."

"You won't get out of this alive," Flack told him.

"That makes two of us," Lessing said.

And a shot rang out.

* * *

Lessing's lifeless body tumbled over. Instantly dead from a single gun shot  
wound to the back of the head that exited through his forehead. The bullet  
catching Flack in the top of his left arm. He roared in pain and quickly  
brought his good arm up and both of his knees and pushed the dead man off of  
him. He gasped for air as he used his feet to push himself backwards.  
Sliding on his ass until his back came in contact with the side of his SUV. The pain  
was intense. From the large gash on his forehead and the wound to his  
temple. From his obviously busted ribs and bruised kidneys. And from the fresh  
bullet wound in his left arm.

The gunshot still echoed through the parking garage and through Flack's  
ears. In the distance he could sirens and people yelling and heavy footsteps  
as they rushed down into the garage. Behind him Kieran was screaming from  
terror in his car seat and begging for his mommy and daddy.

Above Lessing's body stood Lindsay Monroe. Tears streaming down her face  
and a small, satisfied smile on her lips. The gun -Flack's gun-still in her  
hand.

"Monroe," Flack managed. "You fucking shot me. With my own gun."

"Well I most certainly didn't mean to," she said. Bending down, she sat  
the gun down alongside of Lessing's body and than hurried over to her  
friend. "Jesus, Flack," she breathed, dropping to her knees beside him and  
investigating the wounds on his face with gentle finger tips. "Are you  
okay?"

"No," he responded, and gave a small laugh. "I feel like shit if you  
really must know."

"Do you really need to be a smart ass at this point in time?" she asked.  
She gingerly touched the wound on his arm.

He winced. "Gotta have a sense of humour, Monroe. After everything I've  
gone through in the past thirty some hours? If I can't laugh about? Is he okay?"

"Scared," Lindsay said. "Scared but just fine."

"I need to…unbuckle him would you? Bring him here? I need to see him. I  
have to see him."

"Flack I don't.."

"Please," he said. "I have to see my son. I need to see my son."

Lindsay nodded and got to her feet and opened the back door of the SUV. She spoke to the terrified, distraught baby as she undid the buckles on his car seat straps.

Flack winced as he used the hand on his good arm to bring the front of his sweatshirt up to his face to clear away some of the blood he was losing from his injuries. He stretched out his legs and gasped as pain shot through him. He gingerly touched his aching ribs and nodded down at his lap.

"Put him on my right leg," he instructed Lindsay. "I just need to hold him."

Lindsay gently settled the little boy on his father's lap.

Kieran circled Flack's neck with his tiny arms and rested his head on his dad's shouder. His sobs rapidly calming into whimpers.

"Daddy's here, K," Flack wrapped his good arm around his son's tiny, trembling body. His lips pressed to the baby's ear as he whispered soothingly to him. "Daddy's here. It's all over now. The bad man can't hurt you anymore. It's all over."

* * *

"Lindsay!" Danny's voice echoed through the underground lot.

She glanced over as her ex-boyfriend, accompanied by Mac, Speed, Scagnetti and Angell, hurried through the barren lot. Followed closely behind by heavily armed ESU officers and two paramedics loaded down with medical bags.

Danny's eyes widened as he and the others came upon Dean Lessing's body.

"I had to," Lindsay said, as all eyes focused on her. "He would have killed Flack. I had to stop him. Flack…he's pretty bad off…Lessing beat him pretty bad."

Mac simply nodded and stepped over the body as he and Speed and the two homicide detectives hurried over to check on Flack and Kieran.

Danny and Lindsay stood watching and listening as Mac asked Flack his version of events. The other man finding it difficult to talk in the state of agony he was in. After prodding and reassurances from Speed, the detective finally, albeit reluctantly, handed his son over to Angel so the paramedics could attend to him.

"Let's get the ambulance down here, ASAP," Scagnetti barked into his radio.

"Linds? You okay?" Danny asked, as he laid his arm across her shoulders and led her away from the scene.

She nodded and rubbed her arms as tears spilled down her cheeks. "He was going to kill him, Danny. Lessing was going to kill him. Execute him right in front of me. I had to do it. I had to shoot him."

"It's okay," Danny said, and removing his blue nylon CSI jacket and draping it over her shoulders. "Do you need EMS?" he asked.

"I'm okay," Lindsay replied. "I'm just a little shaken up. Someone should call the hospital. Flack's mom and Gus are with Sam. Someone needs to tell them Kieran's alive. That…"

She stopped mid sentence as an ambulance came speeding down the ramp and into the underground lot. It came to a shrieking halt mere feet from them and the driver jumped up out and raced around to the back to toss the rear doors open.

Angell passed them on her way to the ambulance, Kieran clinging tightly to her. Flack followed slowly behind, supported by Speed and Scagnetti, his arms around their shoulders.

"You stubborn bastard," Danny shook his head. "Couldn't swallow your damn pride just once and let them put you on a stretcher?"

"Never," Flack managed through gritted teeth. "Your girlfriend tell you she shot me? With my own gun at that?"

"It was an accident," Lindsay insisted.

"Sure it was," Flack said, and gave her a playful wink.

Mac joined Danny and Lindsay, watching as Speed and Scagnetti helped Flack into the ambulance. Scagnetti stayed inside as Speed and Angell jumped out. The former banging his palm on the rear door, signaling the ambulance to leave.

Mac sighed heavily and laid a comforting hand on Lindsay's shoulder. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "He was going to kill Flack. He was going to execute him and I couldn't sit there and let that happen. Is Flack going to be okay?"

"He needs some stitches and some x-rays," Mac replied. "Not to mention that bullet taken out of his arm. You saved his life, Lindsay. And most likely your own, and Kieran's. Angell will take your statement once you get to the hospital."

"I don't need to go to the hospital, Mac," Lindsay argued. "None of this blood is mine. I'm just really, really shaky."

"We'll take you and get you checked over and cleaned up," Mac insisted. "Flack and Kieran are on their way to Trinity. You might as well follow behind."

Danny rubbed her shoulder softly. "Listen to him, Linds. Let them check you out. Someone can get you a change of clothes. Carmen's got a key to Flack's place and she can grab some stuff for you and run it over."

Mac nodded. "It can be arranged," he said. "You'll be in and out," he promised. "Than you can go and check on Sam and Flack and Kieran. Danny will take yolu."

"Won't leave you side, Montana," he vowed. "I promise."

"Now how can you resist that offer?" Mac asked.

Lindsay smiled. "I can't," she replied.

"You did the right thing," Mac told her. "Don't doubt that. You won't face any heat over this."

"Deserves a reward if you ask me," Danny said. "Ridding the world of that scumbag."

She laughed. "Well I won't hold my breath expecting the key to the city. The satisfaction of saving Kieran and Flack…that's worth more than any reward."

Mac sighed heavily. "I'm just glad it's over. That everyone is okay. That Kieran…" his voice trailed off as he fought back emotion.

Danny reached out and clapped a hand on his boss' shoulder. "Your little boy is safe, Papa Mac. By the grace of God."

Lindsay smiled at the older man. "Papa Mac?" she asked.

Mac nodded.

"Looks pretty good for a grandpa, doesn't he?" Danny teased.

The older man chuckled. "Get out of here, you two."

"What do you say?" Danny smiled tenderly at his ex. "Me and you, Montana?"

"Sounds good, cowboy," she said, and curled her arm around his waist.

Mac stood, at the side of the SUV and watched the young couple go. As if he was in a time warp or history was repeating itself.

Lindsay Monroe had come back into their lives with a bang.

The questions now were would she stay? Or would she go?

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing and for supporting me at this screwed up time. Please stick with me guys!!!???**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**brrtmclv**

**laurzz**

**muchmadness**

**ImaSupernaturalCSI**

**Laplandgurl**

**Wolfeylady**

**Shopaholic20**

**Bluehaven4220**

**Forest Angel**

**Soccer-Bitch**


	49. Chap 48 repeat so some can review!

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN…YOU KNOW THE REST**

**A/N: I WANT TO SEND A HUGE THANKS TO HOPE4SALL AND LAURZZ WHO MADE IT POSSIBLE FOR ME TO GET THIS CHAP TOGETHER.**

**AND A BIGGER THANKS TO MY NEIGHBOUR, CAROL, WHO LET ME USE HER COMP TO GET THIS CHAPTER OUT TO YOU!**

**Also, bear with me if this is formatted a little odd. I am not on my own comp so things might not be 'normal'. But I didn't want to leave you guys hanging. **

* * *

**Sins of the father**

"This is the end  
Beautiful friend  
This is the end  
My only friend, the end

Of our elaborate plans, the end  
Of everything that stands, the end  
No safety or surprise, the end  
I'll never look into your eyes...again

Can you picture what will be  
So limitless and free  
Desperately in need...of some...strangers hand  
In a...desperate land."

-The End, The Doors

* * *

Lindsay shivered uncontrollably despite the warmth pouring out of the heating vents on the dashboard and along her window ledge. In her hands she clutched the real Samantha Flack's identification. Driver's licence, birth certificate, department credentials. A small insurance in case Lessing asked Flack for proof that that was indeed his wife in the passenger seat of the black SUV. She had gone as far as to dress herself in clothing that Flack had taken from his wife's locker. A pair of faded blue jeans and a long sleeved, ruby red top and a New Jersey Devils ball cap.

He remembered bitching and moaning endlessly when she'd scooped the hat off of the shelf during on of their many shopping excursions in mid town. And how'd she given him that little pout and flashed him those puppy dog eyes and gave that childish whine she had perfected very early on in their relationship.

"But, honey…I like it…I like it and I really, really want it…see how cute I look in it?"

She'd slipped the hat onto her head and Flack had to admit, she looked damn cute.

But he just couldn't bring himself, a loyal and true New Yorker and die hard Rangers fan, to shell out forty bucks on a hat that belonged to such a despised, rival team.

"I promise you that I'll make it up to you," she had said, laying her hands on his chest and letting them drift down to his waist, where the fingers off one began discreetly playing with his belt buckle. "I mean…really, really, really make it up to you."

They'd left that store ten minutes later. Sam with a new hat perched on her head, and Flack's wallet forty dollars lighter.

The memory made him laugh even now as he pulled the SUV into the parking spot that Lessing had designated in his phone call to Mac. It was ten minutes to eleven. The lot itself was nearly empty save for a couple of cars and a white panel van scattered about. ESU had closed off all entrances and exits to the garage. Making it impossible for innocent bystanders to stumble upon what was going to go down in a matter of minutes. And preventing Lessing from making an escape if he decided to bail, or kill the entire Flack family and attempt to take off.

Flack was nervous. His hand shook as he switched the SUV into park. He left the ignition running. Not only to keep Lindsay warm, but in case she had to get out of there in a hell of hurry. On the console between the front seats, was a locked and loaded police issued Glock handgun and a small, clear ear piece that Flack would slip into his left ear just moments before stepping out of the vehicle. Chances were, Lessing wouldn't notice the transparent device.

But than again, Lessing wasn't your average perp. He was cagey and smart. And the chances were better that he was going to not only pat Flack down, but search him for a wire.

"Good thing the windows are tinted," Lindsay commented nervously, as she glanced around the interior of the SUV.

"Let's just hope he doesn't actually come over and want to look inside," Flack said, lacing his fingers together and stretching out his arms and cracking his knuckles noisily.

"And if he does?" Lindsay asked.

Flack picked up the gun and checked to make sure the safety off and it was indeed, ready to go. He held it out to her. "You shoot him," he replied coolly. "No questions asked. He sticks his head in here and you shoot him. Got it?"

Lindsay nodded.

"This is our only chance, Monroe. Our only chance at getting my son back. And if you have to kill Lessing, trust me, no one will hold it against you. You'll probably get a damn reward. Here…" he sat the weapon in her lap. "But it in that little storage thing near the bottom of your door," Flack instructed. "It's easy to grab from there and he won't see it ahead of time."

Lindsay did as she was told. "Have you figured out what you're going to say to him?" she asked.

Flack shook his head. "Only thing I can think of is to beg and plead for him to give me my son back. Offer myself up like Mac and I agreed on. Outside of that? I have nothing."

"Do you think he'll go for it?"

"If I go along with his whole comrade in arms, kindred souls bullshit he's got going on. As long as I let him think that I'm on his side, that we're buddies and I get way he did what he did, than he'll be my best friend and go for anything. I need to keep my head on straight. Not let my emotions get the better of me. Honestly, Linds, the only thing I really want to do is kill that sonofabitch."

She nodded and reached out and rubbed his leg in understand and sympathy.

"I know I'm suppose to know better. That I'm supposed to be able to draw the line when it comes to the law. That I'm suppose to stop myself from crossing it. But this is my family. He kidnapped my son. He sent my wife to the mental ward. This just isn't some every day case involving strangers and I can go home at the end of the day and say, it's okay. It's behind me now. This is my family. And fuck with my family and you're going to pay, plain and simple."

"And you know that if that happened, say he got a little violent with you and you felt the need to protect yourself, that no one would think less of you because of it, right? Self defence. You're not actually going out there to kill the guy. But say he becomes a threat to you or Kieran. You know that you're completely in the right to defend yourself and your son right?"

Flack grinned. "Lindsay Monroe, I'm shocked at you. Are you suggesting I seek out some revenge? Some vigilante justice of sorts?"

"I'd never suggest such a thing," she said with a smirk. "I'm just merely saying that I'm in this car and I can be your witness and easily tell people that he came at you first. That you acted in the best interest of yourself, and your child. That's all I'm saying."

"I will keep that in mind," Flack said, than glanced through the rear view mirror at the sound of a car door opening in the near distance.

A lone figure, with bleached blond hair and wearing a black knit sweater and black pants, was climbing out of the driver's side door of the white panel van. He stopped and stood at the back of the van and simply nodded.

"If anything happens to me, Lindsay," Flack said, taking a deep breath and letting it slowly. "If I get Kieran in here and you get him to safety and something happens to me, I want you to tell Samantha that I did it for her. That I did what I had to do to bring her son back to her."

"Flack, don't…"

"Just tell her that," he said, as he pressed the surveillance device into his ear. "Make sure she understands that this was the best thing to do. And tell her that I love her and those babies. Okay? Can you tell her all that?"

Lindsay nodded and fought back tears. As he reached for the handle on his door, she leaned across the seat and pressed an affectionate kiss to his rough, unshaven cheek.

"Good luck, Don," she said. "God speed."

"Thanks," he gave a nervous smile and opened the door and slipped out of the SUV.

* * *

"Detective Flack," Lessing greeted, as he stood, blond hair gleaming in the lights over head, at the back of the panel van. "We finally meet face to face. I must admit, you look a lot different from when your picture was in the paper after you survived the bombing."

"It's called weight gain and a hair cut," Flack quipped, as he slowly approached the other man, leaving the driver's side door of his SUV open.

"You look pretty good for a man that had his stomach blown to shreds and his insides held together by a shoe lace," Lessing told him, nodding approvingly. "And what else did I read? That you had pieces of the bomb, specifically the detonator, lodged in your chest? That it took months, almost half of a year, for you to fully mend and get back on your feet again?"

"What can I say?" Flack asked with a shrug. "Call me a damn modern miracle."

"That's exactly what you are," Lessing praised. "That you somehow suffered so much brutal agony and torture yet were able to pull yourself back together in the long run and go on with a normal, protective life. Amazing. Nothing short of amazing."

"So now that we've concluded that I'm either a fast healing or the bionic man," Flack said, taking slow, easy steps towards the van. "Why don't you and I talk about why my wife and I am here. Where's our son?"

"Stop right where you are…" Lessing demanded, as Flack reached the middle of the garage. "Lift your shirt and your pant legs. I want proof you're not armed. And move slowly. Don't try anything stupid."

"Alright…alright…" Flack agreed, and lifted the bottom of his sweatshirt to reveal that there was no gun tucked into his waist band and he wore no holster on either hip.

"Turn around. Let me see your back."

"I heard your demands the first time, Lessing," Flack said, as he turned a slow circle. "You said unarmed and I'm unarmed. So is my wife."

"How do I know that is your wife?" he asked. "How do I know you didn't fool me? That that's some cop waiting in there, ready to pounce on me at your given word?"

"Here," Flack placed the identification down on the cement. "You know what she looks like. I'm sure you saw her interview, right? There's her I.D. Have a look for yourself. We're not playing any games with you. We just want to see our son. We just want to know that he's okay and that you're going to take good care of him. That's it."

Lessing cautiously approached the detective. "Take ten steps back," he instructed.

Flack did as he was ordered.

The other man bent down over the I.D. and picked it up. He studied each piece carefully and silently, than gave a nod of approval and set the cards back down onto the ground. "Pick them up," he ordered, than made his way, backwards, towards the van.

"So what is it you want, Lessing?" Flack asked, as he scooped up his wife's identification and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans. "Why are we here?"

"You're here to say goodbye to your son," he answered simply.

"Tell me why you want him so badly," Flack tried his best to keep his composure. To keep his fury and rage in check. To befriend the sick, crazy bastard in front of him.

"'Cause if my wife and I are just going to let you keep him, we want to know why. We want to know why we can trust you that you won't do anything to hurt him. 'Cause you can't take him if all you're planning on doing is killing him."

"Kill him?" Lessing laughed, the sound echoing off the high ceiling and cement walls. "Why would I kill him? I need him."

"For what?" Flack asked. "What could you want with a thirteen month old? You need a better argument than that, Lessing."

"Dean," he said with a smile. "Friends call each other by their first names in my world. And that's what we are, isn't it? Friends? Are we not friends, Don?"

Flack swallowed noisily. His hands clenched into tight fists, than opened again. He gave a warm smile. "Of course we are, Dean," he said. "But as my friend, you owe me an explanation to as why you want my son so badly. What you need him for. You owe me that. Out of respect. Isn't that what friends do? In your world? Respect each other, Dean?"

"You're really growing on me, Don," Lessing told him. "You're proving to be even more loyal and worthy than I thought."

"I am loyal. I am worthy. I'm a damn good guy to have around. So why don't you be loyal and worthy to me and let me see my son. Let me see him and hold him and you tell me what you want with him."

"Hmm…" Lessing considered it. "I can give you two out of three," he said. "I can let you see him and I can tell you what my plan is. But I can't let you hold him. Because than the two of you will just get to attached and you won't give him back to me. And I can't have that. Because that would just ruin our friendship. And you don't want that, do you?"

"Of course not," Flack assured him. "But if I'm just letting you have my son, my first born, the least you could do is let me kiss him goodbye. It's the least you can do."

"I'll think about," Lessing said, than popped open the back doors of the van.

"Come here, Kieran," he spoke surprisingly gently and reassuringly to the toddler cowered in the back corner. "Come and see your Uncle Dean. There's someone here who wants to see you and say bye-bye."

What Flack wouldn't have give to have his gun on him at that moment to shoot the man the moment he turned his back. Instead he put on a fake, calm smile as Lessing slowly turned around with Kieran in his arms.

"There's someone very, very special here to see you," Lessing said, pressing a tender kiss to the toddler's temple before setting him on the ground and kneeling down in front of him, blocking Flack's view. "Will you  
be a good boy for your Uncle Dean?"

He nodded meekly.

"Look whose here to see you," Lessing said, and stood up and stepped to the side of the little boy.

Flack's eyes widened at the sight in front of him. Time seemed to stand still. He had heard from Mac what Dean Lessing had done in an attempt to disguise Kieran, but nothing could prepare him from seeing the results first hand. His son, with a filthy face and a heedful of shocking nearly white hair, dressed in a pair of pink jeans, purple rain boots, and a bubble gum pink winter coat with white furry trim around the hood. Tears of relief, at the sight of his son alive and seemingly healthy, welled in his eyes. But the rage grew to an almost unbearable peak.

A bright smile took over Kieran's face at the sight of the familiar face. "Daddeee!" he shrieked, and attempted to toddle towards his father, only to be stopped by one of Dean Lessing's strong hands.

"Just let him come over here," Flack said. "Let him come over here and see me. I want to check him over for myself. To make sure that he's okay. Just put him down and let him see me."

"I don't think that's a very wise thing to do, do you?"

"Dean, listen to me," Flack held his hands up in surrender, showing that  
he wasn't a threat as he slowly approached the man holding his son captive.

"This is my son. My first born. I can't just let you take him away from me  
without letting me see him one last time."

"You are seeing him," Lessing said. "And if you knew what was best for  
both of you, you'd stop right where you are. You're getting a little too  
close now, Don. I agreed that you could see him, but I said nothing about  
you touching him."

"Daddeee?" Kieran reached for his father, the tips of his tiny fingers  
brushing against Flack's sweatshirt.

"Let him see me," Flack begged. "Let me at least hold him one last  
time. I'm not asking a lot here."

"Wrong," Lessing snapped. "You're asking way too much! Now back off  
and stand down!"

Kieran jumped, startled by the sudden shouting of the man holding him, and  
immediately began to wail in terror. "Daddy!" he screamed, vainly reaching  
for his father who was so close yet so far. "Daddy!"

"Now do you see what you've done?" Lessing roared. "You've upset  
him!"

"He's just scared, Dean. He just got scared by the way you yelled. He has  
sensory processing issues. He just got tubes put in his ears a couple of  
weeks ago. He hears things more clearly and things scare him easily. That's all.  
If you just hand him to me, I'll calm him down and you can have him  
back."

"Do you think I'm crazy?" Lessing laughed. "Do you? Why would I give  
him to you! You of all people?!"

"Because I'm his father," Flack reasoned. "If anyone can calm him  
down, it's me. Please, just let me take him and I'll give him back to  
you."

"You can't have him!" the other man backed towards the van. "You  
can't take care of him the way I can! Train him the way I can!"

"Is that what you want with him? To train him? To be one of your soldiers?  
To help you protect the country? The entire world? Is that what you want?"

"Together the two of us can put an end to all that is wrong with society  
today. Terrorism, genocide, wars. The massacres of innocents going on  
globally. He's your offspring! Don't you understand? You survived!  
You're an exemplary soldier and he comes from you! I thought you would  
understand that! That you'd see what he's destined to become!"

"I do, Dean. Honestly, I do. But he's just a baby. He's just a year old  
last month. Do you realize how long it will take to train him to be the way  
you want him to be? By the time he's ready to help you this world will be  
even farther down the shitter than it is! Hell, there might not even be a  
world left! Man kind will probably destroy each other by than. Do you  
understand what I'm telling you? Do you hear what I'm saying? It will be a  
dozen or more years until Kieran can be what you want him to be."

"I don't have a dozen more years to wait," Lessing declared.

"Exactly," Flack said. "And that's why I want to make a deal with  
you. An exchange."

The other man's eyes narrowed. "What kind of an exchange?" he asked.

"You want a soldier, right? One to help you fight the good fight. Someone  
you won't have to spend so many years training. One that's pretty much  
ready for action. Couple little minor adjustments, some training sessions  
and  
they're good to go. Right?"

Lessing nodded.

"Take me, Dean. I'll be your soldier. I'll fight for you. I'd be  
honoured to fight for you. Let me take my son to his mother and than I'll go  
with you. Willingly. How does that sound?"

"Why can't both of you come with me?" he asked.

"Kieran is just a baby," Flack replied. "He's no good to you. It's  
me you need, Dean. You need me to help you. Imagine what we can do together.  
The messages that we can get across. What we can solve. Why wait years to do  
that when you can teach me everything you need to know in a matter of weeks.  
Maybe a couple of months. Imagine what a team we'd be. I'm a fast  
learner. And like you said, I'm loyal and worthy. Imagine how great I'd be  
with such an amazing teacher such as yourself."

"Me and you?" Lessing asked, warming to the idea.

"We're comrades, Dean. You planting that bomb that day? Me getting  
caught in that blast and surviving? That all happened for a reason. It  
brought us to this moment. It brought us together. Can't you see that?"

The other man nodded enthusiastically. "I can. I've seen that for so  
long. I just didn't think you realized it. And I wanted you to realize  
it."

"And I do, Dean. And that's why I'm here. I am offering myself to you.  
In exchange for my son. He's an innocent. He has his whole life ahead of  
him. And his mother. Don't take him from his mother. It would kill her.  
She's willing, to let me go, if you'll leave Kieran behind."

"So she understands?" Lessing asked excitedly. "She understands why I  
did this?"

Flack nodded. "She understands that this needs to be done. But she'd  
rather I do it than our son. She gets it, Dean. She gets guys like us and  
why we need to band together. But she doesn't get why she has to give her baby  
up. So please, I am begging you, as a friend. As a colleague. As a comrade  
and a pupil. Please let me have my son so I can take him back to his mother."

"If you take him, you say goodbye and you come with me?" he asked  
hopefully.

"I promise you," Flack vowed. "I just want to give him to his mother  
and say goodbye to her and than we can leave. Okay?"

Lessing nodded and passed the baby over.

"Daddy." Kieran wailed, curling his tiny arms around his father's  
neck and resting his head on his dad's shoulder. His crying immediately  
downplayed to a mild whimper.

"It's okay now, Kieran," Flack assured him, kissing the top of his  
son's head and holding on to him for dear life. Tears burned his eyes. But  
he wasn't about to show Dean Lessing any weakness. Because weakness to  
someone like that was completely unacceptable. "Daddy's got you, K," he  
whispered into his son's ear, as he carried him to the waiting SUV.  
"Daddy's got you and it's all going to be over soon. It's all going to  
be over soon. You'll get to see your mommy very soon."

"Mommy?" the toddler asked cheerfully, sniffling noisily.

"Soon, K.." Flack assured him. "You'll see her soon."

"Make it quick!" Lessing called impatiently. "We've got a lot of work  
to do!"

Flack popped open the back door of the SUV and loaded Kieran into his car  
seat and buckled him up tightly. Closing the door, he went to the open  
driver's door and leaned into the front seat.

"Jesus Christ, Flack," Lindsay trembled uncontrollable from fear.  
"He's crazy. He's goddamn crazy. What are you going to do? How.?"

"Kiss me," Flack said.

She blinked. "What?"

"When I kiss you, kiss me back. Because he's watching and trust me, he  
notices everything. And he's going to wonder why a husband and wife didn't  
kiss goodbye. Okay?"

She nodded.

He leaned further across the seat and kissed her. Long and soft and tender.

She touched his face gently, returning the kiss.

"I can see why Messer finds it so hard to give up," Flack joked in a  
whisper.

Lindsay gave a small laugh. "Please be careful, Don. Please be careful."

"The second I close this door, I want you to get back behind the wheel and  
get the hell out of here. Don't look back, okay? Just get yourself and  
Kieran the hell out of here. Alright?"

She nodded and found it unable to hold the tears back any longer.

"Whatever happens," Flack said and took a deep breath and let it out  
slowly. "Whatever happens from here on out. Thank you. For helping me get  
my son back."

"Good luck," Lindsay whispered, and reached out to squeeze his hand  
gently.

Flack gave a small wink and backed out of the SUV. His eyes widened at the  
feel of something hard and cold pressed up against the back of his head. He  
heard the dull clicking noise as Lessing cocked the hammer of the revolver  
held calmly and steadily against his skull.

* * *

"You lied to me, Don," the man said in a low voice. "You told me that  
this is your wife."

"It is. I don't know what you're talking about."

Lessing reached out and snatched the surveillance piece from Flack's ear  
and tossed it aside. "That's so the cops can listen to us! So you can tell  
them when to come for me! And that!" Lessing gestured wildly into the  
vehicle. "Is not the woman that was in the pictures you showed me! That is  
not the woman that was on the paper! You lied to me!"

"Okay, listen to me, Dean. My wife. My wife is in the hospital. Kieran  
being missing drove her nearly insane and I had to have her committed. So  
she couldn't come tonight. It's why I brought a friend to take her place.  
There's nothing really scandalous about it, okay? I just brought her here so  
we could get Kieran back."

"It's not nice to lie to your friends. To trick them."

"I know. I know. But this doesn't change anything, Dean. I'm still  
going to come with you, okay? I'm not changing my mind about that. So just  
let my friend take Kieran and."

"I can't trust you now, Don. At all. And I can't have a soldier serving  
under me that I can't trust. So this is what you're going to do. You're  
going to pay the price for insubordination. You're going to pay the ultimate  
price. Understand me?"

Lindsay and Flack locked eyes. Without breaking the gaze, she calmly and  
quietly reached for the gun resting beside her.

Flack shook his head.

"Did you hear me, soldier?!" Lessing bellowed, and pressed the gun into  
Flack's skull. "You have to pay the price! The ultimate sacrifice for your  
betrayal! For being a traitor! Back up! Slowly! Back up and than drop to  
your knees and put your hands behind your head!"

"Dean, listen to me."

"On your knees! Now!" he yelled.

Flack sighed heavily and sunk down onto his knees of the cold concrete.

"Hands behind your head! Do it!"

"What is this going to solve, Dean? What is killing a cop going to  
solve?"

"It will show the world that traitors and liars will not be tolerated! Now  
get your goddamn hands behind your head!"

Flack brought one hand behind him, resting just above the back of his neck,  
followed by the other, than linked his fingers together.

"What's your name?" Lessing asked the terrified woman crying silently  
in the front passenger seat, the gun once against pressed to the back of  
Flack's head.

"Wh…what?" she asked.

"You heard me! Your name! What's your name?!"

"Lindsay." she stammered. "Lindsay Monroe."

"Is Don just a friend of yours, Miss Monroe?" Lessing asked. "Or is  
there more to it than that? Are you the other woman?"

"No," she shook her head. "No. We're friends. Just  
friends."

"Well than if you're not in love with him, it won't be as traumatic to  
you when you watch me kill him, will it?"

"Please." Lindsay begged. Don't do this. He has a little boy. A wife whose having another baby. Don't take him away from them!"

Lessing grabbed Flack by the hair and yanked his head back. "Is that true, Don? Your wife is with child?"

"What does it matter to you?" Flack asked. "If you're going to kill me, just kill me!"

"I asked you a goddamn question!" Lessing raged, and pointed the gun into the backseat at Kieran wailing in his car seat.

"Okay! Okay!" Flack exclaimed. "She's pregnant! Three months. We're having triplets. But what…"

"Now let me suggest an exchange," Lessing said. "Your wife and your unborn babies for you life and that of Miss Monroe and your precious, first born son."

Flack shook his head. "Never going to happen. Never. Not in a million years. My wife and my children are innocent, Lessing!"

"So we're back to last names now, Detective Flack? Well that's fine than. It won't pain me as much to kill you. So say goodbye. Say goodbye to Miss Monroe and your son. Say bye-bye to your daddy Kieran…"

Lindsay made a reach for the gun in the side panel next to her.

"What the hell are you doing?" Lessing roared.

Flack seized the opportunity as Lessing released the grip on his hair to concentrate on Lindsay. The detective dropped his left elbow from the back of his neck and drove his elbow into the stomach of the man holding them captive.

Lessing howled in a mixture of surprise, rage and pain, and as his knees buckled, Flack brought the same elbow up into the man's chin, sending Lessing toppling backwards and the gun skidding several feet away.

"You sick, twisted motherfucker!" Flack yelled, grabbing the other man by  
the back of his sweater and tossing him over onto his back.

He knelt over Dean Lessing and went completely ballistic. Yanking the man's head up by the hair  
before smashing the back of his skull off of the cement before unleashing powerful blows to his face. "You thought you'd get away with it!" he shouted. "With taking my son from me! With nearly destroying me! For nearly taking away everything that matters in my life?!"

"Flack!" Lindsay screamed from inside the SUV, as she frantically dialled  
911 on her cell phone. "Stop! Just stop! Let's just get the hell out of  
here and let the others handle this!"

He ignored her. So blinded by fury that all he could think of was punishing  
the injured, bleeding, battered man before him.

Lessing fought back. Slamming his forehead into Flack's before jabbing his  
fingers into the stronger man's throat. Sending the big detective rolling  
off of him and onto his side. His forehead split open, his hands grabbing at  
his own throat as he gasped for air.

Lessing struggled to get to his feet, wiping blood off his face and out of  
his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt before advancing on Flack. Landing  
several swift, damaging kicks to his ribs. Stomping hard on the kidneys when  
the man rolled over onto his stomach in an effort to protect himself.

Lessing took the time to catch his breath. Watching in supreme adulation and  
pride as the man that he failed to kill four years before, now lay gasping  
for breath and bleeding profusely.

"How does it feel, Detective Flack?" he asked. "Do know your life is  
going to end at the hands of the man who nearly took it away four years ago?  
How does that feel? To know that this is how your life is going to end?"

"Fuck you," Flack managed through gritted teeth, attempting to  
drag himself to the gun that lay several feet away. Wanting Lessing to think  
he was more injured than he was. Wanting the other man to underestimate him. "Just fuck you."

"Not so big and bad now, are you? Look at you. Weak and pathetic. I'm  
disappointed in you, Detective. You would have been a terrible disciple."

Flack's fingers brushed against the grip of the gun. Than bit back a roar  
of pain as Lessing once again brought his foot down on the small of his  
back.

"I don't think so," Lessing said, a smirk on his face as he flipped the  
detective over onto his back and scooped up the gun. "I'll tell you how  
this is going to end," he said, kneeling on Flack's forearms to pin him  
to the cement, than pressing the barrel of the gun to the detective's  
forehead. "Is it true?" he asked.

"Is what true?" Flack gasped. "That you're a sick fucking  
asshole?"

Lessing smirked. "That your life flashes before your eyes, is it true? What  
are you thinking about as you're lying there waiting to die?"

"I don't know. I guess that I haven't seen the Rangers when the Cup in  
a while. That I'm not going to see my wife again. That I won't get to hold  
our triplets. That I won't see Kieran's first day of school. Or help him  
over his first break up. Or see him off to college. See him get married and  
have kids of his own. Lots of things, I guess. I'm thinking that of all  
people I see before I die, it would be the sonofabitch that blew me up in  
fucking building."

"Such is life," Lessing said with a shrug. He placed a finger on the  
trigger. "And such is death as well."

"You won't get out of this alive," Flack told him.

"That makes two of us," Lessing said.

And a shot rang out.

* * *

Lessing's lifeless body tumbled over. Instantly dead from a single gun shot  
wound to the back of the head that exited through his forehead. The bullet  
catching Flack in the top of his left arm. He roared in pain and quickly  
brought his good arm up and both of his knees and pushed the dead man off of  
him. He gasped for air as he used his feet to push himself backwards.  
Sliding on his ass until his back came in contact with the side of his SUV. The pain  
was intense. From the large gash on his forehead and the wound to his  
temple. From his obviously busted ribs and bruised kidneys. And from the fresh  
bullet wound in his left arm.

The gunshot still echoed through the parking garage and through Flack's  
ears. In the distance he could sirens and people yelling and heavy footsteps  
as they rushed down into the garage. Behind him Kieran was screaming from  
terror in his car seat and begging for his mommy and daddy.

Above Lessing's body stood Lindsay Monroe. Tears streaming down her face  
and a small, satisfied smile on her lips. The gun -Flack's gun-still in her  
hand.

"Monroe," Flack managed. "You fucking shot me. With my own gun."

"Well I most certainly didn't mean to," she said. Bending down, she sat  
the gun down alongside of Lessing's body and than hurried over to her  
friend. "Jesus, Flack," she breathed, dropping to her knees beside him and  
investigating the wounds on his face with gentle finger tips. "Are you  
okay?"

"No," he responded, and gave a small laugh. "I feel like shit if you  
really must know."

"Do you really need to be a smart ass at this point in time?" she asked.  
She gingerly touched the wound on his arm.

He winced. "Gotta have a sense of humour, Monroe. After everything I've  
gone through in the past thirty some hours? If I can't laugh about? Is he okay?"

"Scared," Lindsay said. "Scared but just fine."

"I need to…unbuckle him would you? Bring him here? I need to see him. I  
have to see him."

"Flack I don't.."

"Please," he said. "I have to see my son. I need to see my son."

Lindsay nodded and got to her feet and opened the back door of the SUV. She spoke to the terrified, distraught baby as she undid the buckles on his car seat straps.

Flack winced as he used the hand on his good arm to bring the front of his sweatshirt up to his face to clear away some of the blood he was losing from his injuries. He stretched out his legs and gasped as pain shot through him. He gingerly touched his aching ribs and nodded down at his lap.

"Put him on my right leg," he instructed Lindsay. "I just need to hold him."

Lindsay gently settled the little boy on his father's lap.

Kieran circled Flack's neck with his tiny arms and rested his head on his dad's shouder. His sobs rapidly calming into whimpers.

"Daddy's here, K," Flack wrapped his good arm around his son's tiny, trembling body. His lips pressed to the baby's ear as he whispered soothingly to him. "Daddy's here. It's all over now. The bad man can't hurt you anymore. It's all over."

* * *

"Lindsay!" Danny's voice echoed through the underground lot.

She glanced over as her ex-boyfriend, accompanied by Mac, Speed, Scagnetti and Angell, hurried through the barren lot. Followed closely behind by heavily armed ESU officers and two paramedics loaded down with medical bags.

Danny's eyes widened as he and the others came upon Dean Lessing's body.

"I had to," Lindsay said, as all eyes focused on her. "He would have killed Flack. I had to stop him. Flack…he's pretty bad off…Lessing beat him pretty bad."

Mac simply nodded and stepped over the body as he and Speed and the two homicide detectives hurried over to check on Flack and Kieran.

Danny and Lindsay stood watching and listening as Mac asked Flack his version of events. The other man finding it difficult to talk in the state of agony he was in. After prodding and reassurances from Speed, the detective finally, albeit reluctantly, handed his son over to Angel so the paramedics could attend to him.

"Let's get the ambulance down here, ASAP," Scagnetti barked into his radio.

"Linds? You okay?" Danny asked, as he laid his arm across her shoulders and led her away from the scene.

She nodded and rubbed her arms as tears spilled down her cheeks. "He was going to kill him, Danny. Lessing was going to kill him. Execute him right in front of me. I had to do it. I had to shoot him."

"It's okay," Danny said, and removing his blue nylon CSI jacket and draping it over her shoulders. "Do you need EMS?" he asked.

"I'm okay," Lindsay replied. "I'm just a little shaken up. Someone should call the hospital. Flack's mom and Gus are with Sam. Someone needs to tell them Kieran's alive. That…"

She stopped mid sentence as an ambulance came speeding down the ramp and into the underground lot. It came to a shrieking halt mere feet from them and the driver jumped up out and raced around to the back to toss the rear doors open.

Angell passed them on her way to the ambulance, Kieran clinging tightly to her. Flack followed slowly behind, supported by Speed and Scagnetti, his arms around their shoulders.

"You stubborn bastard," Danny shook his head. "Couldn't swallow your damn pride just once and let them put you on a stretcher?"

"Never," Flack managed through gritted teeth. "Your girlfriend tell you she shot me? With my own gun at that?"

"It was an accident," Lindsay insisted.

"Sure it was," Flack said, and gave her a playful wink.

Mac joined Danny and Lindsay, watching as Speed and Scagnetti helped Flack into the ambulance. Scagnetti stayed inside as Speed and Angell jumped out. The former banging his palm on the rear door, signaling the ambulance to leave.

Mac sighed heavily and laid a comforting hand on Lindsay's shoulder. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "He was going to kill Flack. He was going to execute him and I couldn't sit there and let that happen. Is Flack going to be okay?"

"He needs some stitches and some x-rays," Mac replied. "Not to mention that bullet taken out of his arm. You saved his life, Lindsay. And most likely your own, and Kieran's. Angell will take your statement once you get to the hospital."

"I don't need to go to the hospital, Mac," Lindsay argued. "None of this blood is mine. I'm just really, really shaky."

"We'll take you and get you checked over and cleaned up," Mac insisted. "Flack and Kieran are on their way to Trinity. You might as well follow behind."

Danny rubbed her shoulder softly. "Listen to him, Linds. Let them check you out. Someone can get you a change of clothes. Carmen's got a key to Flack's place and she can grab some stuff for you and run it over."

Mac nodded. "It can be arranged," he said. "You'll be in and out," he promised. "Than you can go and check on Sam and Flack and Kieran. Danny will take yolu."

"Won't leave you side, Montana," he vowed. "I promise."

"Now how can you resist that offer?" Mac asked.

Lindsay smiled. "I can't," she replied.

"You did the right thing," Mac told her. "Don't doubt that. You won't face any heat over this."

"Deserves a reward if you ask me," Danny said. "Ridding the world of that scumbag."

She laughed. "Well I won't hold my breath expecting the key to the city. The satisfaction of saving Kieran and Flack…that's worth more than any reward."

Mac sighed heavily. "I'm just glad it's over. That everyone is okay. That Kieran…" his voice trailed off as he fought back emotion.

Danny reached out and clapped a hand on his boss' shoulder. "Your little boy is safe, Papa Mac. By the grace of God."

Lindsay smiled at the older man. "Papa Mac?" she asked.

Mac nodded.

"Looks pretty good for a grandpa, doesn't he?" Danny teased.

The older man chuckled. "Get out of here, you two."

"What do you say?" Danny smiled tenderly at his ex. "Me and you, Montana?"

"Sounds good, cowboy," she said, and curled her arm around his waist.

Mac stood, at the side of the SUV and watched the young couple go. As if he was in a time warp or history was repeating itself.

Lindsay Monroe had come back into their lives with a bang.

The questions now were would she stay? Or would she go?

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing and for supporting me at this screwed up time. Please stick with me guys!!!???**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**brrtmclv**

**laurzz**

**muchmadness**

**ImaSupernaturalCSI**

**Laplandgurl**

**Wolfeylady**

**Shopaholic20**

**Bluehaven4220**

**Forest Angel**

**Soccer-Bitch**


	50. Saving the Worst for Last

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN...YOU KNOW THE REST**

**A/N: I AM STAYING AT MY SIS' FOR A BIT AND WHILE HER COMP IN THE SPARE ROOM ISN'T THE BEST, IT DOES THE TRICK! AND GUESS WHAT? SHE ACTUALLY SUPPORTS MY WRITING! SO THIS CHAP GOES OUT TO MY SIS, JENNIFER**

**GREAT BIG THANKS TO ALL THE MESSAGES OF SUPPORT REGARDING ISSUES WITH MY COMP AND MY FEARS OF NOT BEING ABLE TO POST. THANKS GUYS! MUCH LOVE, BEG 75**

**THANKS TO LAURZZ FOR HER INSIGHT AND ASSISTANCE WITH SOME PARTS OF THIS CHAPTER, AND APHINA FOR GIVING ME THE COURAGE TO GO AHEAD WITH TWO SUB-PLOTS IN THIS CHAPTER. AND FOR POINTING ME TO THE AWESOME SONG AT THE BEGINNING OF THIS CHAP!**

**WARNING: MENTIONS OF CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE**

* * *

**SAVING THE WORST FOR LAST**

"Please come now I think I'm falling  
I'm holding to all I think is safe  
It seems I found the road to nowhere  
And I'm trying to escape  
I yelled back when I heard thunder  
But I'm down to one last breath  
And with it let me say  
Let me say

Hold me now  
I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking  
That maybe six feet  
Ain't so far down

I'm looking down now that it's over  
Reflecting on all of my mistakes  
I thought I found the road to somewhere  
Somewhere in His grace  
I cried out heaven save me  
But I'm down to one last breath  
And with it let me say  
Let me say

Sad eyes follow me  
But I still believe there's something left for me  
So please come stay with me  
'Cause I still believe there's something left for you and me  
For you and me  
For you and me."  
-One Last Breath, Creed

* * *

"If I've said it once, I'll say it again. You're a stubborn bastard."

Flack let out a pain groan as he used the side railing of his hospital bed to pull his battered, aching body up into a sitting position. Clad in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt his father had brought from home earlier, he slowly and carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed. His ribs had been securely tapped -four busted ones in all, the rest severely bruised- over a dozen stitches had been needed to close the gash that led from the top of his right eyebrow into his hair line and several more held together a cut near the left temple and a bandage covered the wound that had been left behind after the bullet had been removed from his upper left arm.

"If you think I'm going to just lie here feeling sorry for myself when my wife and kid are upstairs, you've got another thing coming," he said to his best friend, as Danny Messer, a frown on his face and shaking his head in disapproval, waited at the side of the bed with a wheelchair.

"Sam's still out like a light from all the drugs they've been pumping into her," Danny told him. "And I'm sure, after his ordeal, Kieran is fast asleep too. Carmen's spending the night in his room and has no plans on leaving until his parents are well enough to take him home."

"I want to talk to the pediatrician on call," Flack closed his eyes briefly as his head swam and he saw double. "I want to find out if my boy's okay," he said, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly as he opened his eyes.

"Flack, it's four in the morning," Danny argued. "Give it a few hours. Get some rest. You heard what the doc looking after you said. You're in here for a couple of days with your concussion and your busted up ribs and all your other odds and ends. Not to mention you just had a bullet pulled out of your arm a couple of hours ago."

Despite his protests, the CSI still found himself firmly grabbing a hold of his best friend's good arm and assisting him to his feet before helping him into the wheelchair.

"It was a flesh wound, Dan-o. I didn't even need to be taken to the OR and knocked out to get it removed. They just stuck a needle in there and froze it all up and that was that."

"Don't try and convince me that this is a good idea," Danny said. "You need to be taking it easy."

"And I am. That's why you're pushing me wherever I want to go," Flack told him.

"I'll be pushing you out a damn window or down a flight of stairs if you don't stop being...I don't know...you. I thought a beating like that would knock some sense into you. Where to first?"

"I wanna stop by and see Kieran. Just make sure he's okay."

"He's fine," Danny said. "Carmen is with him and..."

"Are you not the chauffeur?" Flack asked. "We'll go and see Kieran first and than I want to go and see my wife. I'll stay in her room until she wakes up and than we can go together to see our son and talk to his doctor. I'll even make her take care of me and push me around."

"Doesn't she already do that? Push you around? I mean, we all know she wears the pants in the family."

Flack snorted.

"And why you feel the need to go and harass her anyway? Let the poor thing sleep off all those damn meds. Linds and your mom are with her and..."

"Don't make me get out of this chair and beat the shit out of you, Messer," Flack warned. "'Cause even in my weakened state I could still take you."

"In your dreams," Danny said as he steered the wheelchair out of the room and down the quiet, barren hallway. "So tell me, Crimestopper. You feel some sort of closure knowing that Lessing is dead? After him blowing you up and all of that. Does it make it easier to accept and deal with things knowing he's no longer breathing the same air as you?"

"The bombing was never really on my mind," Flack responded. "I was more pissed off that the bastard took my kid and drove my wife mental than anything else. But yeah, I guess there's some sort of closure. He's permanently off the face of the earth and he can't cause me or my family any more grief. He caused enough hell, don't you think?"

"Absolutely," Danny said. "Personally, guy got his just desserts if you ask me. Bet you'll be glad, huh? To get the hell out of here and get that little guy home?"

"Few days in here and the doctor says I should be well enough to go home. Can't happen soon enough. I'm going to take some sick leave to coincide with Sam's. Few weeks off will do us good. Spend some time together as a family. Heal as a family. Emotionally more than anything. Mind you, I think it's going to take a lot longer than that to heal from this. We may never be fully healed or the same again."

"Good thing baby K is so young," Danny said. "I mean, he probably won't have any long term mental affects. I doubt he'll remember anything that happened to him."

"Sam and I will," Flack said with a heavy sigh. "We won't just remember what happened to him, but we'll remember what happened to us. Is our marriage ever going to be the same again?"

"Things like this only make a strong marriage even stronger," Danny reasoned. "And you guys have a strong marriage, so there's no way there'll be any damage done to it."

"I had to forcibly sedate my own wife, Messer. And as if that wasn't enough, I had to bring her here and have her locked up in the psych ward. They restrained her and fed her sedatives through an IV. Do you know what that felt like? Having to just hand her over and walk away? No husband should have to do that. I mean, she might never forgive me for doing that?"

"First off, you didn't just hand her over," his best friend argued. "You brought her here to get the help she needed. It wasn't your fault that they felt the need to restrain her and knock her out and not let you even sit at her bedside while waiting word on your abducted son. If I was in your shoes and my wife was as hysterical and uncontrollable as Sam was, I would have brought her here for some help too. Don't ever doubt that you did the right thing. 'Cause what you did was out of love and concern for her."

"That's not the point," Flack said.

"So what is the point? You think she's going to hate you because you made the decision that was best for her. Plain and simple. Think about it Flack. How would it have felt if she had have done something to hurt herself. In the state that she was in? What if she had have killed her self? She would have been gone from your life permanently. And how would you have felt than? Isn't it better to have done what you did and have her here, than not have her at all?"

Flack nodded.

"When she knows that K is alive and is coming back home with you guys, when she sees that you're alive despite looking like death, none of that shit is going to be on her mind. And you know why? Because she loves you and her son and you two are the only things that matter to her. She's not going to hate you or hold shit against you. She only blamed you for what happened because she was in hysterics. You can't tell me you honestly think she holds you responsible for K going missing."

"I know she didn't mean anything she said," the detective sighed. "But she still said it. Just like I threatened her after that article came out that I'd take Kieran away from her if anything happened to him."

"And did you mean it?" Danny asked. "Is that what you're planning on doing once she's emotionally strong enough to handle something like that? You're going to take Kieran away from her?"

"I'd never do that to her. I love my wife. I'd never bust up my family."

"Exactly. People say shit when they're upset. And you guys had a lot to be upset about. What's important is that K is home safe and sound. The three of you, and those babies that Sam's carrying, can go back to being a normal family. You got a month off, put it to good use, Flack. Spend time with your wife, with your son. Do shit as a family. Even if it's just parking your ass on the couch and putting your arm around her and telling her you love her."

"Since when did you become such an expert on affairs of the heart?" Flack asked with a small chuckle.

"Guess I've had a good teacher," Danny replied, as they halted at the elevators and he reached out to press the up button. "Watching the way you are with Sam and Kieran has taught me a lot."

"What's that? How not to fuck things up and be the worst husband and father in the world?" Flack snorted.

"You went to Lessing tonight to offer yourself up for the safe return of your son. Lindsay told me what happened when things went south. She told me that you had the choice to save yourself by letting him take Sam and the babies. That you were willing to die instead."

"I wasn't using her or my unborn children as bargaining chips. I'd lay down and die for her and Kieran and those babies in a heartbeat. And you can't tell me that other men wouldn't do the same thing for their wives and kids."

"Unfortunately, Flack, there are men who'd save themselves first."

"Yeah? Well I'm not one of those men. And neither are you. You'd do the same damn thing."

"I would. I would gladly lay my life down for Montana."

"I know that. I was actually talking about Erica. And the baby she's pregnant with. Your baby."

Danny sighed. "My kid? Yeah. Her...I think it's best I don't say anything more. And what I was trying to say earlier is that watching you, as a husband and a father, it's shown me that there's hope for us all. You were the last person I ever expected to get married and have a family. In fact, I would have bet my life that you never would. But you proved me wrong. And seeing you, mature like you have and seeing the way you love your wife and your son? Makes me realize I can be a better man too."

"With Lindsay or Erica?" Flack asked curiously.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," Danny said in way of response, pushing the wheelchair onto the empty elevator after the doors opened up.

"About which woman?" Flack asked, leaning forward to press the button for the fifth floor.

"Both," Danny replied.

"And what's this think been about?"

"It's been about how the only good thing that ever came out of me and Erica was my unborn baby. That the relationship was a joke from the start. I was lonely and wanted to be with someone so badly that I convinced myself I loved her more than life. When in reality, there was only one person I wanted to be with but I was too damn scared to swallow my pride and make things right with her. Erica and I...we've been wrong right from the start and things are only getting worse. She's just using the baby to keep me there."

"Boy, I hate to say I told you so..."

"So don't. Just know that you were right and I should have listened to you."

"I wasn't saying all of that to be right, Danny. I was saying all of that because I was worried about you. You're not happy with the way things are? Do something about it. That's all I was saying."

"And I am going to do something about it. I'm going to need a number for a damn good lawyer. You said you know some ruthless ones and that's the kind I'm going to need to fight her for the baby. Think you can hook me up?"

Flack nodded. "I'll make some calls in the afternoon and get your number out there."

"No major rush for the lawyer. Whenever you can get to it. You got a lot on your plate right now and..."

"I will make some calls this afternoon," Flack insisted. "It'll only take a few minutes."

"I appreciate it," Danny said.

Flack waved it off.

"I'm going to need a bigger favor though," Danny told him.

"Uh-oh..."

"Lindsay's staying at your place, right? Until she's ready to go back to Montana?"

Flack nodded. "She's planning on taking the pull out. She hasn't said when she's going back. Just that she's in no rush."

"Well I'm planning on heading over to my place as soon as I can and getting my shit together and telling Erica it's done. And I can't stand the thought of going and staying with my folks until I find my own place..."

"It's a standard pullout, Mess. It can sleep two people. Sam and I have done it tons of times."

"I just hate the thought of imposing on you guys while you're just getting over all of this stuff," Danny said.

"You won't be. Sam and I are going to Arizona."

"Get outta here. When?"

"As soon as the doctor says I'm okay to fly. Probably in a few days, week at the most. As long as her OB says it's okay for her to go."

"I don't know which torture is worse," Danny laughed, as the elevator reached the fifth floor and the doors slid open. "What Lessing did or the agony of spending that long with Sam's mother."

Flack laughed. "Hopefully the monster in law will behave. They wanted to come down here, but I said it was too insane and what we really needed, and wanted, was to go away. Sam and I talked about it, before I put her in here, that when K was found, we were going to take off for a bit. Her dad offered up the spare room and we agreed to go."

"You're a brave man, Don Flack. So what you're saying is..."

"What I'm saying is that if you manage to convince Lindsay to stick around, you only have a few days to put up with me and Sam hanging around and than you have the whole apartment to yourself. Three weeks to find yourselves a place. There's only two things I ask. Three, actually."

"Alright..."

"You stick to the pull out. No messing around in my bed. I expect you guys to keep the place clean and take care of the cat. I don't want to be coming home to an apartment that looks like a bomb went off in it. And groceries. Whatever you do, do not leave the cupboards and the fridge empty for us. Kapish?"

"Kapish," Danny responded.

"And one more thing..."

The CSI groaned. "You got a lot of bloody demands, Flack."

"Don't fuck things up a second time with Monroe. I come back and she's not in New York and has gone back to Montana, I am going to kick your ass all over God's creation. You've got a second chance, Danny. Don't blow it."

"I ain't planning on it," Danny assured him. "But what if she doesn't want to stay? What if she doesn't want to stay with me?"

"Trust me," Flack said. "That isn't something you need to worry about."

* * *

Carmen was fast asleep in the roll out cot alongside of the hospital grade crib. The crib itself was ancient. Heavy steel, the navy blue paint chipped or faded in numerous places, and had high railings that could be pulled down to the level of the mattress. It had obviously seen better days and had served a lot of babies in its time.

But the only baby that mattered was the one that now took up residence in it. The sides drawn up completely to prevent accidents of an escape attempt. He was in a deep and peaceful slumber in the moonlit room. Lying on his side in a pair of his own pyjamas and covered by his favorite Cars blanket.

Carmen had run back to the apartment and grabbed a huge duffel bag of clothing for Lindsay, Flack and the baby. Kieran sucked aggressively on the right thumb shoved securely in his mouth. He hadn't sucked his thumb since he was eight months old and had discovered that biting down on said thumb with your new front teeth was not the most pleasant thing in the world. Flack wondered, as he sat by the side of his son's bed, his hand stuck through the crib bars and his fingers gently stroking Kieran's hideous blond hair, if the newly re-discovered thumb sucking was a soothing technique or something the kid was doing because he was traumatized by his ordeal, or maybe even a bit of both.

An IV had been inserted into the toddler's left forearm and was secured in place with layers of gauze and tape to prevent Kieran from yanking it out. A quick peek of the hospital chart resting on the bedside table told Flack that his son was being treated for slight hypothermia and dehydration. That both cases were not life threatening and correctly treated, would clear up in a matter of days and pave the way for the toddler going home in less than a week. There was more on the chart. Even as he sat reading by the moonlight to spare waking Carmen or Kieran up by flicking on the lights, Flack could see that there was more wrong with his son than just not being kept warm or being fed properly. But four in the morning was not the time to be delving deeper into things or calling the doctor on call for a chat. Everyone involved needed to rest. Any medical problems or conditions would still be there in the daylight.

And so would Kieran.

Satisfied that his son was in good hands and safe and warm and comfortable, Flack decided that his next stop would also be his last. He had no plans on going back to that lonely hospital room he'd been assigned to. His family was back together and he wasn't wasting any time being separated from them. The first thing that he was going to do when he reached Sam's room, was kiss her and tell her he loved her, that their son was safe, whether she was awake or not. And than he was going to climb into the bed right beside her, sore ribs and aching back and all, and wrap his arms around her and have the best sleep he'd had since the whole damn ordeal began.

"You must be Kieran's daddy," a nurse greeted in a gentle voice as Flack and Danny quietly left Kieran's room. She was young. She looked barely old enough to have graduated nursing school and was tall and willowy and clad in a pastel yellow scrub set with pictures of Care Bears on it. Her long strawberry blond hair was pulled into a tight bun and her green eyes sparkled as she smiled.

Danny pointed down at his best friend. "He's guilty as charged," he joked.

"I'm Zoe," she said and offered her hand to Flack. "I'm your son's nurse. I've been taking care of him since he was admitted."

"I'm Don Flack, this is Danny Messer," Flack said, shaking her hand.

"Pleasure," Danny said, shaking her hand as well. "So what can you tell his about baby K?"

"I can tell you that he's doing very well," she said. "He has a slight case of hypothermia that we're treating with a heated mattress padding and he was a little dehydrated. The IV and the three bottles of soya formula he swallowed down when he first got here will help him on his way to a full recovery. He's got a healthy appetite, so that's a good sign."

"Nice to see he's still got his father in him," Danny laughed.

"What about any other problems?" Flack asked. "Any injuries or anything like that?"

"Those are things you can discuss later with the pediatrician," Zoe told him.

Flack frowned. "In my line of work, saying something like that only means there's something terribly wrong you don't want to talk about yourself."

"I can assure you that Kieran was not physically abused," she said. "He wasn't beaten. But there are a couple of smaller issues the doctor will be able to discuss fully with you."

"What smaller issues?" Flack asked. "What's wrong with my son?"

"Like I said, the doctor..."

"Will discuss it fully with him," Danny finished. "We got it. Thank you. Just make sure my godson gets all the food his little heart desires. Alright?"

"Alright," Zoe agreed with a small laugh. "He's been an excellent patient. He's just an adorable little thing. Especially with those big blue eyes."

"Well he's even cuter when he's got his black hair and those blue eyes," Danny told her. "We're going to hit the road. I'm going to take gimpy here to see his wife."

"There's one more thing," the nurse flipped open the chart in her hands. "I am so glad I ran into the two of you before all of this happened. There's going to be a slight change. In hospital lodgings for you and your family, Mr Flack..."

"And what are those?" Flack asked.

"A call was put into our hospital CEO, requesting that you and your wife and your son be placed in a private room that is used as a care by parent room. Do you know what that is?"

Flack nodded. "We were in one for two days when K was ready to be released from the NICU. It's so we test our skills as first time parents so to speak before going home."

"We're going to be setting the three off you up in one early this afternoon," Zoe told him. "Nurses will come to check on your son and yourself and to keep an eye on your wife's moods. You'll get hospital meals delivered and access to the parents' lounge and kitchen if you want to make your own meals. The three of you will stay there until you're all released, together."

"That seems a little generous," Danny commented.

"It's unorthodox," Zoe told him. "But not completely unheard of. The hospital allows it when certain favors are called in."

"And who called this favor in?" Flack asked.

The young nurse referred to the chart. "An Inspector Stanton Gerrard," she said.

Both Flack's and Danny's eyes widened.

"Get outta here," Danny laughed.

"That's what it says," Zoe said. "He called a few hours ago when Mr Flack was first brought in."

"Wonders never cease to exist," Flack chuckled, the slight vibration of his chest making pain shoot through his entire body. He winced and laid a hand on his heavily taped ribs.

"You need some pain meds," Danny declared. "Let's get you to your wife and see if her nurse can hook you up with some drugs. Thanks, Zoe. For letting us know about baby K and giving us the heads up with the change in the rooms and what not."

"It was no problem," she smiled. "And I'll let the doctor know you'd like to talk to him, Mr Flack. He'll get in touch with you."

"Sooner than later would be nice," Flack said. "Like as soon as the sun comes up would be good."

"I'll let him know that you want to speak to him," the nurse assured him. "For now, try and get some pain relief, and some rest. I'm sure you and your wife have a lot to discuss and be thankful for."

The detective nodded. "Just take care of my boy, okay? He's my....he's my everything."

"He's in good hands," Zoe promised. "Try and get some rest."

"That's where he's off to," Danny vowed and once again, took the helm of the wheelchair. "I'll get him doped up, tuck him into bed, read him a story, kiss him goodnight..."

"I'd either laugh or smack the shit out of you if my ribs didn't feel like they were about to rip open my chest," Flack said through gritted, trying his best to breathe through the pain.

"You're such a sweet talker, Flack," Danny teased him. "I still love you, though. No matter how mean and abusive you are to me."

"Spare me your pillow talk, Mess. I am not in the mood."

"Not much for foreplay tonight, huh? You just want to skip to the main course?"

Flack snorted. "If I wasn't so messed up..."

"You'd beat the shit out of me. I know, I know," Danny concluded. "You know, you're awful sexy when you've had the stuffing knocked out of you. All those stitches and black eye and split lip. And that bullet wound in your arm. You've got his Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome vibe about you. Mel Gibson is just way better looking."

"Just shut up and push the fucking chair," Flack grumbled.

* * *

They rode in the elevator to the second floor in silence. The only sound was Flack's harsh breathing as he fought to ride out the wave of nausea and pain that had taken over his entire body. His days of 'sucking it up and being a man' were far behind him. The agony that he was experiencing was far more intense that anything he had ever experienced before. With the bombing, he had spend the majority of his time afterwards in a medically induced coma. And on heavy doses of meds when he was brought out of it. But the beating that Lessing had laid on him had not only caused new injuries, but aggravated old ones as well. And the man who once fought off urges for pain killers, was now so desperately craving some form of relief.

"You okay, Flack?" Danny asked, concern evident in his voice.

"Feels like my ribs are going to come right out of skin," he replied honestly. "And that my brain is going to explode. The pain in my head..."

"You've got a nasty concussion," Danny reminded him, as they stepped off the elevator and onto the second floor. "You should be in bed. Not taking trips around the hospital."

"Just get me to my wife, okay Messer? Get me to my wife and I'll lie down right beside her and everything will be okay. I just need to see her. I need to feel her against me and bury my face in her hair and breathe in her scent. I just need her. Alright?"

Danny simply nodded. "You feel better now? At least a bit?" he asked. "Seeing your boy fast asleep and doing well?"

"I guess," Flack sighed.

"You guess?" the CSI frowned.

"I know you know, Danny," he said.

"You know I know what?"

"What's wrong with Kieran. You didn't seem to surprised when the nurse said there was a couple of issues. You didn't even press her for answers. And that's not like you, Messer."

"I didn't press because it's late, Flack. It's late or early or whatever you want to call it and it wasn't the time to be getting into it. The nurse said the doctor..."

"Don't..." Flack snapped, than quickly lowered his voice. "Don't fuck me around, Danny. Don't treat me like little kid or an invalid, okay? I know that you know what happened to my son. Kieran is your godson and you owe it to him and me to tell me."

"Flack, I can't discuss any parts of the case with you..."

"What case? Lessing is dead. Plain and simple. And I am not asking you to discuss things with me as a cop. Okay? I am asking you what happened to my son. To talk to me about it like best friends would talk about it."

"Flack, I don't..."

Despite the pain shooting through him with each move, Flack twisted sideways in the wheelchair and grabbed Danny tightly by the forearm.

"Tell me what happened to my son," he demanded, his voice low and serious.

Danny sighed heavily and reluctantly. And instead of heading straight for Sam's room, took a detour to the quiet room at the end of the hall. Finding it empty and in darkness, he switched on the lights and pushed his friend into the room before setting a do not disturb sign on the handle and closing the door.

He sighed heavily and took a seat on the well worn tan fabric couch he'd parked his best friend beside. Taking a deep breath, Danny let it out slowly before leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. He looked his best friend square in the eye. So that Flack could see the compassion and understanding and sympathy Danny had for the situation.

"Jesus Christ, Mess," Flack said. "When you get that look..."

"You know that I love you like a brother, Flack. That as far as I'm concerned, K is my nephew. He's not just my godson. You know that I love him and you and Sammie like they're my own family. You know that right?"

Flack nodded.

"And it's killing me to have to tell you this, Don. But it's better you hear it from me, than a stranger. Okay?"

"Just fucking spit it out, Danny."

"When we went to Lessing's apartment and we processed it. We found used baby diapers. And one of this diapers had blood in it."

Flack's hand tightened on the arm rest of the wheelchair, his knuckles turning white. "Kieran's blood?" he asked, in a near whisper.

Danny nodded. "And that wasn't all we found in that diaper. We found trace. Biological. Belonging to Jack Doyle. We found..."

"Don't say it, Messer," Flack fought back tears of anger and sorrow. And immense disgust.

"Don, I am so sorry that I had to be the one to tell you that Doyle molested K," Danny struggled with his own emotion. "But you would tell me yourself if it was my kid and you knew. You wouldn't keep that from me."

"But it's not your kid," Flack argued, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "It's not your kid that was raped by some sick, twisted, fucking child molester. It was my son, Danny. It was Kieran. And he's all of thirteen months old."

"I'm sorry, Flack," the CSI said, shaking his head slowly. "I'm sorry you guys have to go through this.

But for what it's worth, because we were able to tie the DNA to Doyle and he's a repeat offender, he'll be going away for a long time. He won't be able to hurt any more little kids like K."

"And that's suppose to make make me feel better?" Flack asked, opening his eyes and clearing his throat noisily. "That's suppose to make what happened to my son seem better because the guy got caught? He still did it, Danny. He still did it to Kieran. Why did my son have to be the one to have to pay the price? Be the pawn in sending someone like that back to jail?"

"Why any little kid, Flack?" Danny asked gently.

"This isn't about any other kid!" Flack bellowed. "This is about my kid! This is about my son, Danny! Not yours, not anyone else's! Mine! So don't fucking sit there and tell me that it's okay because Kieran helped lock him up for longer! Don't you dare say that to me!"

Danny shook his head. "I would never, ever say such a thing and you know that. I love that little boy, you know that."

"What do I tell his mother? What do I tell Sam? How do I tell her something like that when him going missing drove her almost completely insane! What do I say to her, Danny?!"

"I don't know, Don," the CSI said quietly. "I wish I did. You tell her calmly and gently, I guess."

"Calmly and gently?" he snorted. "How do I do that when I'm about ready to fucking kill someone!"

"K is your son and Sam is your wife. You guys are family. And the only way any of you are going to come to terms with this and accept and deal with what's happened, is by doing that together."

Flack nodded and laid his hands over his eyes, preventing his best friend from seeing the tears that slipped down his face. They sat in silence for several minutes, Danny staring at his hands while his best friend had a semi-private breakdown. Eventually Flack cleared his throat and shifted in his wheelchair and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his t-shirt.

"He won't remember, will he?" Flack asked. "He won't remember will he, Danny?"

The CSI shook his head. "Only thing he's gonna remember is his daddy coming to save the day and bringing him back to his mommy."

"I need to..." Flack sniffled loudly. "I need to go and see my wife. I need to see her and hold her and just be with her."

"We can do that," Danny said, wiping his own misty eyes on the front of his shirt before standing up. He went to step around to the back of the wheelchair, only to be halted when his best friend once more grabbed a hold of his arm. He saw the anguish in Flack's eyes. The disgust and the horror of truth and the bitterness of acceptance. "It's okay, Don," he said. "K's safe now and it's going to be okay."

"No..." he said, shaking his head adamantly. "It's not going to be okay ever again."

And with that, Flack released his grip from Danny's wrist and wrapped his good arm around Danny's waist. And burying his face in his best friend's stomach, he sobbed. Openly and unabashedly. Bearing all his weaknesses and despair. Laying his heart and soul wide open.

The long and painful healing process had begun.

* * *

Lindsay glanced up from the tattered copy of the National Enquirer that she had been flipping through for what seemed like an eternity, as she heard the two familiar voices talking in the hall as they approached the room.

She had pulled the easy chair over by the bathroom door, flicked on the light inside the washroom, than left the door open slightly so she could read without having to use a big light that would disturb her peacefully sleeping patient. Flack's mom had left the hospital two hours ago. Upon receiving word, at a few minutes after midnight, that her grandson was alive and well, and that her own son was downstairs being treated in the emergency room, she'd gone running to check on the health of both of them and had spent an hour rocking and calming her grandson after he'd been checked out by a doctor and cleaned up. Once he had fallen asleep, Patricia had than sat at her oldest child's bedside and listened to his account of what had gone down while a physician put stitches in his head and froze his arm to remove a bullet from his bicep.

Once he'd been sent for x-rays on his ribs and a cat-scan to check on the degree of his concussion and he'd been sent upstairs and settled into his own room and she was sure both her grandson and daughter in law were safe and sound, Patricia had finally headed back to the apartment. To have a good old fashioned bawl-fest and about a bottle of wine. Her exact words.

Lindsay had been more than willing to sit at her friend's bedside. She couldn't sleep herself, and had spent the majority of the time staring at Sam and taking in every inch of the sleeping woman's appearance. Things that Lindsay had never noticed about the pretty little brunette before. The three piercings in each ear lobe and the two hoops through the cartilage at the top of the right ear. The faint scar that ran across Sam's chin. The small, red birthmark that graced the hallow her throat.

Little things that friends would notice. Lindsay kicked herself for not putting the pettiness and immaturity aside and being the bigger person and attempting to make amends with Sam. Had they both been more willing to give it a try, to forgive rather than fight, a fabulous friendship could have been born nearly two years ago. Instead of having to come together over the telephone and emails, and through such a trying, horrific event.

For hours she'd looked at the thick, secure bandage covering Sam's left wrist and wondered just what in the hell had gone down that had prompted Flack to have his wife committed. Sam was unable to answer any questions. According to her chart, her last and final dose of sedatives had been administered shortly before eleven. She was now in the process of sleeping the powerful medication off.

"Worried that you won't make it, Montana?" Danny teased. "Thinking you might pee your pants on the way there if you sit too far away?"

"Very funny," Lindsay whispered back. "Did you guys check on Kieran?"

"Fast asleep," Danny said, as he parked the wheelchair next to the bed. "Flack's got me playing chauffeur."

"I'll remember to give you a huge tip once I get the hell out of here," the detective said, than placing a hand on the bed railing, slowly and carefully rose to his feet. The simple action nearly taking his breath away and sending tears springing to his eyes at the agony spreading throughout his entire body.

"I'm going to go and see if a nurse can't get you some meds," Danny said, and left the room.

"How are you feeling?" Lindsay asked, as Flack gingerly extended his right arm and laid his hand on the top of his wife's head to stroke her hair and rub her forehead with his thumb.

"Like death," Flack admitted. Knowing it would kill him to attempt to place a kiss to his wife's lips, he instead took his hand away from her forehead momentarily, laid his fingertips over his lips, than softly placed them on Sam's. "How's she been?" he asked.

"Sleeping," Lindsay said, closing her magazine and standing up. "Those are some powerful drugs they've been giving her. Safe for the babies, I hope."

Flack nodded. "I wouldn't let them give her anything that wasn't."

Lindsay nodded and stood at the end of the bed, her hands over her sleeping friend's feet. "Flack...I know this isn't really of my business and you can just say that if you find the question too personal."

"You saved my life, Monroe. And my son's. Trust me, nothing is too personal."

"The reason that you brought Sam in and had her admitted and the reason she has that bandage on her wrist...it's all connected isn't it." It was more a statement than a question.

Flack sighed and nodded.

"You don't have to tell me. I was just..."

"When you left to go and meet up with Angell this afternoon, Sam went into hysterics when she heard what some of the reporters were saying. About her being a bad mother because she left Kieran alone and how she was unfit and a possible suspect because of her known mental issues," he made air quotes around the last three words.

Lindsay listened quietly and intently.

"She and I got into another fight over her telling me K going missing was all my fault and that I don't do enough to protect him and her. When I tried to grab her to calm her down, shake some sense into her, she slapped me and took off and locked herself in the bathroom. By the time I broke the door down after arguing with her for ten minutes to open the damn thing, I found her sitting in the middle of all this blood on the bathroom floor, using a pair of cuticle scissors to slice up her wrist. I don't think she was trying to kill herself. I just think cutting herself was a way to make some of her other pain go away, but I wasn't taking that chance. I couldn't take the risk of losing her and the triplets. So my dad and I brought her here kicking and screaming and putting up one hell of a fight. She's little, but she's damn tough."

Lindsay offered a small, sympathetic smile. "You know that she didn't mean a thing she said, Don. You know that, right?"

He nodded. "Still hurts like hell to hear it though."

"It's going to take a while," Lindsay told him. "To get over this. You will probably never get over it completely, but you guys need some time to at least let the healing begin. You guys going away, that will probably do wonders for your marriage and for all three of you as a family."

"I hope so," he said quietly, glancing over his shoulder as Danny, accompanied by a nurse, wandered into the room.

"She's gonna hook you up," Danny told his best friend. "Little Tylenol three to take the edge off."

"I can put in a request to the physician overseeing your case and ask for something stronger," the nurse said to Flack, as she held out a small paper cup and a plastic glass of water. "Maybe some Demerol or morphine in a drip if if these don't do the trick."

"Nothing stronger," Flack protested, as he took the pills and popped them into his mouth and swallowed them with the entire serving of water. "Thanks, though."

"I'll be around with them every four hours," she said. "In the meantime, our patient," she nodded at Samantha. "Needs to sleep."

"We should go," Danny told Lindsay, reaching out to rub the back of her neck softly. "Let Flack get some rest."

"I don't want to leave the hospital in case they need me," Lindsay said.

"If the two of you would like, you can sleep in the quiet room," the nurse offered. "I can bring some blankets and pillows down for you."

"You up to that?" Danny asked Lindsay.

She nodded. "I just want to be close," she said.

"You're okay with us down the hall?" Danny asked Flack. "You need anything you have someone come get one of us okay?"

The detective nodded.

"Get some rest," Danny ordered him, than clapped him on the back before escorting Lindsay from the room. The nurse following close behind, shutting the door behind her.

Flack sighed heavily and looked down at the sleeping figure before him. Wondering how long it would be before she'd be the peaceful and at ease on her own again.

If they would ever again be fully whole.

* * *

"I've got to admit," Lindsay said, as she stretched out on the couch in the quiet room, two pillows placed between her back and the arm of the couch. "This isn't my idea of a Saturday night sleepover."

"Well maybe I should run out and grab us a couple of pizzas and some pop and ice cream," Danny teased, as he stretched his legs out alongside of her body and leaned back against the other arm of the couch. "We can do each others hair, give each pedicures, indulge in some makeovers."

"I'm just dying to see you in some hot rollers," she chided, winking at him playfully, tickling his side with her toes.

"How in the hell are we ever suppose to sleep like this?" he asked, spreading a blanket out over top of their bodies.

"I don't think we're expected to sleep," Lindsay yawned. "Just get some rest, shut our brains off for a while. Just don't be kicking me in the face in the middle of the night, or morning, or whatever the hell is it."

"Don't you be hauling off kicking me somewhere else more sensitive and more important," Danny told her, reaching behind him to switch off the table lamp.

"I have to say, Danny," she sighed. "If anyone had have told me a couple of months ago that you and I would be getting cozy like this, I would have told them they were nuts."

"That makes two of us," he said, removing his glasses and leaned sideways to place them on the coffee table. "But I have to say, if I'm going to be sharing an uncomfortable couch with anyone, I am glad that that anyone is you."

She smiled. "I think that's one of the best compliments you've ever given me."

"I am full of surprises tonight," Danny told her. "Just not all of them are good."

"You want to talk about it?" she asked, stroking his side softly with her toes. For her that was a bold move, and she saw the surprised look that crossed his face at her action, and she was tempted to pull her foot away until he caught it and placed it in his lap and gently rubbed the top her foot with his fingertips.

"I had to give Flack some really bad news tonight," Danny responded. "And it killed me to do it."

"You had to do it as a friend?"

Danny nodded. "We found evidence that the guy who scooped K, Jack Doyle..."

"The next door neighbour?"

He nodded again. "He was a registered sex offender. And we found evidence, in Lessing's apartment, that this Doyle character, molested Kieran before leaving him in that car."

Lindsay's eyes widened at the revelation. She felt nauseous, tears welled in her eyes. "How did he...."

"He must have put the same diaper back on him after he did what he did," Danny said, struggling with his emotions. "Because we found blood belonging to Kieran, and Doyle's DNA inside of it."

Lindsay shook her head and put her hand to her mouth. "That poor baby...what he must have been going through..."

"All I can think about is how much pain he was experiencing," Danny's voice was a choked whisper. "I keep thinking about how he was probably screaming and crying for his mommy and daddy and that bastard still get doing it to him. And that's was gets me, Montana. The thought of him crying for his mommy and daddy to come and save him."

"Danny..."

"I love that kid like he's my own," he continued. "He's my godson and when I think about what that bastard did to him..."

In the moonlight, Lindsay saw the tears that trickled down Danny's pained, tortured face. She pushed the blankets off of them and got up onto her knees and proceeded to lie down on top his stomach. She curled her arms around his torso and rested her head on his chest as he wrapped both arms around her tiny body, one hand coming up to stroke her hair.

"No parent deserves that," Danny said. "Sam and Flack...they don't deserve what happened."

"Is Kieran okay? Has anyone examined him?"

"Last I heard, Stella was going to come over and do it. I don't know if she's been around yet. I guess there was a lot of damage done and what not. And he needs to be processed just like any victim. But thinking of him like that. As a victim. I just can't take the Lindsay."

"How was Flack?" she asked. "When you told him?"

"Distraught. Pissed off. Disgusted. He's worried about having to tell Sam when she's in the right mind to hear something like that. They're going to need counselling. Tons of it. That's a hard thing to deal with."

Lindsay raised her head, her chin resting on his chest as she looked at him. "And how are you?" she asked.

"Doesn't matter how I am."

"It matters to me, Danny. I know how much you love Sam and Flack. They're your family. And I know how much you adore Kieran. That's hard for you to hear too."

He nodded. "I'm angry," he admitted. "I wish I could go to that jail right now and beat the man to death with my bare hands. I feel sick to my stomach when I think of what he did to that little boy. And it kills me inside when I think about what Sam and flack are going to go through just trying to cope with all of this. That's their boy, Linds. Their heart. Thank God they have each other and he's home safe and they can deal with it all as family."

"And what about you Danny?" she asked, clearing tears off of his face with her fingertips. "Who do you have?"

He shrugged.

"Where is Erica in all of this?"

"You know my issues, Montana. We've talked about all of this."

"She should have been here. If not for you, than for Sam and Flack. Kieran is her cousin for crying out loud. And where is she? At home? At work? Do you even know?"

"I don't," he admitted. "I don't have anyone, Linds. I got Sam and Flack but they can't be supporting me when they have to take care of each other. I have no one."

"You have me, Danny," Lindsay said. "I'm here now. And I'll be here as long as you need me."

"Yeah?" he asked, sniffling. He pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. "And what if I said I never want you to leave?"

She smiled. "I'd ask you if you were sure about that."

He returned the smile and covered her lips in a long, delicate kiss that promised so much more to come.

"Does that tell me how sure I am?" he asked, as the kiss ended yet their lips remained just mere inches apart.

"Why don't you do that one more time?" she responded. "One more time might just do that trick."

He kissed her once more. Longer, deeper. More passionate.

"How about that?" he asked after it ended. "What do you think about that?"

"I'm thinking I'm glad I only bought a one way ticket," she said.

**Well, there you have it. The muse is demanding Lindsay stay. I am going to bow to the muse and let her have her way. When this story is over, than and only than am I going to go back and change previous chaps that mention Lindsay coming back later on. Chloe will be her and Danny's daughter and they will still have Danny Jr. Sorry for the confusion, folks. Although me thinks this decision will make some of you very, very happy. Are you reading this laurzz? *wink wink***

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you and all of the support you've given me through both stories. Although MOB is on hiatus, I will be returning to it. That's a promise! I just needed to concentrate on other things at the moment. So thanks for everything guys! I love you all!**

**Special thanks to:**

**laurzz**

**muchmadness**

**brttmclv**

**hope4sall**

**ImaSupernaturalCSI**

**TruLuv**

**laplandgurl**

**Forest Angel**

**Soccer-bitch**

**bluehaven4220**

**hardylover7477**

**PadfootCc**

**shopaholic20**


	51. A New Dawn Breaks

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN....YOU KNOW THE REST. ALTHOUGH JUDGING BY LAST NIGHT'S EPI, TPTB CERTAINLY ARE FORGETTING WHO DOES OWN THIS STORY AND MOB. ENOUGH SAID....**

**A/N: WHILE I NORMALLY DON'T TALK POLITICS OR SHOW FAVORITES:**

**GO OBAMA!**

**NOW THAT THAT IS OUT OF MY SYSTEM, ENJOY!**

* * *

**A New Dawn Breaks**

"I see you Mary in the garden  
In the garden of a thousand sighs  
There's holy pictures of our children  
Dancin' in a sky filled with light  
May I feel your arms around me  
May I feel your blood mix with mine  
A dream of life comes to me  
Like a catfish dancin' on the end of the line

Sky of blackness and sorrow (a dream of life)  
Sky of love, sky of tears (a dream of life)  
Sky of glory and sadness (a dream of life)  
Sky of mercy, sky of fear (a dream of life)  
Sky of memory and shadow (a dream of life)  
Your burnin' wind fills my arms tonight  
Sky of longing and emptiness (a dream of life)  
Sky of fullness, sky of blessed life (a dream of life)

Come on up for the rising  
Come on up, lay your hands in mine  
Come on up for the rising  
Come on up for the rising tonight."

-The Rising, Bruce Springsteen

* * *

Early morning sunshine streamed through the window. Bathing the occupants in the cramped, uncomfortable hospital bed in warmth. Outside the temperatures struggled to get above freezing and a light trickle of snow added to the inches that already blanketed the ground. Her eyes opened slowly, gradually adjusting to the bright rays of sun that cascaded onto her weary, tired face. She was briefly oblivious to her surroundings. Her brain had forgotten where she actually was and why she was there, stuck in that blissful state of awakening where everything seemed warm and cozy and safe. She wasn't aware of the fact she was in a hospital bed or that she'd spent more than twelve hours in a drug induced fog. All she was aware of was that strong, protective arm around her and that warm, soothing body against hers.

She rolled over onto her side and snuggled closer into her husband. Tucking herself under his arm and burying her face in his neck, her arm lazily falling across his mid section. Her peaceful, carefree stage interrupted by the sharp hiss of pain that erupted from her husband's lips.

"Baby..." he spoke through gritted teeth. "You gotta watch my ribs."

At the sound of agony in his voice and those words, her eyes snapped open in alarm and she propped herself up on her elbow and took in the sight before her. The stitches near his temple and the ones that began at his right eyebrow and disappeared into his hair line. The bandage on his left bicep that just barely poked out from the sleeve of his t-shirt. The split lip. She carefully and gently lifted the bottom of his shirt, her eyes widening at the sight of his heavily tapped ribs.

"Donnie..." she bolted into a sitting position and reached out to use her fingertips to gently inspect the wounds on his face. "What in the hell happened to you?"

"Dean Lessing," he responded. "This is what he did to me when I went to get Kieran back."

"What? What do you mean when you went to get Kieran back? What are you talking about?"

"Lessing called Mac," Flack explained, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. "Told him that he wanted to meet me face to face. So I could say goodbye to my son. That I'd understand, because of surviving the bombing, why he needed Kieran so badly."

Tears threatened in her golden eyes. "He has Kieran? He still has him?"

Flack shook his head. "I offered, to make a switch. Myself for Kieran. Lessing went for it. I managed to get Kieran from him and to safety before Lessing figured out that I was wearing a wire and it was all a set up."

"And this is what he did to you because of that? But how..."

"He told me get on my knees and put my hands on the back of my neck. He held a gun to my head. He was going to execute me. Right in front of Kieran and Lindsay."

"Execute you? Kieran and Lindsay...what....?" her brain, still somewhat muddled from medication, couldn't comprehend what he was telling her.

"Lindsay was there, pretending to be you."

Sam frowned.

"It's a hell of a long story, baby. Lessing called Mac and told him that he wanted us both to be there to talk to us and say goodbye to Kieran. But you were in here and right out of it so Lindsay agreed to go in your place. I managed to convince Lessing to exchange Kieran with me because Lessing was in need of a soldier. And he felt Kieran was the chosen one because he was my offspring and I survived the bombing."

"Is it really that confusion or does it only seem that way because I still have some of the drugs in my system?" she asked.

"Lessing thought I'd understand why he needed K because he and I are comrades in arms," Flack explained patiently. "His exact words. I convinced him to let me take K's place. I was wearing a wire and an ear piece and I was suppose to send a verbal signal for ESU to move in. Only Lessing figured shit out before than and made me get on my knees and held a gun to the back of my head and planned to execute me."

Her eyes were wide in both horror and disbelief. "And than? He obviously didn't go through with his plan."

"I managed to over power him and we got into it. This is what he did to me. Busted ribs, bruised kidneys, nearly torn sacroiliac muscle. Stitches. The whole nine."

"And Lessing?"

"He looks a hell of a lot worse than I do, trust me."

"What did you do to him? Put him in the ICU?" she asked, tenderly exploring the stitches above his eyebrow with her fingertips.

"The morgue, actually," Flack replied.

"You..."

"Lindsay," he told her. "Lindsay had my gun and she shot him. In the head. Killed him instantly."

"Is Lindsay okay?"

Flack nodded. "She was shaken up but she wasn't hurt in anyway. Good thing she was there, huh? Imagine if it had have just been me and K? Something tells me he doesn't know how to handle a gun. I mean, I know he's the son of the ballistics bitch and all..."

"Please don't try and make light of stuff like this," Sam said, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I don't want to think about what would have happened if she hadn't have been there."

"Neither do I," he admitted, and wrapped his arm around her, wincing at the pain in his side and at the sight of where the bullet had been removed. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and closed his eyes and relaxed at the feel of her fingers tracing lightly over his stitches and the scent of her hair and the warmth of her body. "Just so you know," he said. "I got shot in the arm, too."

"Excuse me?" she asked, drawing back to look at him.

"When Lindsay shot Lessing he was over top of me with the gun against my forehead. Her shot was a through and through. Ended up in my left bicep. Just a flesh wound. They removed it in the ER."

"Donnie, I don't want to think about..."

"Than don't think about it," he said, and kissed her forehead. "But you know, that if anything ever happens to me..."

"Please don't talk like that," she begged.

"If anything happens to me, you know that my will is in the closet in that lock box, right? That you're the executor and you and K are the beneficiaries? You know all of that, right?"

Sam nodded. "Please," she whispered, her eyes squeezed shut. "Don't talk about this."

"I'm just saying that..."

"Please...just stop..." she pleaded. "Just stop. You're here and that's what matters. Nothing happened to you and I don't want to think about what would happen to me and Kieran and the triplets if something did. Okay? You're here and you're alive and that's what I want to concentrate on. That and Kieran. Is he alright?" she opened her eyes and looked at him. "Please tell me my baby is okay."

"Kieran's fine," Flack told her. "He's a little dehydrated and has a touch of hypothermia, but it's nothing that's not treatable. He's only a blondie. I never thought I'd see the day when two people as dark as we are would have a blue eyed blond."

"What are you talking about?" she asked. "Am I still really stoned or..."

"Our son? Our black haired son? Lessing took a bottle of peroxide to his hair. And I love my son with every fiber of my being and he's my entire world, but trust me, baby. He makes one ugly blond."

She couldn't help but laugh at that. And at the thought of what her son looked like with anything other than his silky black hair. "Thank God it's only hair and it will go back to its normal colour eventually," she said.

"It's going to take forever for it to go black again. Trust me, Sam. He's nearly white. It's hideous. Absolutely hideous."

"But he's okay, right?" her smile disappeared and her voice and eyes turned serious. "Kieran's okay? No one hit him or anything like that? He wasn't physically abused? Lessing didn't hurt him?"

Flack shook his head.

"Thank God," she breathed and briefly closed her eyes as she said a silent thank you to the higher powers for the safe return of her baby.

"But there is something I need to tell you," he said. "About K."

Her eyes snapped open and focused on him. "Donnie...that tone...that tone scares me."

"Jack Doyle. Our neighbor? The one that scooped him?"

Sam nodded. "What about him?"

"He's a registered sex offender. He did time, twice, for molesting kids under the age of five."

"And he was living across from us? Why would the super move him in across the hall from a toddler? The super would have had to have known about it before he rented Doyle the apartment. The kind of information has to be released."

"I don't know why he was living there or if the super knew. But I'm going to find out and raise fucking shit if that sonofabitch knew and still let him live across from us knowing he was a pedophile. But right now, that's the least of my worries. The fact is is that he's the one that took Kieran and..."

Terror registered in her eyes. Her voice was a near whisper. "What did he do to our son, Donnie?"

Flack sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, Sammie..."

"No," she shook her head vigorously. "No. Don't say your sorry because when you say sorry it means that something horrible happened to our son. And stuff like that..something like that did not happen to our son."

"It did happen," he told her, laying a comforting hand on the back of her neck, his voice quiet and calm despite the fact rage and disgust was bubbling over inside of him.

"No, it didn't," she pushed his hand away from her. "It didn't happen! Why would you say something like that! It didn't happen to Kieran."

Flack reached for her again. "Danny and Adam found proof and the doctor says there's damage and he needs to be processed..."

"Well they're wrong!" she cried, her face ashen. "Adam and Danny are wrong! They didn't find anything! And the doctor is wrong! There has to be another explanation for something like that! And I am not letting anyone process him for anything when nothing happened to him!"

"Samantha, listen to me, baby..."

"No! You listen to me! He's fine! Kieran's fine! There's nothing wrong with him! Everyone is just wrong! No one saw anything, no one found anything. They're wrong! Okay? They're wrong and so are you and..."

"Samantha..." he took her face in his hands, forcing her to look him dead in the eye. "Listen to me. You need to listen to me, okay? Danny and Adam found biological trace evidence in a diaper that Kieran had been wearing..."

She shook her head.

He tightened the hold on her face. "There was blood that they matched to K and semen that they were able to match to Doyle..."

"No..." tears spilled down her cheeks. "You're lying. Why are you saying these things about your son?"

"The doctor said that there was damage done. Obvious signs of sexual assault."

"Why?" she whimpered. "Why are you saying these things about our baby, Donnie?"

"Because it's true. Because I didn't want you finding something like this out from a complete stranger. Someone is going to have to process Kieran so that the case against Doyle is strong and there's no legal loop holes he can worm his way out of. Are you hearing me, Samantha? Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

"He's our baby," she whispered. "Why would someone do that? Why our son?"

"I don't have those answers, baby. I wish I did. I wish I had some kind of magic wand I could wave and make all of this go away. But it happened and we're going to have to accept it and find a way to deal with it. As a team. Because it's not K that's going to suffer. It's going to be us and we need to get a handle on that."

"Please tell me he won't remember," she pleaded. "That he won't remember what happened and what it felt it."

"Only thing he's going to remember is me bringing him home to you. That's all. But we know and we'll remember and we're going to need some help, Sammie. You know that right?"

She nodded. "I left him alone. In the apartment. I let this happen to him."

Flack shook his head. "You didn't know that someone was going to break in and kidnap him. How many times have you left him in the locked apartment to go to the laundry room or go downstairs to check the mail? And all those times, nothing went wrong."

"It only takes one time," she argued. "One time! And because of something stupid I did look what's happened to him."

"This was not your fault, Sammie."

Panic suddenly crossed her face. "You're going to take him away from me, aren't you." It was more a statement than a question.

"What?" he brushed her tears away with his thumbs. "No. Of course not."

"You said that if anything ever happened to him you'd take him and I'd never see him again..."

"Samantha, I just said that out of anger."

"Please don't take him from me," she begged. "Please. Don't leave me and take my son away from me. Because I need him. He's my everything and I can't live without him and if you were to take him..."

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips to silence her. "I would never, ever take Kieran away from you," he declared. "You're his mommy. I'd never take him away from his mommy."

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm sorry I let this happen to him. I never meant..."

"You need to stop blaming yourself," Flack cut her off. "Because this wasn't your fault. I've never blamed you and I never will blame you. And you need to quit thinking that you caused this. It happened. We can't change that. But we can change what happens from here on out. With K and with us. Because we can't let what happened destroy our family, Sammie."

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

"We're going to deal with this as a family," he responded. "And we're going to go and see our son and we're going to hug him and kiss him and play with him and in a few days, we're going to take him home and try to get our lives back in order. And we're going to go to Arizona and leave New York behind us for a little while. Spend time together. Something we don't get much of a chance to do."

"I'd like that," she sniffled.

"We will get through this, Sammie," he promised, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "We will. But it's going to take a while for things to stop hurting so much."

"What if they never do?" she asked. "I know people say time heals everything. But what if that isn't true? What if it hurts this much a year from now as it does right now? What than?"

Flack shrugged. "Than we keep dealing with things until one day we wake up and it doesn't hurt so much anymore. There's no time limit, baby. All that matters is that he's alive and he's safe and he's back with us. Everything else...everything else is secondary. Let's just be grateful he's alive. Okay?"

She nodded.

He pressed his lips all over her face, kissing her tears away. "Tell me what you want to do first," he said. "Tell me how we can start this whole healing thing off. Tell me what the first step is."

"I want to go and see my son," she responded. "I need to see my son. I have to see him."

"Are you ready to see him? After hearing this?"

She nodded. "I need to see him," she whispered. "Please take me to see him."

"I promise you things will get better," Flack said.

"I know," she told him, kissing his lips softly.

She was just terrified of how long getting better would take.

* * *

Stella was already pacing outside of Kieran's room when Sam and Flack, accompanied by Danny and Lindsay, both exhausted and bleary eyed and in desperate need of coffee, made their way slowly and carefully down the hall hand in hand. Flack had refused to use the wheelchair. He hated feeling like an invalid and a weakling, and despite his wife's and friends' arguments that it was in his best interest to just suck it up and swallow his pride and use the damn chair, he insisted that he was fine. And despite his best attempts to disguise the unbelievable pain and discomfort he was in, those closest to him knew better. So they took things slowly in order to spare his throbbing back, stopping every several feet to let him rest and catch his breath.

But it was more annoyance than agony that was in his eyes and written all over his face as he observed his colleague and friend wearing out the tiles in front of his son's room, her evidence kit and camera bag in hand.

"You look like you should be in bed hooked up to some pain killers," Stella said to Flack, stepping in front of the small group as they approached the door to Kieran's room.

"And you look like you're not here on a social call or to check to see how we're doing," he responded. Pain making him more irritable and touchy than usual.

Stella gave a small, cool smile. "How are you feeling, Sam?" she asked. Clearly an afterthought. was It was clear that she was there for one reason and one reason only. The job.

"I'm a bit better," the tiny brunette replied, tightening her grip on her husband's hand as if she was in need of some protection from the big bad wolf. "They actually let me out into the general population. No straight jacket or meds. I guess that's saying something."

"No one ever thought you were crazy," Stella told her. "We would never think that or say that about you."

"Funny," Flack said. "The press let us think differently. Or did they just mistakenly attribute quotes to you and Speedle?"

"We were taken out of context," Stella responded.

He snorted. "Sure you were...so what's going on? Why are you here? Sam wants to go and see Kieran and..."

Stella moved to block the way to the door once again. "I can't let you guys go in there right now."

Sam frowned. "Why not? My son is in there. I haven't seen him yet. I just want to see him."

"No one can see him until he's processed," Stella explained. All business.

"People have been seeing him all night," Danny argued. "All kinds of nurses, doctors. Carmen's been in there, Flack's mom. Flack and me. What's so different now?"

"I need to collect evidence," she explained, as if the process was foreign to them all. "Kieran's been disturbed too much since he came in last night. We've probably already compromised evidence and if he's handled anymore we might lose it completely and than we.."

"I know how the goddamn job works!" Danny snapped. "But his mother hasn't seen him yet! Let his mother see him and than you can go in there and do what you gotta do. What is the huge issue here?"

"The issue is that we're forensic investigators and we need to collect evidence," Stella fought back. "It's what we do. The premise of our job doesn't change because the victim is someone we know."

"Maybe not, but when it's someone you know, you'd think your compassion and empathy level would improve just a bit," Flack told her. "Nothing in the job description says you have to be a cold hearted bitch."

"I resent you saying that!" Stella snapped. "I resent you insinuating I don't care or that what happened to K isn't tearing me up inside."

"I wasn't insinuating anything," Flack said. "I was just calling it like I see it."

"I just want to see my son," Sam told her. "I just want to hold him and kiss him and tell him I love him. That's it."

"You touching him will only compromise the evidence further than it has," Stella responded. "You of all people should be on my side here. Your one of the ones that follow things by the book."

"But this is my son!" Sam exclaimed. "This isn't just another case."

"To me it is," Stella told her.

"Now tell us how you really feel," Danny snorted. "That's how you feel about K, huh?"

"You're reading into that!" Stella said with an exasperated sigh. "What I meant was that..."

"What you meant is exactly what you said," Flack told her. "That he's just another case. Just another notch on your belt at the end of the day."

Stella shook her head. "That is not what I said! I just can't allow anyone to see him and..."

"She's not anyone!" Flack snapped. "She's his mother! And she hasn't had the chance to see him yet. What the hell is the big deal?"

"Don..." Sam laid her hand on his arm. "Calm down. Don't get so upset."

"When did you suddenly lose your heart, Stella?" the detective asked her. "That baby sucking it and your brain right out of your body or what?"

"Look, Flack," she fought back. "I don't need to take your shit, alright? Your just the parent here and..."

"That's right. I am the parent. I'm his father and that's my name on the forms to make all the decisions regarding his care. And if I say his mother sees him before you do than that's the fucking way it is."

"Do you want me to subpoena you?" Stella asked. "Because I can get a court order banning either of you from seeing him until I do what I have to do."

Flack shook his head. "You fucking bitch. You'd do that to, wouldn't you? You would actually do that to us."

"If getting the job down takes me going to court and making Kieran a temporary ward of the state..."

"What?!" Sam snapped. "A temporary ward of the state? Why the hell....?"

"You two are preventing me from getting the evidence I need. Evidence that is in the best interest of Kieran and other innocent children that I collect. And because you've already shown lack of judgment once by leaving him alone..."

"Are you kidding me?!" Sam shrieked and lunged forward, as if making a move to either slap or strangle the woman. "You have got to be kidding me!"

"Why don't we go and let Flack and Stella talk about this," Danny suggested, playing peace maker as he laid a hand on Sam's back. "You getting yourself upset over this isn't going to solve anything."

"And what if I tell you I don't want you processing him?" Sam asked.

"Than I get another investigator to do it," Stella replied.

"I mean what if I don't want anyone processing him. At all."

"Than that shows your judgment is even worse than I thought it was," Stella responded.

"You fucking bitch," Sam hissed. "Wait until you have that kid, Stella. You just wait. You think it's so goddamn easy to take care of a kid and work full time and take care of bills and house work and making meals and maintaining a marriage? You think that's easy? Well let's wait and see and when you make a major fuck up I can throw it in your face and hold it over your head for the rest of your natural born life."

"Well first off, I wouldn't make a monumental fuck up like you," Stella informed the petite brunette.

"You aren't going to blame what happened on me," Sam fought back. "This wasn't my fault."

"It was no one's fault," Flack said. "Can you just go with Danny and I'll take care of this? Please, Sam? Can you do that for me?"

"I don't want anyone touching him," Sam told her husband. "I don't want him photographed, I don't want swabs taken. Nothing."

"That's fine," he assured. "Just let me talk to Stella and..."

"We need the evidence, Samantha," Stella implored. "I need to photograph the damage that was done and take samples and..."

"And I said no," she said adamantly. "Donnie told me that there was blood and DNA found."

"That doesn't prove he molested Kieran," Stella argued.

"Explain to us how in the hell semen got into his diaper," Danny said. "'Cause to me, there's only one way it could have gotten there."

"He's denying it," Stella told the group.

"Let him deny it," Flack said. "We have his DNA and the only way it could have gotten there is by him raping my kid."

"I can't hear this," Sam cried. "I can't...I just can't hear this anymore..."

"Danny would you....?" Flack addressed his best friend.

"Come on, Brooklyn," Danny draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close. Than did the same with his other arm around Lindsay. "Check this out, I'm the luckiest guy in the world. I got two beautiful women to keep me warm at night. Let's just go for a little walk and let Flack and Stella hash this out, okay?"

Flack watched the three of them head down the hall and sighed heavily and turned back to Stella.

"I need to process the evidence, Flack," she said.

"First off Stella, my son is not evidence," he informed her. "Second, Doyle's DNA and Kieran's blood in the diaper should be enough to get a conviction. It doesn't take an Einstein to figure out what he did based on that evidence alone. Third, there's me, Mac and Danny that can all testify that Doyle said Kieran was his type and that any kid who was old enough to crawl was in the right position."

"And we also have Doyle threatening to file a charge of assault against you because you thought it was a good idea to go into a closed interrogation and nearly crush his throat!" she snapped. "And than scaring him with an unloaded gun."

"I got him to cough up Lessing," Flack said. "So he pissed his pants in the process."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked. "You're always the one that will do anything to solve a case. To send someone as sick and twisted as Doyle away for a very long time. Why are you being like this?"

"Because this isn't just a case, Stella. Okay? This is my son. I'm not a cop in this. I'm just a dad. But the cop in me knows that the evidence you do have and what Doyle said and his past, are enough for a conviction. No one is doing a sexual assault kit on my son. Not you, not Carmen, not a forensic nurse. No one. Understand me?"

"I'll have to file a motion than and..."

"Go ahead," he snorted. "File a goddamn motion. After I file one against you and Speedle for slander and defamation of character because of what you said about my wife. You talked shit about someone that is suppose to be your friend? About my wife? You know what? Fuck you, Stella and get the hell out of here."

"I don't understand..."

"No one is processing my son. I'm sorry you came here and wasted your precious time. But I think it's best that you leave and let me and my family try and heal from this."

"Would talking to Mac help?"

"Talking to Mac would only serve to piss me off even more. And I'm hurting like a bastard and I'm tired and I'm anger and I'm hurt and I just want my life back. So trust me, you don't want to piss me off even more. Just leave Stella. Do me and my family a favor and just leave."

"Fine," she huffed. "Expect either a visit from Mac, a lawyer or social services."

"Don't threaten me," Flack gave a small laugh and shook his head. "I've got more grounds in my baby finger alone with a defamation suit against you and the entire lab than you with me and not wanting my kid processed. In other words, don't fuck with my family, Stella."

"You've changed, Flack," she said. "You know that? You've really changed."

"Yeah..." he agreed, nodding slowly. "When I became a husband and a father, I also became more of a human being. Want lessons in how to become one yourself?"

Stella blinked and than watched, tears of anger and hurt welling in her eyes, as he slowly turned and walked away.

The bonds of friendship had been severed as soon as he'd turned his back. And those bonds were far beyond repair.

* * *

The moment had been nothing short of magical and tear jerking. The moment that those vibrant blue eyes had spied that familiar face coming through the door, a bright, ecstatic smile had spread from ear to ear, showing off those dimples, and Kieran had pulled himself up onto his feet in his crib and screeched, in a window shattering pitch: "Mommmeeeeeeee!"

Sam had rushed to the crib, crying tears of immense relief and astounding joy and sadness and hurt for what her child had suffered, and hurriedly put down the railing and scooped her son up into her arms and showered him with love. She ignored the horrible mess that was his own black hair and instead rained kisses down on his cheeks and on his belly and had tickled him until his giggle could be heard down the hall. Than she'd sat, in the chair by the window, and cuddled him tight and blue eyes had locked on golden ones as she talked to him in a quiet, reassuring and soothing voice. They had stayed there for what seemed like a life time. Until they had both falling asleep with peaceful, content smiles on their faces.

The move to the care by parent room had been an easy, welcoming one. It was a spacious, bright and cheerful room with pale yellow walls and white curtains and cream colored carpeting. A dark wood crib and a changing table sat against one wall while a queen sized bed with simple forest green bedding was pushed up against the other. A small table and two chairs were located by the window. They had their own private bathroom with a sink and a toilet and a shower stall and a coffee maker and a microwave and bar fridge. Even a television to watch and a radio to listen to.

While Danny and Lindsay had left to clean themselves up at the apartment and run some small errands before returning to the hospital, Chester Lake had shown up out of the blue for a visit. Smiling that warm, gentle smile and talking in that quiet, reassuring voice he possessed. After nearly twenty minutes of playing with Kieran with the Little Tikes dump truck and police car that Lake had bought him just an hour before at Toys R Us, the detective had gotten down to the real purpose of his visit.

"Mac asked me to come and see you guys," Lake said, as he sat in a chair he'd procured from another room and Flack and Sam took up residence at the table by the window. The three sipping beverages and eating snacks that Sam had gotten down in the gift shop. Kieran played quietly with his new toys at Lake's feet

"We don't want Kieran processed," Sam told him. "We agreed on that."

"And that's fine," Lake assured her. "Mac went over the evidence and he and the DA agree that there's enough to go to trial. And of course, because he's so young, Kieran wouldn't have to testify. They may ask the two of you to give victim impact statements. But that's months away."

"So what are you here to talk about?" Flack asked. "Mac wouldn't have sent you here just to tell us that."

"Mac asked me, because of my experience in special victims, to come here and talk to you about where things go from here. Personal wise, with your family. There will be a trial. And depending on what Doyle does, or doesn't tell us, what you hear there will hit hard."

"We know that," Flack said. "We do this job too, Lake. Remember? It's not like we've never been to court to testify before."

"But this is different," he explained. "Because this isn't a complete stranger that you met by chance and you're trying to help. This involves you and your son. It's personal and the things you're going to hear are going to painful and horrifying and startling and you both need to prepare yourselves for the things you will hear about your son."

"We'll think about all of that when the time comes," Flack said. "What we want to know is about right now. Right now and how we deal with what happened to Kieran."

"Are there any questions you guys have about what happened or what might happen in the near or distant future?" Lake asked. "Things you'd like to say, stuff you'd like to get off your chest?"

Sam shook her head and looked down at her son playing so happily, babbling away cheerfully. The ordeal the last thing on his mind, but the first on hers. All that mattered to him was that he was with his mommy and daddy and had food to eat and toys to play with. Nothing else mattered to him. And when he sensed her watching him and looked up and cocked his head to the side and gave her that charming, almost flirtatious smile, her heart melted.

"Tuck, mommy," Kieran said, holding aloft his toy. "Tuck."

"Truck," she corrected him. "It's called a truck, K."

"Me," he said. "Me K."

"Yes, you're K," she agreed. "Your name is Kieran."

"Me K," he chirped, and went back to his playing.

"What about you, Flack?" Lake asked. "Anything you feel you need to say?"

"Yeah. There's something I need to be honest with you about. And with Sam," he said and sighed heavily. "I love Kieran. With everything I am and everything I have. But when I look at him? Every time I look at him I think about what that asshole did to him. And I don't want that to be the first thing I think about. I don't want to be playing with him or reading him a story and that be what's on my mind. I don't want to be hugging and kissing my son and worrying that it's going to remind him of what that guy did to him. And I know that's a stupid, idiotic way to think. Because I'd never do anything to hurt my son. But I can't stop myself from thinking those things."

"No one would ever, ever think you'd do anything like that to your son," Lake told him.

"I know that," Flack said. "It's just that...I don't know. I don't want him thinking I'm going to do something to him."

"He wouldn't think that, Donnie," Sam said. "Your his father. He knows you'd never hurt him. I know you'd never hurt him. You hate even spanking him."

"I just think about it every time I look at him," Flack admitted. "And I don't want that being what I am thinking about all the time."

"It's going to take a while," Lake told him. "It's just fresh and new and it's going to be first and foremost in your mind for a while. But a time will come where what happened to Kieran, both with Lessing and with Doyle, will be on the back burner. But that's going to take a while."

"How long?" Sam asked, her voice quiet, staring down at her hands as she fidgeting with the diamond engagement ring she wore. "How long will that take?"

"There's no set time," Lake replied. "I wish I could tell you that in a month it's not going to hurt as much. Or that in a couple weeks, you won't think about it anymore. But I can't do that. I want to. Badly. But I can't."

Sam sighed heavily and sniffed noisily and reached for the box of kleenex sitting on the window ledge. She tore several tissues out and cleared her throat noisily and dabbed at her eyes. "I just...I just feel so guilty," she said. "Because it was me that left him alone."

"I won't tell you that you won't feel guilt to some extent," Lake said. "It's normal to feel that way and to lay blame. But I will tell you that this wasn't your fault, Samantha. And I don't think Flack feels this was your fault either."

"I've already told her that. That I don't blame her for what happened," Flack said. "She loves Kieran and she wouldn't intentionally do anything that would hurt him."

"I'm his mom though," she argued. "I'm his mom and I'm suppose to protect him and I didn't. I left him alone and look what happened to him. I gave Reed Garrett that interview and look at everything that's happened because of it. Look at what happened to Kieran. Look at what happened to my husband, Chester. Look at him. Lessing was going to kill him. Look what he did to my husband. And it's all because of what I did."

"You didn't do anything," Flack told her. "I don't blame you. For anything. I told you that, baby."

"I know...I just..." she wiped at her eyes. "This never should have happened to Kieran. It happened to me and I never..."

"You mean with what happened with your father?" Lake asked.

Sam nodded.

Flack looked at his wife, than at the detective. "How did you know about that?" he asked Lake.

"Chester is the only person other than you that knows," Sam told him. "About my father. No one knows but the two of you. I told him when I was fourteen and than you almost twenty years later. You're the only two, Donnie."

"What happened with your father was horrible," Lake told her. "And that never should have went on for as long as it did. You didn't deserve that. And you didn't ask for it or cause it anymore than Kieran asked for and what caused what happened with Doyle. You know that right?"

"It's just that when I think about what he did to Kieran, I think about what happened to me and I haven't thought about that in years," she cried. "And now all of a sudden I can remember everything. What my father smelled like and what his hands felt like and the things he said...and I don't want to remember those things."

"It's okay, baby," Flack reached across the table and ran a hand over her hair. "We'll get you someone you can talk to about that. We can talk about it. Okay?"

She nodded again.

"It's common, being an abuse victim yourself, that something like this would bring back suppressed memories," Lake assured her. "That's normal, Samantha. And you can get help to deal with things like that."

"I'll get you help," Flack promised her, stroking her hair and her cheek before dropping his hand to the table and reaching for her left hand. Entwining his fingers with hers he rested their joined hands on the table top. "Whatever you need," he told her. "You know I'll do anything for you, Sammie. You know that, right?"

She nodded and gave a brave smile and picked up her tea with her free hand and took a long sip.

"So where do you two want to go from here?" Lake asked. "As a family. Even as a couple."

"I don't know," Flack admitted. "We've never had to deal with something like this before. I don't know. I guess maybe counseling would be a good thing."

Sam gave a little laugh. "You suggest counseling?" she asked, a teasing smile on her face.

"Whatever it takes," he vowed. "Nothing is too big or too small."

"I think counseling is a good idea," Lake said. "That the two of you would benefit from it. I've seen too many good marriages fall apart because of anger and grief. And I hate the thought of that happening to the two of you. I have some people that I can call. That can help you guys. They will even come to your place to talk. So it's less impersonal."

"I like that idea," Sam said, her thumb gently rubbing back and forth across her husband's. "What about Kieran?" she asked. "Do you think he needs someone? I mean, I know he's only thirteen months and he doesn't seem to remember what happened..."

"If there's one small glimmer of light here, it's that it this did happen when he was so young," Lake told her. "Not that it makes it any less horrible or painful. I find the younger they are, the harder time I have of dealing with it. But he's under two and that's when the real process of storing memories begins. So it's highly likely he will have no recollection whatsoever of what happened to him. The way he is now?" he nodded down at the toddler playing at their feed. "That's a blessing. He's happy and almost back to perfect health. All that matters to him is that he's back with his mommy and daddy."

"What about later on?" Flack asked. "When he's older? Like with Sam, a lot of things never came back to her until she got older. She repressed a lot of things. Could that happen to him?"

"It could," Lake replied. "But it's highly unlikely. Samantha was much older and it her abuse went on for a span of four, five years. If you do notice, when he's older, that he has a lot of aggression or he's acting out or has a problem, in his teens with intimacy, either frightened of it or engaging in promiscuous behavior, than repressed memories could be the cause."

"The aggression wouldn't surprise me though," Sam admitted with a small laugh. "I mean, look who is father is. And Kieran is all his father. From head to toe, inside and out. Don's the epitome of aggressiveness and assertiveness. It's impossible for Kieran not to get some of that."

"And say he doesn't remember," Flack said. "Do we ever tell him? Because there's always that chance he's going to hear about how he was abducted and molested. It's all over the newspapers. So I don't think we can get away with him never knowing. So is it better that we tell him before that happens or is it better he finds out that way and than asks us questions?"

"It's entirely up to you how you want him to know," Lake responded. "But in my opinion, not only is it best that he knows what happened, but it's best that you be the ones to tell him."

"And than what?" Sam asked, crying once more. "And than he hates me? Hates me for leaving him alone and not protecting him better? For letting someone do that to him? Because that's what's going to happen."

"You don't know that," Flack told her. "And he's not going to blame you or hate you. You're his mommy, Sam."

"My mommy," Kieran chirped and looked up at her. A smile crossed his face and he dropped his toys and shuffled over on his bum towards her, and using her legs, pulled himself up onto his feet. He reached out for her. "Mommy, up...up mommy..."

She dabbed at her eyes with the kleenex and leaned over and scooped him up into her arms. She kissed his cheeks and cuddled him close to her chest.

"Wuv, mommy," he said, shoved his thumb into his mouth and rested his head on her shoulder.

That was all she needed to hear to put all her doubts and fears aside.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want to come downstairs to the cafeteria?" Sam asked her husband four hours later, as she stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at him.

He was lying on his right side, facing the television and watching a re-run of Friends, while Kieran, on his knees behind him, was playing with his father's hair and the white gold chain around his dad's neck in between bouncing up and down on the mattress.

"I'm sure," Flack told her. "I've got another one of them headaches and I just took a Tylenol three."

"Did they do an MRI or a Cat-Scan, Donnie?" she asked, bending down to rub his leg softly. "Because you keep talking about those headaches and your vision going fuzzy."

"It's just the concussion, babe," he assured her. "They did an MRI and said that it's pretty bad one. Told me I'll have some dandy head aches for a bit."

"But if it persists for too long you will go back and get checked, right? Because than you could have that post concussion syndrome and..."

"I will call a doctor if it continues for too long," he promised. "And he's already said that I need to see him ophthalmologist. That the pressure from the concussion has probably caused some damage to my retinas. So you know what that means..."

"I am not sure how I feel about the idea of you in glasses," she sighed. "But I'm sure you'll either be dashing or adorkable."

"Adorkable?" he grinned. "Is that another Samantha Flack-ism?"

She nodded. "You'll call the eye specialist right when we get back from Arizona? Actually, call him before and you can get the glasses before we leave and..."

"I will call the guy when I am good and ready. Okay?"

"You are one stubborn man," she declared, and going to the side of the bed, leaned over and kissed him softly. "What do you want me to bring back? We can have a little dinner party in our suite with DL."

"DL?" he asked.

"Danny and Lindsay. Get with it, Donald."

"You are on strange woman," he declared. "And bring me whatever. You're my wife. You've been making me meals for how long? You know what I like."

"So difficult," she grumbled, and kissed him again. "Want me to take K so you can get a little peace and quiet?"

"He's fine," Flack told her. He felt Kieran tug on the back of his t-shirt. He flopped over onto his back with a dramatic groan and a "You got me!" and grabbed a hold of his son and lifted him high above his head.

"Please be careful," Sam pleaded. "Don't drop him."

"Sammie, relax. We are on a bed and I have done this how many times and never dropped him?"

"Yeah, well you've never had a bullet hole in your one arm either," she said. "Just watch him."

"Tell mommy to be quiet," Flack said to his son, tossing him in the air and than catching him. Kieran shrieked in delight. "Say mommy, you nag at daddy way too much. You're suppose to be nice to daddy. Especially when he has ouchies. You're suppose to wait on him hand and foot and kiss his ouchies better. Particularly the ones below the waist."

"You are a goddamn pig," Sam declared. "I thought a good knock to the head would take some of your pervertedness away."

"Never," Flack said, and tossed Kieran in the air once more. "It's who I am, baby. You'd miss the pig part of me too much."

"No I wouldn't. You'd still be a cop."

"Now that is low," he declared.

"Joking, honey. Joking," she snuck a kiss to his lips. "I'll be back in a little bit. No wild parties, okay?"

"Not making any promises," Flack said. "Your son might want a kegger."

"God, please don't teach him anymore of the things you did as a teenager," Sam sighed and scooped her wallet from the table and then headed for the door. She slipped her feet into a pair of lime green Crocs Lindsay and Danny had brought from the apartment. "I'll be back," she said and opened the door. "I love you guys."

"We love you, too," Flack called. "All four of you. Be nice to my trippies."

"You should be telling them to be nice to me," Sam responded. "I've got the most wicked heartburn already."

"Three more black haired babies," Flack said. "And speaking of hair...K's looks like shit."

"It will grow out eventually," she sighed. "I'll be back."

"Alright," Flack said as she shut the door with a soft click.

He listened for her soft footsteps. As they disappeared down the hallway. He heard the door at the end of the hall open and shut.

"We are not waiting that long for your hair to go back to normal," he said to Kieran, as he sat his son on the bed and despite pain shooting through his body, climbed off the bed. "Come with daddy," he held his arms out to the toddler.

Kieran took his dad's hand, laughing with glee as his father let him jump off of the bed. Flack went to the duffel back that Danny had brought back from the apartment earlier and rummaged through it for the one specific item Flack had asked his best friend to not forget. Kieran stood beside him, watching with wide, interested eyes.

Flack pulled out a small black plastic case and stood up. "Come on, K," he waved for the toddler to follow him into the bathroom. "Come with daddy."

Kieran toddled along happily, not protesting as his father scooped him up and sat him down on the lid of the toilet.

"Stay there," Flack told him, and opened the container and took out a pair of hair clippers. He plugged them into the socket by the sink. "Be a good boy for daddy, okay?"

Kieran nodded.

"This might scare you a bit, buddy. But it's for the best. Trust me."

He turned the clippers on. The baby giving a small start, but not showing too much bother or annoyance at the noise. He did however, begin to wail, loud and persistent, the moment that those clippers began slipping through his brassy blond locks.

It took mere minutes to rid his son of Lessing's handy work. It was a sign of shedding the whole incident. A cleansing of sorts. With all that blond hair now in piles on the floor, Flack felt somewhat liberated. That he'd gotten back the control he so desperately craved.

"Trust me, K," he said, as his son's wailing finally ceased and he looked up at his father with huge , fat tears dripping down his cheeks. "That hurt you more than it hurt me."

He ran a hand over his son's new brush cut. Like Sam said. It would grow back normally eventually.

Flack looked at himself in the mirror. Than at his son sitting so forlornly on the toilet lid. He sighed and cleaned the hair from the clippers.

He looked at himself once more time in the mirror.

"Your mother is going to kill me," Flack announced, and turning the clippers on, proceeded to shed himself of his own hair.

And as the last clump fell to the floor, tears spilled down his cheeks. Tears of relief and hope and faith.

And renewal.

Life could now start to go on.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers! I know there's lots. But please, please drop me a line, folks! Much love, BEG75**

**Special thanks to:**

**laurzz**

**muchmadness**

**hope4sall**

**brttmclv**

**raisincookies1**

**Madison Bellows**

**soccer-bitch**

**bluehaven4220**

**laplandgurl**

**Forest Angel**

**wolfeylady**

**shopaholic20**


	52. An Introduction to S and M

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN....YOU KNOW THE REST**

**A/N: I KNOW, IT'S A WEIRD TITLE. BUT LAURZZ KNOWS THE MEANING BEHIND THE TERM, OR NICKNAME, S AND M.**

**SPECIAL, WARM WELCOMES TO: Dlfan04 and Kassandra J **

**AND HUGE THANKS TO HOPE4SALL AND LAURZZ FOR ALL THE SUPPORT**

**WARNING: EXTREME FLUFF ALERT THROUGH MOST OF THE CHAP. AND JUST GENEREAL SAMFLACKIE HUMOR.**

* * *

**An introduction to S and M**

"She's got every quality  
From A all the way to Z  
It's easy to see she's the perfect girl  
She's got every single thing  
That makes up my wildest dreams  
Sometimes I still can't quite believe she's holdin' me cause

She got it all  
My heart, my soul, my wishes  
All of my love, my hugs, my kisses  
Everything that means anything at all  
All of my life I've spent a hopin'  
I could give someone such devotion  
Every sweet memory I can recall  
She got it all

You know that I admit  
That someone to love like this  
Only existed in my prayers  
Until I saw her face  
I knew I'd found the place."  
-She's Got it All, Kenny Chesney

* * *

"The score's three to one," Lindsay announced, from where she sat perched on the top of the couch in Flack's living room.

She was clad in a simple white t-shirt of Danny's and a pair of baby blue yoga sweats that Sam had treated her to on a recent shopping excursion to Lu Lu Lemon. The store, and its wears, were Sam's first and foremost addiction. Her own closet was practically bursting with pants and capris and hoodies and tees from the place. And the moment that Lindsay had tried on a pair of her new best friend's sweats, she knew that she just had to have a pair of her own. The fabric and fit were just heavenly and Lindsay had wondered, after refusing to give up those pastel pink sweats of Sam's, how she'd ever survived without the clothing.

Or Sam for that matter.

It had been two weeks since the Lessing incident. Fourteen days since Lindsay had saved Flack's, and ultimately her own and Kieran's, life. Eight days since the entire Flack family had been released from the hospital. Another three since Flack had not only been given the okay to go ahead and get on a plane, but had picked up, much to his dismay, the glasses that the eye specialist declared he needed to wear from the time he got up until the time he went to bed at night. So far, the only time he managed to get them onto his face was when Sam was in the room or he knew he was going to get busted by someone for not wearing them.

Currently, due to Lindsay's persistent and annoying nagging, he did in deed have them on. A simple pair of glasses with a silver blue frame across the top of the lenses only. Although Danny ribbed him about being the second four eyes in the 'family', both Lindsay and Sam were quite surprised at how Flack looked in glasses. The color of the frames made his blue eyes stand out and he did indeed, cross the line from adorkable to dashing quite easily.

It had taken Sam a day to adjust to her husband's new look. First a brush cut and than glasses? She had joked she had no idea where the man she had married had up and disappeared to.

It had also taken all of them used to living under the same roof. Roomies, as Danny called it. Although sleeping on a pull out was losing its appeal and he and Linds were in active search of an apartment together. Erica had throw her expected hissy fit when she'd come home the day after the Flack's had been released from the hospital and caught Danny and Flack packing and moving out all of Danny's things. She'd ranted and raved and bitched and moaned and bawled her eyes out. In the end she'd threatened to get some high priced lawyer that would make sure Danny never saw his child and would be paying the highest amount of child support possible. To which Flack had replied, bring it, and tossed the card belonging to Danny's lawyer at her. An attorney that was equally as impressive and ten times as ruthless as anyone Erica possibly knew.

After that she'd changed her cell phone and home number and had quit her job. Visits to her apartment went unanswered and they were pretty sure that she had hooked back up with her ex. No one seemed to be able to track her down, so Danny's lawyer had gone all out and hired a private investigator to find her. So far, there was no news of where she was or who she was with. But her actions, the lawyer believed, were enough to secure Danny his child once it was born.

Life had certainly changed. For everything in that crowded, hectic two bedroom apartment. But they all couldn't imagine not being there and being in each others lives.

"No way, Monroe," Flack said, from where he was on his knees in the middle of the living room floor. The coffee table pushed across the room, as he and Kieran, armed with small plastic sticks and a tennis ball, engaged in a little one on one hockey action. Magazines laid on the hardwood to represent goal posts. "There is no way that he's got three goals."

"I am the score keeper, Don," she argued. "And I know how to count. Kieran has three goals and you have one."

"How is that even possible? He's just running around whacking at the tennis ball."

"I know what I saw," she said. "And I saw him get three goals. Quit whining and just play already, right K?"

"Wight," the toddler agreed, as he chopped at the ball with his stick.

"You better not be counting that last goal," Flack said. "Because that did not go in."

"It did!" Lindsay argued. "I saw it!"

"It hit the post and bounced in. That is not a goal."

"It's a goal in the NHL," she said.

"Well this isn't the NHL," Flack told her. "So that was not a goal."

"Accept it, Don! An almost fourteen month old is beating you. Suck it up."

"Yeah, daddy..." Kieran chimed in. "Uck up."

Flack's eyes widened and Lindsay giggled.

"What did you just say?" he asked his son.

"Uck up!" he repeated.

"I thought for a second there he said fuck," Flack said to Lindsay.

"Fuck," Kieran chirped, smacking his stick down on the ground. "Fuck..fuck..fuck...FUCK!"

Lindsay nearly fell backwards off the couch from laughing so hard. More from the expression on Flack's face and his lame attempts to explain to his son why he couldn't say that word and what would happen to daddy if mommy heard that, than at Kieran actually saying such a word.

After she'd managed to compose herself and they continued the game, Kieran, the proud winner of the match with four goals to his name, announced that he was "Dirsty" and they moved into the kitchen.

* * *

"Looking forward to leaving on your vacation tomorrow?" Lindsay asked, as she sat at the cluttered kitchen table and flipped through a stack of fliers that had arrived with that day's mail.

"A bit," Flack replied, as he went to the fridge and took out a bottle of apple prune drink for Kieran.

The doctor had explained that one of the side effects to the trauma that he had suffered was that he may regress with certain behaviors. First if was the thumb sucking. Now it was sleeping with a night light on and drinking from a bottle. He also had to drink, or eat, anything that would soften his bowel movements because of the excessive pain he suffered from just trying to go to the bathroom. The damage done to him had been almost the worst the examining doctor had ever seen.

"Just a bit?" Lindsay arched an eyebrow. "I would have thought after every thing that's gone down you would have loved to get out of the city."

"Getting out of the city is just what we all need," he said. "It's getting out of the city and going to my in law's that doesn't sit right with me."

"I thought you and Sam's step dad were buddies now."

"We are," Flack said, handing Kieran the bottle of juice. Watching his son as he took the drink and than toddled off to his favorite spot, the scatter mat on the floor in front of the sink. He plopped down on the rug and leaned back against the cupboards behind him and planted his feet on the floor and sat there, knees bent, drinking his bottle.

"Does he always do that?" Lindsay asked curiously.

Flack nodded and joined her at the table. "Since he was about eight months old. He just started doing it one day. Sam handed him a bottle and he just lied down on the floor while she did the dishes and that was the beginning of it. He does it every time he has a drink. Even if it's a sippy cup."

"He's just got the cutest little personality," Lindsay commented, watching her adorable nephew with a smile on her face. "Just the ways he does things and his expressions and mannerisms. It's hard to say who he reminds me of. Personality wise. I mean, looks? He's you from head to toe. But personality..."

"He is all his mother, Monroe," Flack told her without hesitation. "No doubt about it. Personality wise, he's all Sam. Think about it. He's phenomenally smart just like her, he's sensitive just like her, he never shuts up just like her. He talks constantly. Is that not exactly like his mother? I've told you about her habit of waking me up from a dead sleep to have chats with me, have I not?"

Lindsay nodded.

"My wife and my kid...I love them to death. I do. But they drive me goddamn mental sometimes. Especially the wife."

"Especially the wife what?" Sam asked, yawning noisily as she journeyed into the kitchen, pulling her hair back and into a ponytail and securing it with an hair elastic she pulled from the pocket of her favorite pink yoga sweats. When she moved, her black t-shirt stretched across her abdomen and showed off the beginnings of her baby bump.

"Whoa," Lindsay said, reaching out to rub her friend's tummy. "I don't remember seeing that when you went to lie down."

"Every two hours that goes by, I put on five pounds," Sam lamented. She stood behind Flack's chair and placed her hands on his shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "It's all his fault," she told Lindsay, pointing down at her husband before kissing his cheek and heading for the fridge.

"Yep...that's right," Flack agreed, snagging the pile of mail from the middle of the table. "I was the only one having sex that night. It was all me."

"I can't believe I come out here and you're actually wearing your glasses," Sam commented, yanking open the fridge.

"Monroe's been on my ass about them all day while you've been sleeping and pampering yourself. Getting your beauty sleep. And getting lazy."

"Hey!" Sam pointed a scolding finger at him. "It's perfectly acceptable to be a lazy pregnant woman, okay? And I'm not just any pregnant woman. I've got three to carry around and make me fat. So you just hush. What were you saying about me when I came in?"

"I was telling Monroe how much I love you and how I would lay down and die for you," Flack told her, tearing into one of the many bills.

"Sure...is that after you smother me in my sleep?"

"Sammie, I have told you this a million times," Flack sighed dramatically. "I am going to either drop a plugged in hair dryer into the tub while you're taking a bath or slip arsenic in your tea. Get it right."

"My mistake," she said. "Donnie?" she whined.

"Christ...you just get up and you start? What do you want?"

"What are you making for dinner?" she asked curiously.

"Me? Are you not the wife in this house? Is that not your job? To cook me meals? Get with it, Sammie. It's only four thirty. There's lots of time to think about supper and what you're going to make."

"Just for that, I'm on strike," she declared, and grabbed a tub of strawberry yogurt from the top shelf.

"You're on strike every day," Flack sighed.

"Ha, ha, ha," Sam snorted, pulling open the top drawer by the stove and taking out a spoon. Before going to the long, slender pantry cabinet by the table and opening and grabbing a bag of whole wheat pita bread she'd already sliced into sixes. "You are so funny, honey. I married you for your sense of humor, you know."

"Thought you married me for my eyes and my ass," he said.

"You are sorely mistaken," Sam told him as she joined him, and a highly amused Lindsay at the table and sat down. "I actually married you strictly for your mad oral skills."

"Did you really have to say that in front of Lindsay?" he asked, tossing the car insurance bill aside.

"What?" Sam arched an eyebrow as she peeled off the lid of the yogurt and sat it on the table. "You're suddenly shy?"

"Don't worry, Flack," Lindsay got up to grab her own spoon before sitting back down and digging into the tub of yogurt. "I heard all those noises this morning. I couldn't resist asking Sam just what it was you were doing to bring on noises like that."

"For twenty bucks an hour I can give Messer lessons," Flack offered.

"How about for twenty five he gives you lessons?" Lindsay teased.

Flack smirked. The tips of his ears rapidly turning red. Giving away his embarrassment.

Sam nearly spit a mouthful of yogurt across the table and dissolved into laughter.

"I am seriously outnumbered at the moment," Flack complained. "Kieran...come here and stick up for daddy."

"What's he going to do?" Sam asked. "Bite my ankles? You know what he did this morning? Other than playing with his you know what when I was changing him?"

"It's normal, Sammie," Flack told her. "How many times are you going to complain about it?"

"I know it's normal," she said, dipping a piece of pita in the yogurt. "I mean, you do it all the time."

Lindsay burst out laughing. She had to cover her mouth with the palm of her hand to keep the food in and was soon making snorting noises from her nose and her face was bright red and tears streamed down her face.

"I swear, Sam, if I didn't love you as much as I do, you'd be wearing that yogurt," Flack declared.

"You know," she pointed her spoon at him. "That actually could be really kinky."

"Excuse me," Lindsay squeaked from behind her hand and jumped up. Laughing so hard she was coughing and sputtering and had to dispose of the contents in her mouth into the garbage under the sink.

"Now look what you did," Flack said, as he ripped open the hydro bill. "You've gone and killed our house guest."

"Linds isn't a guest," Sam argued. "She's a part of the family. It's why she helps out as much as she does."

"You two are too much," Lindsay declared, composing herself enough to return to the table.

* * *

"We're just a whole ball of crazy!" Sam cried. "Never a dull moment in the Flack house is there, honey?!"

"Oh yeah...it's just like the Cleavers only on LSD and crack," he quipped.

"Well gee, Wally," Sam said in her best Beaver voice. "What's that stuff you're smoking out of that crazy little glass pipe there? Can I have a hit? Can I? Can I?"

"Jesus Christ," Lindsay giggled and buried her face in her hands. "Sam...you're... I don't know what you are..."

"Crazy," Flack said. "Mental...insane..loco...take your pick."

"You love me!" Sam cried and put her feet in his lap.

"I never said I didn't love my insane wife," he said and winked at her. "Whose costing me a mint in car insurance by the way!" he held up the bill.

"It was just one small accident," Sam told him. "Just a small one. I swear I did not think the car was in reverse when I stepped on the gas."

"She rear ends someone in the Target parking lot," Flack told Lindsay. "Because she has a license but drives worth a shit! And she'd only had the car for a month. A month! You know what the payments are on a Pontiac G-5?"

Lindsay shook her head.

"Nearly four and a half a month. On top of her insurance. She couldn't just get a used car."

"Never!" Sam declared. "It's the car I wanted!"

"I want a lot of things too. Millions of dollars, a penthouse, a Bentley, that Rachel Bilson chick as my mistress..."

"Like she'd ever have anything to do with your sorry ass," Sam snorted.

"Hey, she might have a cop fetish for all we know."

"Well if she does," Sam said. "The next time she comes over, get her to bring over Justin Timberlake for me, would ya?"

"I thought it was Mister President that you were crushing on lately," Flack commented. "You tell Linds about how your jonesin' for the commander and chief?"

Lindsay nodded. "He is rather handsome and charming," she said.

"Sam wants to be the First Lady," Flack told her. "Kick Michelle out and have him all to herself."

"Never mind First Lady!" Sam laughed. "I want to be Obama's Monica Lewinsky."

"Just promise me you won't keep the stained little black dress in the back of our closet as a souvenir," Flack said.

"You're disturbed!" Sam declared. "It was actually the cigar I was going to keep."

"You are one sick and twisted human being you know that?" Flack asked as Lindsay rolled with laughter beside him, her head on the table. "Getting all your kinkiness and your perverted shit out before we get to your parents tomorrow or what?"

Sam nodded and dipped her finger into the yogurt and slowly licked it off with the tip of her tongue. "Let's just say you are going to be one very lucky man later on," she said. "Seeing as I need to get all the sex out of my system before we leave."

"Mile high club, baby," Flack grinned. "I told you that already. If you're cutting me off for three weeks you're putting out in the airplane bathroom."

"You guys aren't going to have sex for three weeks?" Lindsay lifted her head, her eyes wide. "Why the hell not?"

"Because Sam's crazy mother doesn't let us fornicate in her house," Flack told her, gathering all the bills up and arranging them in a neat stack and setting them on the table.

"Are you serious?" Lindsay asked. "You're in your thirties and married and she doesn't want you guys having sex?"

Flack nodded. "Last time we went, she made us sleep in separate rooms."

Lindsay frowned. "Why? You're married. Why in the hell...?"

"Because she hates me," Flack said. "She doesn't want me fornicating with her daughter."

"Would you stop using that word!" Sam giggled. "That word drives me nuts."

"Why?" he asked. "It's what it is."

"I know. But who in the hell uses that word? Fornicates? Seriously. Just say what it really is."

"What do you want me to say? She doesn't want me to fuck her daughter?"

Kieran popped his bottle out of his mouth. "FUCK!" he shrieked and burst into a fit of giggles.

"Donald!" Sam cried. "What in the hell?!"

"It's not my fault he repeats everything," Flack said.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," their toddler son singsonged.

"Jesus!" Sam slapped a hand to her forehead. "Donald! Stop him from saying that! He's going to start that on the plane! Or worse in front of my parents or my grandparents if they come by!"

"So?" Flack asked. "So what if he says fuck?"

"I do! It's bad! He shouldn't be saying that and you shouldn't be teaching him that!"

"It's not like I sat him down and taught him how to say it," Flack told her. "I didn't sit down and say Kieran, here's a new word for you. Less of a huge deal we make about it, chances are he will forget about it. He's only saying it over and over again because he likes seeing the reaction he gets. So don't react and he'll stop."

Kieran quieted down. His bottle firmly planted in his mouth once again.

"Damn kid," Sam grumbled. "Seriously, Donnie. What if he does that in church?"

Flack's eyes widened. "Church? Hold the phone. Whose going to church?"

Sam smiled primly and pointed at herself, than Kieran, than her husband.

"Oh hell no," Flack said. "I never agreed to going to church, babe. You never even mentioned it."

"My parents go to church every Sunday," she told him.

"So? Why do we have to go with them?"

"Be a good little Catholic boy, Donald," she said. "Besides, we need to start going if we want Kieran baptized sometime soon. He should be baptized and you know it. And he can't go to a Catholic school if he isn't. So there."

"Sammie, I agreed to baptizing him Catholic and him going to a Catholic school. That's all fine and dandy. But I never agreed to going to church with your family."

"Face it, honey," she said, and pushing her chair away from the table, stood up and gathered all her garbage together. "This is an argument you will not win."

He sighed and hung his head and shook it slowly.

"You have to go sometime, baby," she said. "If he's going to be baptized..."

"I know, I know," he grumbled. "Just don't expect much, okay? Don't expect me going every Sunday or Saturday evenings. Okay?"

"I'd never expect the Devil's spawn to change that much," she teased as she rinsed her spoon at the sink. "Kieran Shaun Donald.." she singsonged. "Mommy's little skin head. Were you a good boy while I was napping?"

He nodded.

"Other than letting your dad teach you such a filthy word."

"It was Monroe," Flack said and stood up as well. "All Monroe."

"You lie!" Lindsay laughed. "You know, I really admire you two," she said.

"Why's that?" Flack asked. "Because we drive each other nuts and haven't killed each other yet?"

"No," she replied. "I guess it's because both of you know you're not perfect and you don't deny it. And you annoy each other to no end. You say stupid stuff and than take it back in the next breath. But if you put all the craziness aside, I honestly don't think I'll ever find two people that loves and cherishes the other as much as you two do. I just..." she sighed. "I wish I had that, what you two have, with Danny. Where you can just push each others buttons and piss each other off. Have a raging argument and make up a minute later."

"We fight just so we can make up," Flack said. He snagged the dish towel off the handle of the oven and twisted it up and smacked his wife on the ass with it. "Right, honey?! We just like to get to the make up sex."

"That f'ing hurt!" she complained, stroking her back side. "Do you mind?"

"I never mind touching your ass," he said with a grin and gently rubbed her butt for her. "I'm sorry. I thought seeing as you got a big old J-Lo butt, more cushion for the pushin', it wouldn't hurt that much."

"Are you saying I'm fat?" she gasped. "I may be pregnant but I am still a size eight I'll have you know."

"I never said you were fat, babe. I just said you have a J-Lo butt. That's all. And it's a really, really nice J-Lo butt."

"Linds does not want to hear about your perversions, okay? Now can you please make yourself useful and start something for dinner before Danny gets home?"

"What is this? A foursome? A four-nogamous relationship? I have two wives and a husband?"

"I think it would probably be called quad-nogamous," Sam corrected.

"Well whatever it's called, I don't want to be part of it, okay? Unless we get rid of Messer and it's just me, you and Monroe."

"Hmmm, let me think about that," Sam said. "How does this sound? No."

"You never let me have any fun, Sammie. We get married and I never have any fun anymore."

She smiled. "Oh well...no one ever said marrying me would be fun, did it? Would you please make something for dinner? Please? The trippies are hungry."

"Don't blame it on them," Flack said and went to the fridge and opened it. "What the hell...why is the fridge so damn full? And how long has some of this shit been around for?"

"Shit!" Kieran cried from his spot at Sam's feet.

"Donald!" Sam bellowed. "You owe like twenty bucks to the swear jar!"

"Why don't I just put my whole pay cheque in it and than we're good for a month?" he suggested.

"Why don't you just watch your mouth," Sam retorted.

"I could do that," he said, rummaging through the fridge. "But than life around here would be just damn boring now, wouldn't it. Seriously, Sam. How much food does one house need?"

"There's four adults and a toddler under one roof," Sam reminded him. "And you and Danny eat like pigs."

"I say we just order something," Flack said, shutting the fridge. "I'm too lazy to go searching in that mess to find something to make. Chinese sound good, babe? Linds? Chinese?"

"Sounds good to me," Lindsay said, rubbing her stomach. "I'm starving. All that running around today looking for a job and not having time to eat."

"Still don't know why you don't take us up on our offer," Flack said, removing his glasses and setting them on the counter.

"Put those damn things back on!" Sam ordered.

"I'm rubbing my freaking eyes!" he informed her. "Do you mind?"

"You heard what the doctor said. Morning, noon and night."

"Jesus woman. Do you ever stop? My eyes are bothering me. Give me a minute to rub them before you get on my ass."

"This is what I mean about you two," Lindsay laughed. "You do this bickering, nagging thing at each other and the whole time, the way you're looking at each other...I don't know. I can't describe it. What's in your eyes when you look at one another."

"Lust," Flack said. "Pure lust. On her part anyway."

"Yep, that's it," Sam told him. "I am in lust with you."

"I know you love me," he said. "Deep down in that tiny body of yours. Part of you loves me."

She smiled lovingly at him.

He grinned and winked at her and kissed her softly.

"Food..." she said, tugging on his t-shirt. "Now."

"You're demanding. K? You wanna come for a car ride with daddy? Go pick up Uncle Danny and get your mommy some food on the way back?"

Kieran nodded, pulled his bottle out of his mouth and let out a loud, rib shaking belch.

Lindsay giggled. "He's definitely your son, Flack."

"Kieran!" Sam scolded. "Say excuse me."

"Tuse me," he said, a devilish grin on his face.

"Oh yeah?" Flack went to the fridge, grabbed a can of gingerale and cracked it open. He down half of it in swallow, waited thirty seconds and than unleashed a massive burp of his own. "Try and beat that, K," he said.

Kieran burst into hysterical laughter.

"Don!" Sam exclaimed, exasperated. "What is wrong with you?"

"I will not be out done by a fourteen month old, Sammie."

"Competing with a toddler, Donald?" she arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah...and your point?"

She pulled him by the t-shirt into her. "Grow up," she responded.

"Never," he vowed. "You can suck all the fun out of me, Sammie, but I will not let you steal my youth. Understand me woman? Come on, K. Let's go. Sometime today would be good."

He offered his hand to his son. The toddler curled his hand around two of his dad's fingers and pulled himself up onto his feet.

"Go and get one toy," Flack told him. "You can bring one two with you in the car. Okay?"

"One!" Kieran exclaimed, holding up two fingers before scurrying out of the room.

"Think he'll come back with one or two?" Flack asked his wife.

"This morning I said get me a diaper and he brought me six," she laughed. "I attempted putting him on the potty this morning. What a disaster that was. Ask Lindsay. While you're at the eye doctor, I'm dealing with a bawling, kicking and biting fourteen month old on the potty. Such fun."

"It's probably going to take even longer now to potty train him, you know," Flack said, gathering his keys and cell phone off the top of the microwave.

"I know," she sighed. "And it's going to be a bitch to get him off the bottle and get him away from needing a light on to sleep. Right when he was making all this quick progress on stuff..."

"It happens," he reasoned. "We can't do much about it. So it takes awhile to get him back on track."

"He shouldn't have to get back on track," Sam said, her voice quiet, tears sparkling in her eyes. True to Chester Lake's words, things indeed weren't getting easier to accept and deal with quickly. Most days she was able to not think about what had happened every time she looked at her son, but other days she spent most of her time in tears or at least near them and lamenting why things had to happen to them and their family.

"I'm just going to check on baby K," Lindsay said, code words for I'll leave you to alone for a minute.

* * *

Flack smiled his appreciation as she left the room, than turned back to his wife. Reaching out, he pushed a piece of wayward hair behind her ear. "He's doing okay, Sammie. You know that. You see how happy he is. He doesn't remember anything."

"But he knows when he's in pain," she sniffled. "You hear him bad he cries when he goes to the bathroom. No kid should have to suffer like that just because he has to go to the bathroom. That's not fair."

"The doctor said things are healing better than they expected" Flack reminded her, running a hand over her hair and down her back. It's just going to take a while for things to be completely back to normal."

"He's just a baby," she whispered. "He shouldn't have to go through that."

"Sammie, trust me, babe, he's doing great. He's smiling and he's laughing and he's eating well. He's happy. He's the old Kieran. So he went back to a bottle and sucking his thumb and sleeping with a light on. So he takes longer to potty train. Who gives a shit? The most important thing is that he's healthy and happy and he's safe at home with us."

"But when are we going to be normal?" she asked, brushing tears away. "When are things going to be normal for us again? Me and you?"

"So we've got some intimacy issues. No biggie. We got things done this morning. So that's as far as we go right now. If it freaks you out to have sex than it freaks you out to have sex. You think that's the most important thing to me? Whether we have full out intercourse or not?"

"I never said that it was the most important thing to you," she said. "It's just not normal."

"Says who? Considering what we just went through and what happened to Kieran bringing up all those memories of your dad, us not having sex is the least of our worries. We're lucky that's all the problems it caused. We're going to see that therapist when we get back," he rubbed her back softly and affectionately, letting his hand slide up to her shoulder. "He'll sort it out, make sense of it all and we'll be better off in the long run. You'll see."

She nodded and wiped her eyes on the front of his shirt and laid her forehead against his chest.

"It's going to get better," Flack promised, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You just have to give it time and stop being so impatient. It's not going to go away over night, Sammie."

"I know," she said, resting her hands on his sides. "But I want it to start feeling a little better soon."

"It will," he assured her, stroking her back. "Once we get out of here for a while and away from the city and this apartment, things will probably start looking up."

"I hope so," she sighed and pulled away. She looked up at him. "You're doing okay?" she asked. "I don't seem to ask you enough how you're doing. You're so busy worrying about me that it makes it seem like I don't worry about you."

"I know you worry about me," he said, and kissed her softly.

"You never answered my question."

"I'm coping," he told her, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Barely sometimes, but I'm still coping."

"Instead of worrying about me so much, maybe you should be talking to me about how you're feeling," she suggested.

"It's my job to worry about you," he said with a smile. "And if I felt I needed to talk to someone, you'd be the first person I'd go to."

"You need to talk about it, Donnie," she told him.

"When I need to talk, I will," he promised her. Kissing her one last time, he broke away from her. "Is there anything else you need while I'm out?"

"A Frosty from Wendy's would be nice," she responded, rubbing her slightly protruding belly. "I'm going to make myself and Lindsay some sweet potato fries."

Flack shuddered at the thought. "I can't believe you eat those things."

"They're good," she said and went to the fridge and opened the freezer.

"Fries are not fries unless they're cooked in tons of grease and smothered in gravy," he declared.

"So says the thirty-one year old with bad cholesterol," she teased.

"You love me, Sammie," he said, stepping behind her and snaking an arm around her waist and kissing the back of her head. "Regardless of all my problems."

"God knows you have enough," she sighed dramatically. "Be careful while you're out please."

"Always," he said. "Be nice to my babies," he implored, stroking her tummy.

"Always," she responded. "I love you, Donnie. Just please be safe. With yourself and with Kieran."

"I will," he promised. "And I love you, too and I'll be back in a little while. You need anything you just call me or Danny. Okay?"

She nodded.

"Be good," he said, pecking her cheek and leaving the kitchen.

She stood at the freezer, staring at nothing in particular, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. She was terrified. Scared to death that he was going to leave the house and not come back. That she'd get that one phone call she dreaded the most...

Don't do this, she pleaded to herself. You can get through this. You can cope and you can deal because you're stronger than you realize.

She sighed and brushed her tears away with the sleeve of her shirt.

Than why do I feel anything but strong?

* * *

Danny was already waiting outside of the crime lab, freezing his ass of in the blustery, snowy conditions, having a smoke when the familiar black GMC Yukon pulled up at the crib. He hurriedly finished the last of his cigarette and flicked away and headed for the waiting vehicle.

"What's up four eyes?" he asked, as he flung open the door and climbed into front passenger seat.

"Mess, I swear if you don't knock that four eyes shit off, I'm eighty-sixing your ass from my place," Flack responded, as his best friend shut his door and clipped on his seat belt.

"Do that and it might actually give me and Montana the initiative to find our own apartment and stop freeloading off you and Brooklyn."

"Honestly, I think Sammie would miss you guys too much if you were to leave. Not that that is an open invitation to live with me and sleep on my couch for the next twenty odd years. Just she likes having you guys around."

"Well we like being around you guys," Danny said. "And it's nice to see Sam and Linds getting so close. Never thought I'd see that happen in a million years, mind you."

"Miracles never cease to exist," Flack declared. "And Sam's needing a friend these days with her and Carmen on the outs and Carmen siding with Stella and all that other soap opera bullshit."

"It's not that she's siding with her," Danny said. "It's just she's supporting Stella's stance on the whole thing. Gotta give Mac credit though. He laid into her when he found out how she'd handled you guys and talked to you guys at the hospital. And Speed was brought up on the carpet by Sinclair for what eh said to the press."

"Good," Flack glanced through the rear view mirror to check the flow of traffic coming down Broadway. "He's lucky I didn't kill him. And trust me, if Lessing hadn't have kicked the shit out of me, I would have been on Speedle's ass in a heart beat. Anything else being said around there?"

Danny shook his head. "We've all got your guys backs and you know that. Anyone says anything and me and Hawkes will tear 'em apart. Never mind what Adam will do. Give it some time. Once you guys get back from Arizona things will have died down and we'll all be friends again. Just a lot of things got said and feelings got hurt and it's a big old fucking mess."

"Only time will tell," Flack said, as he steered the SUV into traffic. "Carmen called last night but Sam's been blocking the calls. Next time you see her, tell her not to take it too personally. Sam's just not talking to anyone these days. She's a little pissed."

"Rightfully so," Danny yawned noisily and glanced into the back seat. Where Kieran, in his winter jacket and navy blue wool hat with NYPD written across it and boots was fast asleep in his car seat, his head tilted at an awkward angle. "Kid looks more and more like you every day," he said to his best friend. "Poor little bastard. Thank God he's got his mom's brains though or he'd be really screwed."

"Be nice, Mess," Flack said. "Or I'm tossing you out at the first red light."

Danny held up his hands in surrender. "I was kinda surprised when you called and said you were coming to pick me up. You've never done that before."

Flack shrugged. "Didn't want you taking the subway home in the freezing cold," he said.

"Ahh, Donnie," Danny gave a girlish giggle and reached out to run a hand over his best friend's head and down to his neck. "I never realized you thought of me in that way."

"Piss off, Messer," he grumbled and slapped the CSI's hand away. "Maybe I just felt like being a nice guy for once."

"Maybe," Danny agreed. "Or maybe you're here 'cause you got something on your mind and you want to talk about it."

Flack smirked. "Damn you," he said.

"So? What's up?" Danny asked. "What's bugging ya?"

"I got a call today from Sinclair," Flack told him. "Jack Doyle filed a complaint against me and is threatening to have me charged with assault. Police brutality were the exact words."

"You found this out today?"

He nodded.

"Sinclair pissed?"

"Surprisingly, both Sinclair and Gerrard vow they have my back and that they'll support me no matter what if it goes any further than a complaint."

"At least they're not saying fuck you and throwing you to the wolves." Danny said. "And for what it's worth, I got your back no matter what, too."

Flack smiled and nodded. "Thanks. Means a lot."

"You'd do it for me, right? Can't believe that scum bag, Doyle. He's the one that kidnaps your kid and does whatever else to him and he has the nerve to file a complaint against you? I am telling you right now, Flack. I hope some con gets a hold of him and tears him open from sun up to sun down and than kills him. 'Cause he doesn't deserve to walk this earth. You tell Sam? About the complaint?"

Flack shook his head. "She's got enough shit to deal with without adding to it. I'll tell her when we get back. So she doesn't start back at work and hear anything and than wonder why I never told her. And there's another thing. Us going away."

"Thought you'd be happy to get out of the city," Danny said.

"I am. It's just...I'm worried that Sam's mom is going to get on her. About leaving Kieran alone and him getting snatched. Because that's the way Sam's mother is. She'll start in on her about how it was her fault and so on and so on and Sam just doesn't need to hear that shit. She feels guilty enough."

"She's got nothing to feel guilty about," Danny said.

"I know that and you know that, but Sam..." he sighed. "Sam doesn't know that. She still blames herself. And no matter how many times I tell her if wasn't her fault, it doesn't seem to get through to her."

"Give her some time. More time that passes, the more she'll start to get things. And she's got all of us around to help her. Especially Linds."

"Which brings me onto the third thing I wanted to talk about," Flack said. "You and Monroe. Well mostly Monroe."

"Okay..."

"Sam and I made an offer to her today."

Danny arched an eyebrow. "You two are not having a threesome with my girl."

"What is wrong with you?" Flack snorted. "Why would you even think that? I mean a job offer you moron. Sam and I were talking and we're going to pull K out of day care. He's just not doing well there since this all happened. He's been there three times and those three times he started bawling the second Sammie dropped him off and apparently threw temper tantrums all day. Biting kids and the teachers and banging his head off of stuff."

"So he's just like you than," Danny quipped.

He frowned. "I'm being serious here, Mess. We're pulling him out and me and Sam talked about it and my mom can't watch him full time and we asked Lindsay if she wanted to do it."

"Like a nanny?"

Flack nodded. "I mean, the wage isn't going to be the best, but it's far above minimum and would help pay the bills once you guys got your own place."

"And what did she say?" Danny asked.

"She said she's going to think about it. Personally, I think it's a good fit. Her and Kieran. Because he really likes her and she's the only one he doesn't freak out on if Sam or I leave the house."

"And she adores him," Danny added. "In my opinion, it's a good idea. She doesn't want to go back into law enforcement and she loves kids. So that seems like a logical thing for her to do. Gives Sam a helping hand when she has the triplets, too."

Flack nodded. "I'm worried about her, Danny," he said with a heavy sigh.

"Brooklyn?"

He nodded again. "She's not eating properly, she's not sleeping properly. She says she's hungry than barely touches anything. She wakes up from nightmares at least three times a night."

"Give it some time, Flack," Danny implored. "She needs time. You need time. Together. Going away is going to be the best thing you could have ever done. Trust me. You guys will be so relaxed and have such a good time, you won't ever want to come back."

Flack didn't respond. Because deep down, he was wondering if he did want to come back. If just going away, far away from everything and everyone he knew, was the answer to all of his problems.

He'd miss New York City. But if it came down to saving his family and their sanity and his own, leaving would be a choice he'd be willing to make.

* * *

"How come you're not sleeping, Montana?" Danny grumbled. He was on his stomach in the middle of the pull out couch, his face turned towards his girlfriend, his weary eyes adjusting to the moonlight.

It was shortly after midnight. The entire house had retired for the night long ago. Kieran had gone to bed at quarter to eight, but had woken up just after ten, screaming bloody murder from a nightmare and begging for mommy and daddy to come and get him. In the end it had been daddy to the rescue. Danny and Lindsay could hear them down the hall, Flack talking to his son in a calm, soothing voice as he cuddled him close and paced the bedroom with him. Eventually, he'd changed the kid's diaper and than took him into the master bedroom to sleep in between him and Sam. Neither of them believed in or condoned co-sleeping, but lately it seemed to be the only way the toddler would sleep soundly.

That was the last of the noise from the opposite end of the apartment. Yet Lindsay had spent the last two hours tossing and turning. Her mind plagued with random thoughts and sleep evading her. Now she lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, clad in a pair of Hello Kitty pyjamas borrowed from her bestie, as she so fondly referred to Sam as. She was still waiting for all of her things to be boxed up and shipped to New York. And the way that the governor was dragging his heels on cutting her loose, she was considering just buying a whole new wardrobe and saying fuck it.

"I'm going to take Sam and Flack up on their offer," she said.

"About taking care of Kieran?"

Lindsay nodded. "I just love the little guy and he seems to love me and respond well to me and Sammie's going to need the help once the triplets come along."

"You're calling her Sammie now, too?"

"Only the ones that love her most call her that," Lindsay grinned. "I just wanted to make sure it was okay with you. That I take the job."

"Why wouldn't it be? I think you're great with him and I see how much you two adore each other. I think it's the best thing for you to do."

Lindsay smiled and rolled over onto her side and kissed him softly. "This is so surreal," she sighed.

"Tell me about it. Never thought in a million years I'd be living at Flack's. I mean, I've camped out on the couch before, but I've never been common law with him."

"I wasn't referring to sleeping on Flack's couch," Lindsay informed him, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. "I was referring to me and you."

"My mistake," Danny laughed, than found himself tackled onto his back and his girlfriend climbing astride him. "Thought we agreed not to get busy while Sam and Flack were home," he said, running his hands along her thighs and up to her waist.

"I wasn't about to get busy with you," Lindsay informed him.

"Damn it," he sighed dramatically. "Just think though. We got the whole place to ourselves for three weeks. We might have to buy them a new pull out. We'll probably wear this one out. Bust all the springs."

"Pig," Lindsay complained, and leaned over to kiss him.

"Oink, oink, baby," he laughed. "What else is up?" he asked. "You can't tell me that you thinking about becoming Mary Poppins to K is what's keeping you from sleeping."

"It's not," she sighed. "I've been thinking and there's something I need to say to you."

He frowned. "You're dumping me already?"

"No!" she laughed. "Unless you're hoping for that."

"Not in a million years," he declared. "So? Spill. What's up?"

"I want what Sam and Flack have," she said.

"In what way? The apartment? Nice cars to drive? A baby? More babies on the way?"

"Not stuff like that," Lindsay responded. "Especially the last two. Because we've already talked about waiting a couple of years before we start our own family and you know that I'll love your son or daughter with Erica no matter what."

Danny nodded. "So what do you mean than?"

"I mean what they have. Relationship wise. The way they are with each other. The way they love one another so wholly and completely. The way they bicker and drive each other nuts but you still see all this love and adoration and respect in their eyes when they so as much look at each other."

"We do have that, Lindsay. Don't you think we have that?"

"Not to the extent that they have it. I know you love me. Just like you know I love you. We wouldn't be here right now if we didn't love each other. But I don't think we have exactly what they have."

"How could we? We're Danny and Lindsay and they're Sam and Flack. What we feel and what they feel are going to be completely different."

"I know that. But I want that kind of love, Danny. And I don't know if we have that kind. Does that make sense?"

"In a strange and obscure kind of way. And honestly, Linds, I don't think many people ever find what Sam and Flack have. It's something we all want and seldom find."

"I know," she sighed. "But I was hoping we could be one of the few that do find it."

Danny considered her words. "I love you, Lindsay Monroe. More than words. You know that, right?"

She smiled and nodded. "And I love you, Daniel Messer."

"Than how about we make a deal," he suggested.

"What kind of deal?" she asked.

"How about we not worry about finding what Sam and Flack have, and create something of our own. Our own love. Danny and Lindsay. Let's concentrate on what we have and building on that. Sound good?"

She beamed. "Sounds perfect," she said and kissed her deeply. Squealing and giggling when she found herself flipped over onto her back.

"Are you wearing Brooklyn's jammies?" he asked, propping on an elbow as he fingered the pyjama top.

Lindsay nodded.

"What is it with you two and Hello Kitty?" he asked, popping open the top button.

"Hello Kitty is adorable," she declared.

"Yeah? Well I hate Hello Kitty," Danny informed her, and began opening the rest of the buttons. "So the sooner we get it off of you, the better."

She shivered, goosebumps pricking up all over her body as his fingertips drifted along her sides and up her stomach and between her breasts. Sighing and closing her eyes at the feel of his lips and his tongue on the side of her neck and her collarbone. "I thought we agreed we weren't going to do anything," she said, biting her bottom lips as his mouth travelled over the swell of her breasts, down the space in between and lower.

"We did," he told her, licking a circle around her navel and than blowing on the moist area. Grinning as she gave a little whimper of delight. "But I changed my mind," he said, hooking his fingers in the waistband of her pyjama bottoms.

"I don't think they want to hear us, Danny," she said, not protesting as he slid her bottoms over her hips and down her legs, sitting on his heels as he tossed them aside.

"They won't," he told her, and grabbed a hold of her pillow and handed it to her. "Just don't suffocate yourself," he said with a wink, and pressing kiss to each knee, pushed her legs apart gently.

"I'm going to die," she declared with a long, content sigh.

"Hell of a way to go, Montana," he told her.

"Best damn way in the world, Cowboy," she said, and lost herself underneath his skilled hands and mouth.

And she hoped that she'd continue to lose herself within him for as long as she lived. Fate had brought her to him, and there was nothing that could tear them apart now.

She would fight for him and his love to the death.

And she was certain, with every fibre of being, that he felt the same way.

And that this was forever. That they were forever.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you!! Thanks for all the support revolving around the Lessing story line and what happened to baby K. I was worried about doing it and you guys really gave me the confidence I needed to get through it. Especially at a time where I've been considering, thanks to a select negative few, pulling both MOB and VFB. So much love to all of you that support me, and my writing!!! But please, please, please review. It keeps me going!**

**Special thanks to:**

**hope4sall**

**laurzz**

**brttmclv**

**muchmadness**

**laplandgurl**

**bluehaven4220**

**Kassandra J**

**Forest Angel**

**shopaholic20**

**Soccer-bitch**


	53. Heaven or Hell? Or Somewhere in Between?

**

* * *

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN...YOU KNOW THE REST**

**Heaven or hell? Or somewhere in between?**

"Some people say  
That everything has got its place and time  
Even the day must give way to the night  
But I'm not buying  
'Cause, in your eyes  
I see a love that burns eternally  
And, if you see how beautiful you are to me  
You'll know I'm not lying

Sure, there'll be times we wanna say goodbye  
But, even if we tried  
There are some things in this life  
Won't be denied

I'm never gonna say goodbye  
'Cause I never wanna see you cry  
I swore to you my love would remain  
And I'd swear it all over again--and I I'm never gonna treat you bad  
'Cause I never wanna see you sad  
I swore to share your joys and your pain  
And I'd swear it all over again."  
-Swear it Again, Westlife

* * *

It was seventy-seven degrees in Phoenix, Arizona. The pilot of Delta Airlines Flight 181 made the announcement shortly before the fasten your seat belts sign went on and the plane made it's final approach towards Sky Harbor International Airport. Passengers, on route from New York City's JFK airport, had long ago stashed winter jackets and hats and mitts in the overhead compartments, and took the opportunity after the announcement to shed themselves of any extra layers of clothing.

By the time they got their luggage from the baggage claim area and procured their rental car from the AVIS desk in the airport, it was quarter after three in the afternoon. Flack had insisted that the in laws not feel the need to pick them up upon their arrival. Although the gesture was appreciated, he preferred to have a rented vehicle to drive around for three weeks as opposed to either being stuck in the house or borrowing one of the in laws' cars. And also because it was an hour drive to the house, and Flack wanted to spend that last hour in relative peace and quiet before losing his sanity all together.

He loaded the luggage – why was it a kid that weighed less than thirty pounds and barely stood two feet came with the most baggage? - into the trunk of the gun metal grey Chrysler Sebring sedan and than set to work securing Kieran's car seat in the middle of the back seat while Sam waited with their son on the curb, explaining to the toddler in a patient, soft tone that he had to hold mommy's hand because mommy didn't want him running off and getting lost and never coming back. And did he want that? To never come back to mommy and daddy? That he was lost once and mommy and daddy were sad and they couldn't take it if he got lost again.

"He's going to pray for someone to rescue him after twenty four hours with your parents," Flack commented, finishing with the car seat and turning around to scoop Kieran up.

He couldn't help but think, as his petite wife stood there, in a pair of baggy jeans and flip flops and a green and white Puma zip up athletic jacket she'd snagged from his side of the closet and the sunshine causing the natural red highlights in her hair to sparkle brilliantly, that she was honestly the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. And that he needed to stop taking advantage of her and taking her for granted so much.

"Be nice, Don," she said with a sigh. "A little optimism would be nice."

"Optimism and your mother don't belong in the same thought," he said, ducking back into the car and placing Kieran in the car seat . "Next trip we take," he called to her, as he buckled his son in tightly. "I say we don't take the kid. Because he just comes with way too much crap."

"Just promise me you'll be nice," Sam pleaded, unable to resist checking out her husband's ass that was on fine and full display in his loose fitting Tommy Hilfiger jeans.

"I'm always nice," he said. "Nice is my middle name."

She snorted and unzipped the jacket and shrugged out of it.

"And quit checking out my ass," he added, as he backed out of the car.

"I can't help it, okay? You happen to have a very nice ass. Would you rather I be checking out yours or some random guy's on the street?"

"I'd rather you be.." he turned to face her and all thought and words escaped him.

His eyes widened in sheer horror at the sight of the t-shirt she was so proudly wearing. Soft pink, with a picture of Tinkerbell from Peter Pan on it, hunched down on all fours, accompanied by the words: If you're going to ride my ass, at least pull my hair. Last week, when she'd brought that shirt one from some crappy little boutique that specialized in poorly made designer knock-offs, he'd had a good laugh about it but politely asked her to never wear that in public. She had assured him it was for pyjama purposes only. That she thought it suit her personality and their relationship perfectly and couldn't resist.

And now there she was, an hour away from her parents' house, in that t-shirt. She had kept that jacket zipped up from the time they left the house until that very moment. And now he understood why.

"What?" she asked innocently, passing him his jacket. "What's wrong?"

"Did you have to wear that?" he asked. "Seriously, Sam. Did you?"

"It's my favorite t-shirt," she declared. "And I wore it just for you, honey."

"You told me you wouldn't wear it out of the house."

"Well I changed my mind," she said with a shrug. "It's just a t-shirt."

"Put that damn jacket back on and do it up," he ordered, tossing his jacket back at her.

"But it's hot here," she protested. "I'll sweat to death."

"It's only seventy-five degrees out..."

"Seventy-seven," she corrected and stuck her tongue out at him.

"Whatever...just put the goddamn jacket back on. You know what your mother will do if she sees that shirt?"

"You mean other than think you've majorly corrupted me?"

"She'll have a stroke and you know it. Put the jacket back on."

"Don't boss me around," she fought back. "Don't go all detective Sargent on me."

"Sam..." he nearly snapped at her, but held it back admirably. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Put the jacket back on. Please."

"Fine," she huffed and slipped back into the item of clothing. "I'm not doing it up though."

"You're so damn childish," he complained, and reached out and zipped the jacket up.

"Usually you're unzipping things," she commented.

He smirked and kissed her. "Get your ass in the damn car," he said.

"You're bossy today," she informed him and went around the back of the vehicle to the front passenger door and opened it. "Where'd my husband go? Where'd the nice Don Flack go?"

"He's back home in New York City. You've got to put up with the mean, off hand, sarcastic Don Flack for the next three weeks."

"Like hell!" she declared and slipped into the car and shut the door.

* * *

"I can't believe you'd actually wear that shirt," he sighed, as he climbed in behind the wheel.

"I was making a statement," she declared, as he adjusted his seat and the mirrors.

"That you're a dirty, perverted little thing that's into having her hair pulled while I..."

"Enough," she held her hand up to silence him. "Keep that nice thought to yourself. That should be enough to sustain you for three weeks."

"If you actually think I'm going through weeks without getting anything, you are delusional," Flack told her, starting up the ignition.

"You know the rules," Sam said, unzipping Kieran's Bob the Builder knapsack. "No pleasure of any kind in their house."

"You know, I was thinking we should go to the drug store before we hit your parents house and buy the biggest bottle of lube they have and use some of it and get some on the sheets and than leave the bed unmade and the bottle on the floor where your mom can find it."

"Don't be a shit disturber, Donald," she said, rummaging through the bag to find the two pairs of sunglasses she'd stowed in it earlier.

"Or, we can do that and leave my handcuffs attached to the headboard."

She grinned. "Better yet, how about I leave you attached to the headboard with your handcuffs?" she suggested, finding her pair of black framed Paris Hilton style shades and slipping them onto her face.

"You've done that twice and neither time was amusing," he complained, switching on the signal light in an attempt to encourage some other kind hearted driver to let him into the flow of traffic.

"I left you there for all of five minutes," she said. "I wouldn't have left you there all night or all day. Or would I have?" she gave a dramatic, evil laugh.

"Mommy!" Kieran called out from the back seat. "Mommy! No!"

Sam glanced over her shoulder, to where her son was pointing out the window with one hand and covering his eyes with the other.

"Hear that?" Flack asked, as he finally made his way into traffic. "He's telling you not to be so mean to me."

"No he's not. He's complaining that the sun is in his eyes," Sam informed her husband, and digging into the bag, pulled out a tiny pair of blue framed Blues Clues sunglasses. Unbuckling her seat belt, she leaned into the backseat and gently slipped them onto her son's face. "There...better K?"

He nodded and gave her a thumbs up. "Tank, mommy," he said, than promptly stuck his thumb in his mouth.

Sam sighed. "I'm going to cut that damn thumb off Kieran Shaun Donald Flack!" she informed him.

He shook his head.

"I am. I'm going to get you when you're sleeping and chop it off with a butter knife. Than I'm going to feed it to Slippers."

"No!" he cried around the thumb in his mouth. "No whippers."

"Leave him alone," Flack said. "You're going to traumatize him."

"Please. I'd never honestly cut it off and feed it to the cat. Maybe dice it up and feed it to you..."

"Probably be the best damn, and only meal, you've made in a long time," he teased, and jerked his head away before she could manage to flick his earlobe.

"You don't look like you're starving!" Sam declared, and pinched his love handles.

"It's all the food my girlfriend makes me and leaves at work for me," he teased.

"You're mean," she said and pinched his stomach playfully.

"No...I'm just honest."

She stuck her tongue out at him and than smiled and rested her hand on the back of his neck, her fingernails gently rubbing his hair, or lack there of, at the bottom of his NYPD ball cap. She loved the feel of the brush cut, even if the look of it was still growing on her.

"Word of warning," Flack said. "Your mother starts on you about K and we're going to a hotel. You hear me?"

She nodded.

"Because you don't need that shit, Sammie. You don't need that stress. And those babies don't need you all worked up and tense. We need to worry about them and you. Okay?"

"I've been fine, Donnie. Even with everything with Kieran. I've been fine. My blood pressure has been normal and I haven't had any cramping or spotting. Nothing."

"Better to be safe than sorry," he reasoned. "I'm serious, Samantha. One goddamn word out of her about what happened..."

"I know, Don. I know. Okay? Don't nag at me and talk to me like I'm an idiot, okay? I know it's hard to turn the cop off, but you need to try. Please?"

"I'm not..."

"Please?" she urged.

"I'll try. I'm just worried about you and the babies. Don't fault me for that."

"I'm not. I love you for that. You know that. And I understand everything you're saying and I agree with you and I'm on your side. Just...just don't go on and on about it like I'm some kind of moron."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't even realize I'm like that half the time. Did you tell them about Kieran? About Doyle?"

Sam shook her head.

"Good move," he praised. "Less she has to get on you about the better."

Sam sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. "I just want people to realize it wasn't my fault," she said.

"You know what, Sammie? And I'm not saying this to be mean and I love you to death and you know that. But the only person who really thinks that what happened was your fault is yourself. And the sooner you're able to realize that it wasn't, the sooner you'll be able to stop thinking everyone else blames you."

She blinked behind her sunglasses and pulled back to look at him.

"It wasn't your fault, Samantha," he said. "I don't blame you. Kieran doesn't blame you. And we're your family and the only two peoples' opinions that should even matter to you. Who gives a crap what anyone else says or thinks? And trust me, anyone ever says anything about you, Carmen, Speed , Stella, I will make their lives a living, breathing hell. Don't think for one second I'm going to tolerate anyone saying shit about my wife."

She smiled brightly and leaned across the seat and kissed his cheek. "I love you," she declared.

"Yeah?" he grinned. "How much to you love me?"

"Tons and tons," she said.

"Enough to give me some at your parents?"

She frowned and kissed his cheek once more and retreated back to her side of the car. "Let it go, Don," she said.

* * *

The in-laws lived on a quiet, meticulously clean street in the sleepy suburb of Cave Creek. Sarge's pension from both the military and American Airlines and the wise investments he'd made over the years, had seen him and his wife purchasing the cream colored, Spanish style home two years before Samantha had left for New York City. With red tiling on the roof and a large, kidney shaped in ground pool in the perfectly landscaped backyard, the home at four bedrooms and three baths and backed out onto the dessert and had a phenomenal view of the mountains.

"Why am I suddenly filled with this overwhelming sense of dread?" Flack asked, as he pulled into the double driveway behind his father in law's Lexus SUV.

"Optimism, Donald! Optimism!" Sam exclaimed. Sticking her hand in Kieran's bag, she came up with a small bottle of prescription meds. "And a little helping of valium never hurt either!" she cried, holding the bottle aloft.

He frowned. "You know you can't take that stuff while you're pregnant."

"Relax, baby, It's only my diclectin," she said, snapping the top off the bottle and dumping a small white pill into her palm. "Because your children, plus the motion of the car, are making me feel very, very pukey right about now."

"Too bad you don't have any sedatives, because we both might need them to get through the next three weeks."

"All you need to remember, Donnie, is that I love you. Okay? Just remember that and we will survive anything," she picked up a bottle of water that sat in the cup holder between their seats and uncapped it and swallowed her pill with a long sip of the beverage.

"Why can't we stay in a hotel, Sam?" he lamented, putting the car in park and switching off the ignition. "I mean it doesn't have to somewhere expensive. Just somewhere we can sleep at night. We can spend all day here and than go back to the hotel when we need some privacy."

"We can't afford three weeks in a hotel," she pointed out. "That's expensive even if we stay somewhere cheap. And we will have more privacy here because K will have his own room to sleep in and you and I will have time to ourselves at night. And my mom works all day so you'll barely see her. And remember, the golf course is up the street and my dad is a member and he can bring guests."

"I just got over busted ribs. They probably aren't even close to a hundred percent yet. So as much as I would love to golf every day while we're here..."

"You're stuck hanging around with me all day, every day!" Sam giggled. "It's your worst nightmare come true! Three weeks solid with your wife! You poor, poor man."

"If I come out of this with even a shred of sanity in tact, I will be shocked," he said. "In fact I.."

His words were cut off as the front door swung open and Jericho, his in law's massive Akita came bounding out and down the driveway, barking noisily at the intruders. Flack normally wasn't one for having his kid around big dogs. He didn't trust them to not snap on the baby. Kieran was aggressive with animals and liked to yank on their tails and pull at their ears and rip out their fur. And while Slippers was declawed and put up with a lot of shit, including letting K use her as a pillow and a wrestling buddy, dogs were another story. But Jericho? Flack could honestly say that despite his vicious sounding bark and his intimidating size, Jericho was both gentle as hell and dumb as a box of rocks. It was the creature that followed behind the dog that scared him the most.

"Your mom looks pissed already," Flack murmured.

"Because we're late. She knows what time the flight was suppose to land and how long the drive from the airport takes. And she probably called the airport to check if our flight landed on time so don't even try lying and saying it was delayed or anything."

"I see now where you got your control freak personality from," he said, unbuckling his seat belt. He sighed heavily and made the sign of the cross. "Here we go," he said, and climbed out of the car.

"Was traffic bad?" Lynne asked her son in law in way of greeting. "Or did you get lost? You should have one of them GPS things."

"I have one," Flack said. "Her name's Sam and she's right there," he nodded in the direction of his wife who was out of the car and leaning into the backseat to get Kieran unbuckled. "We had to stop and get her something to eat and let her use the bathroom. I mean, that's okay, right? That she takes a leak?"

Lynne frowned. "I was merely mentioning it because I was worried about all of you."

"Sure you were," Flack said. "What? You're not giving your favorite son in law a hug and a kiss?"

She cleared her throat uncomfortably and gave him a brief, one armed hug. "Was your flight okay?" she asked, going around the side of the car to greet her daughter with a kiss and a hug and to attempt to take her grandson. Kieran wouldn't have anything to do with it. He tightened his hold on his mother's neck and screamed no at the top of his lungs.

"He's still having behavioral problems?" she asked, clearly hurt by the rejection.

"He just got over an ordeal mother," Sam replied defensively. "He hates being separated from me or Don at the moment. It's going to take him a while to get over that."

"Well he does have to grow up sooner as opposed to later. You coddle him too much, Samantha. Look at how clingy he is with you. Your brother was like that with me. I couldn't even go to the bathroom without him crying and carrying on. You don't want Kieran being a sissy like that."

"Mom!" Sam snapped. "He was..." she bit her tongue and took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "He was put through a lot, okay? He was put through a lot and he's dealing with things and some things he's regressed with and you need to be a little patient with him."

Lynne's eyes widened at the sight of a baby bottle in her daughter's hands. "He's back to using a bottle?" she sounded horrified at the thought.

"Did you not hear what I said?" Sam asked, setting Kieran down on the driveway. "He's regressing a little. He's using a bottle and sucking his thumb and he wants to sleep with mommy and daddy. And you know what, mom? That's okay. Because you don't know what he went through and you need to just back off of him."

"Don't be so defensive, Samantha."

"I am defensive, mom," she said, keeping an eye on Kieran as he wrapped one arm around her leg and used his free hand to pet the dog, laughing hysterically as Jericho lavished his face with messy, wet kisses. "He's my son and we went through hell. We're still going through hell and you don't have a right to talk to him or about him like that."

"Sam!" Flack called from the trunk, hoping to break up the tension a little. "You want all of the bags right now? What about his stroller? You want that out?"

"You can leave the stroller and just get the two big hockey bags for now," she responded. "Thanks, baby."

He nodded and gave a wave to show he heard her.

"I'm sorry that the three of you had to go through what you did," Lynne said to her daughter, sounding genuinely sympathetic. "We wanted to come down and..."

"I know, mom. Don told me you'd called and wanted to come. But it was best if you and daddy stayed here. There was nothing you could have done and I was sick in the hospital and..." she sighed. "It was just better that things were handled the way they were."

"Well I'm just glad to see that everyone is fine. That Kieran is okay and that nothing happened to your husband considering what you told me the other night."

"It was scary," Sam said. "He could have very easily died trying to get Kieran back. And mom, please don't call him that. He has a name. Please use it. Don't disrespect him like that. And it's Don. Not Detective Flack or Flack or Donald. Don. That's what he likes to go by. Okay?"

Flack couldn't help but grin, and feel an immense satisfaction and pride in his wife for not only standing out for herself, but sticking up for him. He set the bags on the ground and slammed the trunk closed.

"Daddeee?" Kieran chirped as he toddled over to his father and tugged insistently on the leg of Flack's jeans. "Daddy? "

"What, buddy?" he asked.

"Ook!" Kieran pointed at Jericho rolling around in the grass. "Ook, daddy! Awg! Awg!"

"I see him. And it's a dog, K," he pronounced the word dog clearly. "DOG."

"Awg!" the toddler repeated. "Me awg!"

"I don't think your mom wants you having a dog," Flack told him. "Not in the apartment anyway. Maybe when we get a house she'll let you have one. Okay?"

"O'tay," Kieran said. "Daddy?" he tugged on Flack's pant leg once again and than reached up to curl his fingers around one of Flack's, pulling on it energetically. A sign that he had something to say but needed not only use the sign for it, but for his dad to look at him and pay attention. "Daddy?"

"What K? What do you need?" he asked, looking down.

The toddler tapped the fingertips of his right hand to his lips.

"You want to eat? You're hungry?"

Kieran beamed and nodded enthusiastically.

"Sam!" Flack called to his wife as she and her mom talked quietly at the side of the car. "Your son is hungry!"

"And you want me to do what about that exactly?" Sam asked.

"Feed him would be nice. Or at least get him something to eat before he wastes away."

"He's your son," she said. "That's never going to happen, hon. I'm sure my mom has tons he can eat."

"I went and bought tons of groceries this morning!" Lynne told them, flashing both a smile and excitement in her voice. "I bought my darling grandson all of the things that he likes. Those Gerber Graduates things and those little cereal bars and those tiny marsh mellows and those veggie crunchy treats. And lots of wieners for hot dogs and lots and lots of pizza pops!"

"Those last two are daddy's favorite things, aren't they Kieran," Sam said, winking playfully at her husband.

"Why don't you come with grandma, Kieran and..." Lynne reached for his hand.

"No!" Kieran bellowed and dove for his mother's legs. "No! Mommy!"

Sam sighed and scooped him up. "You're getting too heavy for me to carry you around, K," she told him. "Pretty soon I can't be carrying you around like this, okay? Mommy needs to not lift so much heavy stuff. And the way you eat like your father, you're going to be huge soon."

"If you don't stop picking on me about my eating and my weight woman..." Flack said, carrying the two hockey bags and following up his wife and mother in law up the driveway.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, stopping and bumping her ass into him. "Beat me up? Torture me?"

"Handcuffs," he whispered and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"I thought you left them at home in the dresser."

He smirked and raised his eyebrows.

Sam grinned. "You're bad," she declared.

"The worst," he agreed.

* * *

While grandpa -or gwampa, as Kieran shrieked when Sarge greeted them in the foyer- both entertained and feed the toddler a generous helping of spaghetti and bread, Lynne took her daughter and son in law upstairs to show them to their room and begin unpacking. The spacious guest bedroom was at the back of the house and had a sliding glass door that led out onto a wrought iron and terracotta balcony that was furnished with a glass table and rattan chairs. Facing the the desert and the mountains in the distance, it was the perfect spot to sit out and watch the sunset. Or sunrise for that matter.

The room itself had its own private bathroom with glass enclosed shower stall and jacuzzi style tub. The sleeping area was furnished with a double King sized cherry wood sleigh bed with tasteful earth tone sheets and pillows shams and a duvet. Two dressers and a nightstands and a roll top desk completed the ensemble.

"Now you two know how I feel," Lynne said, as Flack set the bags by the closet. "I don't mind the two of you sleeping together in the same bed..."

"But no doing the nasty and getting biological trace on your sheets," her son in law finished. "Gotcha."

Sam coughed noisily to disguise the laugh that threatened to erupt from her at the mortified expression that crossed her mother's face.

"If you don't trust it and it makes you feel better," Flack said. "Sam may have bought that little blue ALS light that makes shit glow and she can run it over the bed every morning to prove we've been good."

Lynne stared at him for a couple of minutes. "How about I show you Kieran's room?" she suggested and headed out the door.

"Stop it!" Sam whispered to her husband as they followed.

"Stop what?"

"Antagonizing her like you do. Why do you wind her up like that?"

"Because I can. And it's fun."

"Be good," Sam said, than gave a squeal when he grabbed her ass.

Lynne glanced over her shoulder, a frown on her face.

Sam smiled innocently.

Flack held up both hands to show he hadn't done anything inappropriate. He grinned at his wife when his mother in law disappeared into the room next door. "She loves me," he declared. "It just kills her to admit it."

"Stop," Sam warned.

"I'm not doing anything," he defended himself. "Not yet anyway."

She huffed noisily and shook her head and grabbed him by the front of his t-shirt and yanked him into the smallest of the four bedrooms. Pausing in the doorway, her eyes wide in shock, as her mother, a proud smile on her face, stood in the middle of the room with her arms spread wide, showing off her impressive, and over the top, handiwork to them. All of the walls were navy blue and boasted life sized decals of all of the characters from the Disney movie cars. There was even Lightning McQueen bedding on the expensive looking cherry wood crib and matching valances over the navy blue venetian blinds on the windows. And just about every toy imaginable still in their boxes.

"Whoa..." Flack commented. "What in the hell..."

"I had a decorator come in and do it," Lynne boasted. "I said my grandson was coming and he loved the movie Cars and this is what Rinaldo came up with. Isn't it gorgeous? Isn't Kieran just going to love it?"

"He is," Sam agreed. "But isn't this a little..."

"Excessive?" Flack finished.

"Nonsense," his mother in law waved it off. "He's my grandson. And than your father and I went out to Toys R Us and got him a crib and a high chair and a portable play pen and all kinds of clothes and toys..."

"Why?" Flack asked. "Seriously. Why? He visits twice a year, if that."

"He's my grandson," she argued. "I wanted him to have the best and this to me, is the best. I wanted him to be comfortable. There's nothing wrong with that."

"No," Sam said. "There's not, but..."

"What about the other three that are on the way?" Flack inquired. "You going to do something like that for them too?"

"Plans are already in the works, Donald," Lynne replied. "The den will become a nursery and..."

"Wait...wait..." he held up a hand. "A room for Kieran, a nursery....what is this all about? 'Cause to do all of this when we barely come and visit seems a little ridiculous. Not that we don't appreciate it. It's just a little...over the top."

"I have to admit," Lynne said. "There is a method to my madness."

"Of course there is," Flack snorted, and received an elbow in the stomach from his wife.

His mother in law moved over to the dresser on the far side of the room and opened the top drawer. Removing what looked like a small catalouge, she joined them in the doorway and held it out as if presented them with a million dollars.

Sam took the item from her mother and looked down at it. "Real Estate in the Cave Creek area," she read.

Flack coughed noisily and raised his eyebrows.

"Mom, we..."

"Don't say anything and just hear me out," Lynne pleaded. "Your father and I were talking and we have two options for you both. Both we think are in your best interest. The first, would be that we are more than willing to give you a substantial amount of money to be able to purchase your own home. There's lots of lovely homes in this area and..."

"Excuse me?" Flack asked.

"...and if that's not beneficial for you right away, we can used a small bit of money and convert the basement into an apartment. There'd be more than enough room for your family and..."

"We are not moving here," Flack told her. "We came for a visit. To get away. That's it."

"Well Clint and I thought that when you got here and saw what we've done and heard what we're willing to do, that you'd change your minds," she said.

"We are not moving here," he repeated. "Our lives are in New York City. We both have careers there. Friends. My family is there. So is Adam. And we don't have any plans on leaving there."

"The Phoenix Police Department is always hiring," Lynne pointed out.

"I transfer and I have to start at the bottom, as a uniform," Flack informed her. It wasn't the truth, but what she didn't know, wouldn't hurt her. "I've put in a lot of years in the NYPD and I've come pretty far for a young age and I make damn decent money. I'm not going to give that up to come and work as a uniform."

"There's other jobs," she said. "I mean, you'd have to go back to school and get some post-secondary..."

"And what about Sam?" he asked. "She can't go back to the crime lab here after all the issues she had. What does she do?"

"Stay home and take care of her children is the first thing that comes to mind," Lynne replied.

"We are not moving here, mom," Sam spoke up. "Don's right. Everything we have and everyone we know is in New York City. We don't want to leave. And his career is really going places, mom. And that's unfair to ask him to give that up."

"Than why don't you and the children live here and he find a way to come back and forth to see his family."

Flack laughed. "Are you insane? There's something seriously wrong with you if you think for one second that I'd let my family move across the country. Away from me. Our lives are in New York. Accept that or don't. I don't give a rat's ass. But what I do care about is the well being of my family. And them being that far from me, prevents me from taking care of them."

"Well what happened while you were in the same city as them?" Lynne challenged. "Look what happened to Kieran. Where were you...."

"Mom!" Sam snapped. "That's not fair! Don wasn't even home when Kieran went missing. Don't blame it on him."

"I was working," Flack informed her. "Making the city a better fucking place for my family to live in. Look, we came here to relax and spend some time with you guys. But,I refuse to let you ride my ass about getting Sam to move here with our children. She wants to move here, me and her will talk. We'll sort something out. If and only if she wants that. She's my wife, and they're my children. We make the decisions. So while I appreciate your obvious concern, save your breath, and don't bother."

"It's not we don't appreciate the thought or the gesture, mom," Sam said. "We're just happy where we are and it's where we want to raise our family. You may not like New York City but we love it and we can't imagine being anywhere else. And you and daddy doing all of this? A room just for K and turning the den into a nursery...trust me we are very grateful. We just..."

"We're just not moving here," Flack finished. "End of story."

"At least look at the book and consider it," Lynne said. "My grandchildren mean the world to me and it scares me to death them doing in a city that dangerous. Even if it's just a vacation home..."

"A vacation home?" Flack laughed harder this time. "We work for the city. How do you afford a vacation home?"

"Like I said, Samantha's father and I..."

"We don't want anything from you, mom," Sam told her. "We're happy in New York City. We don't want, or need, a summer home. Okay? This is all so gracious and we appreciate it, but we know where we want to be. And it's not here. I'm sorry."

"What are you apologizing to her for?" Flack asked. "Why are you saying sorry? She always does this to you, Sammie. She always turns it around so that you feel guilty as all hell and think you owe her something. You owe her shit. Don't say sorry."

"Maybe she feels bad for dashing our hopes," Lynne told him.

"No, what she feels is manipulated. Because that's what you do. You hold stuff over her head and use it against her. You manipulate her. Force her into feeling guilty for something she didn't even do. Don't try and treat my wife like that."

"And you always answer for her," Lynne fought back. "It's like she can't even make her own decisions anymore. You do all the deciding and all the speaking up for both of you."

"That's bullshit," Flack said. "What I do is protect her and not let people treat her like shit. And all her life you've done that and guess what? I'm here now. I'm her husband and I'm not letting you get away with it. We came here to get away. It was never intended to be permanent."

"I just feel that living here is in the best interest of my daughter and my grandchildren," Lynne remained firm. "And if you don't like it..."

"If I don't like that?" he fought to control his temper. "Samantha is my wife. Kieran is my son. Samantha and I are having another baby. Three of them to be exact. I decide what's in their best interest. And together, Sam and I talk about what's best for our kids. Our kids. Not yours. If Sam says this is something she wants to talk about, than fine. But if she doesn't, you need to back off and leave her alone about it."

"What is it you want, Samantha?" Lynne asked. "Do you know?"

"I want my husband and my children," she responded. "And our home is New York City."

"Well I'm sorry to hear that," her mother huffed and quickly left the room. "What the fuck is wrong with your family, Samantha?" Flack asked. "I mean, can you believe her? Thinking we're just going to move here."

"It's the way she is, Don," Sam fumed. She turned to him, her eyes narrowed. "And you..."

"What about me? What did I do?"

"Don't you ever treat me like that ever again," she hissed.

"I stuck up for you!" he argued. "I defended you!"

"You acted as if I wasn't even in the room. Or that I'm some imbecile that can't make their own decisions. I'm not a child, Don! I'm thirty three years old and I am your wife. And you treating me like that..."

"I only told her..."

"You don't speak for me!" she cried. "You don't make decisions for me and answer for me! I'm not a child! I can make my own choices. I am an adult."

"Yeah?" he snorted. "Than start fucking acting like it and stop letting mommy bully you. Stop making me feel like I need to stand up for you all the time."

"I don't need you standing up for me!" she told him. "I can take care of myself!"

"Fine," he held up his hands in surrender. "You don't need me to take care of you, stick up for you? Fine. Than damn well to start showing that you don't need to be treated like a damn baby."

With that he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. Samantha sighed heavily and closed her eyes briefly.

Arizona was quickly turning into hell on earth.

* * *

The sun was just beginning to set when Samantha, a mug of tea in one hand and a coffee in the other, stepped out onto the balcony off of the guest bedroom. Dinner had been finished two hours ago and Kieran had spent an hour splashing and giggling and carrying on in the tub before getting into his pyjamas and having his last bottle of milk and bedtime snack before promptly passing out on the kitchen floor and than being carried to bed by his father. So far the toddler was sleeping peacefully, securely and contently in his new bedroom, but only time would tell if the nightmares persisted and he needed to spend the night with his parents.

Who hadn't made eye contact or spoken since their argument earlier. Tension had been thick around the dinner table despite Sarge's best efforts to keep conversation flowing. And the second the last dish had been cleared away and Sam set to work caring for Kieran and her mother tidied up and Sarge took off to have a 'beer with the boys' in town, Flack had retreated to the spare room to get some work done.

Sam found him sitting on the glider, glasses on his face and lap top resting on his thighs and case folders and other paper work strewn across the the table he'd pulled over.

"I thought you agreed you weren't going to do any work while we were here," Sam commented quietly, sitting the mugs on the ground as opposed to risking them spilling on the papers if she put them on the table.

"Yeah? Well we also agreed we weren't going to fight while we were here," Flack retorted.

"It wasn't a fight, Donnie," she said lamely. "It was a disagreement."

"Is that what it was," he snorted and continued typing.

"Are you going to talk to me?" she asked, a pleading quality in her voice. "Or just snap off nasty comments all night?"

"I'll think about it," he replied.

She frowned. "I guess I deserve that. I don't want us to go to bed angry, Donnie. Can't you talk about this?"

"What's there to talk about, Samantha?" he inquired. "I think you've said enough."

"You're not being fair," she said, and took a seat beside him. "I thought we could watch the sunset together," she commented, looking out at the brilliant display of pink and orange and gold in the distance.

"There'll be other sunsets," he informed her.

"What if there isn't?" she asked. "What if tomorrow the whole world ended? Or I died unexpectedly in my sleep? Or you did? Than there'd be nothing left to enjoy, would there."

He considered words. Sighing heavily, he saved the work on his lap top and closed the light and sat it on the table. "Come here," he said, holding an arm out to her.

She gave a small smile and accepted the invitation. Tucking her legs underneath her, she cuddled close to his side and rested her hand on his stomach and her head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her. His hand settling on her hip.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"What are you sorry for?" Flack asked, rubbing her hip softly.

"I never should have said those things to you."

"Well they were true. You are an adult and you are more than capable of speaking for yourself and making your own decisions. I get carried away sometimes. With wanting to protect you. Sometimes I don't even realize how aggressive and domineering I am. So if anyone should be apologizing, it should be me."

Sam shook her head. "I do need you, Donnie. I do need you to protect me and take care of me. I like it when you take charge and make the decisions. And I act like I'm ungrateful and spoiled and the truth of the matter is, I need you. And I don't admit that enough."

He kissed the top of her head. "I need you, too, Sam. More than I could ever tell you."

"I don't want to live here," she said. "I want our lives in New York City. Where we're happy and where our friends are and where my brother is. I don't want to be here. You know that right?"

He nodded. "I think about sometimes," he admitted. "Moving away. Joining another department in another city."

"You do?"

"Not often, but I have thought about it. But I know I wouldn't be happy anywhere else. And I know you wouldn't be either."

"Home is where the heart is," she declared, and snuggled closer to him.

"Home is wherever you are," he told her. "You and my kids. And if you wanted to live somewhere else and..."

She shook her head. "I am perfectly content where I am. Especially where I am right this very second."

He smiled.

"This feels nice, doesn't it," she stated. "Sitting here like this. Just me and you."

"Feels like heaven to me," he said. "But than I always feel that way when you're in my arms like this."

She beamed. "Normally I'd call you corny for a comment like that," she giggled. "But I'm in a tingly, loving kind of mood at the moment. I had some of those strawberries my dad dipped in chocolate. And well, you know what the mix of the two does to me."

He grinned. "I'd say lets go inside and take care of that tingly mood but you're mother is downstairs and she'd kill us. Hard to disguise love making when you make the noises you do."

"I'll have you know that you're the loud one," Sam told him.

"Yeah...right...sure..."

"Besides, you know we're still having that little problem. With the whole intercourse things."

"There's other things we can do. What's been sustaining us lately? Can't even do that though. Considering your mother..."

"My mother isn't home," Sam told him. "She left about half an hour ago. She's gone to some friend of hers for night out."

"Really?"

She nodded and sat up. "It's just me, you and Kieran. And he's out like a light. And Jericho's around somewhere but I don't think he'd tattle on us."

"So technically, we could go in and make all the noise in the world."

"Exactly," she smiled and covered his lips in hers in a smouldering kiss.

"I thought you wanted to watch the sunset," he said, as her lips left his and found the side of his neck and his ear.

"I'm sure there'll be more," she told him. "I plan on seeing a lot of sunsets with you, Mister Flack."

"How many?" he asked. "Like a hundred?"

"More," she replied.

"A thousand?"

"Much, much more," she said.

"A million?"

"Try gazillions and gazillions," she said, than giggled when she found herself tipped on to her back.

"That's not nearly enough," he declared, and kissed her passionately.

"Infinity than," she decided, sighing at the feel of his lips against the side of her neck and his hand fondling her breast through her shirt. "I think you should take me inside and make love to me now," she told him.

"We don't have to..."

"I want to," she said. "Well, try to at least."

"Trying is the best part," he concluded her, and kissing her one last time, slipped off of the glider. "You want Rhett Butler or Caveman?" he asked.

"Hmmm...I think I'd like Rhett Butler tonight," she replied, and found herself scooped up into his strong, warm arms. She removed his glasses. "You're so damn adorkable," she informed her and kissed him.

"You're lucky I love you," Flack told her.

"How much to you love me?" she asked.

"A lot," he replied.

"How much is that?"

"A hell of a lot," he told her, carrying her into the room.

"Not good enough," she said.

"I love you to the stars and beyond," he tried again, gently laying her in the middle of the bed.

She smiled as he came down onto the bed over top of her, propped himself on one hand.

"I don't know," she said. "I still don't find that good enough."

"I love you to infinity," he declared. "Hows that?"

"That's a start," she said.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! And for the awesome messages of support from all of you! I appreciate each and every one of you and promise to keep going! And to all the lurkers, thanks for reading! But please, please drop me a line!**

**Special thanks to:**

**laurzz  
****muchmadness  
****hope4sall  
****brrtmclv  
****shopaholic20**  
**bluehaven4220**  
**Forest Angel  
****laplandgurl**  
**Kassandra J**  
**soccer-bitch**  
**wolfeylady  
****ImaSupernaturalCSI  
****GregRox**


	54. In the Land of the Rising Sun

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN..YOU KNOW THE REST**

**A/N: I WANT TO GIVE A BIG SHOUT OUT TO LAPLANDGURL AND THANK HER FOR HER LITTLE INSIGHT INTO MODERN DAY CHASTITY BELTS THAT LED INTO THE CONVERSATION AT THE BEGINNING OF THIS CHAPTER. AND FOR HER OTHER IDEAS. THANKS, GIRL!**

**SPECIAL WELCOME TO: MJELS**

* * *

**In the land of the rising sun**

"You're my woman  
And you're my woman  
You bore my child, Lord  
I want to thank you  
And no one else will do  
Baby, you, you are my sunshine  
I am your guiding light  
Like a ship out in the night  
Returning for a light.

And it's really real  
The way I feel  
It's really real  
Lord have mercy  
Look into my eyes  
And you realize  
Is really, really, really real."  
-You're My Woman, Van Morrison

* * *

Samantha yawned noisily and sipped a cup of blueberry green tea. It was shortly after midnight and the rest of the house was in darkness and silence as she and Flack took up residence on her parents couch in the basement. Watching CNN and relaxing. Sam sat with her legs stretched out and her feet propped on the coffee table. Her hair still damp from the long, refreshing, candlelit bath and clad in a pair of navy blue scrub pants with OCME written across the ass in big white letters and an NYPD t-shirt. Flack, in a pair of red and blue plaid pyjama bottoms and a Mets shirt, lay stretched out on his side with his head on her thigh and a hand resting lightly on her stomach. His eyes closed, body rising and falling with each steady breath he took. Sent off to sleep by the soothing, delicate sensation of his wife softly stroking his forehead and the bridge of his nose.

_"Next on Anderson Cooper 360, the modern day chastity belt. Husbands are going to great lengths to keep a watchful eye on their wives. But how far is too far? Meet the makers of the womens underwear equipped with a GPS chip."_

Sam snorted and reached for the remote control that rested next to her on the arm of the couch. "I just lost all respect for my boyfriend," she commented.

"Don't change that!" Flack's eyes snapped open and he reached out to snatch the remote from her hand. "I want to watch that part."

"I thought you were asleep," she said, attempting, unsuccessfully, to yank back the controller.

"I was almost asleep until I heard chastity belt, women's underwear and GPS chip."

"Go figure that would be your type of thing," she snorted.

"Underwear with GPS capabilities? Sammie, we are probably witnessing the unveiling of the greatest invention ever."

"You honestly can't be serious," she frowned as she looked down at him.

He nodded. "Let's just leave it on long enough to find out how much they are. And where you can get them. Because I am so buying you a pair for your birthday. Maybe a few pairs depending on the price."

"Well there goes the diamond I wanted," she sighed dramatically. "Instead I get high tech panties."

"What's wrong with the diamond you already have?" he asked. "How can you complain about an engagement ring that cost me ten grand. And never mind what that diamond band thing cost me."

"I was not complaining. You far surpassed anything and everything I ever wanted in an engagement ring. But there are some really nice right hand diamond rings out there."

"What the hell is a right hand ring?" Flack asked, turning up the volume on the television as Anderson Cooper came back on. He sat up and leaned forward and picked up his glasses sitting on the coffee table and slipped them on.

"Uh...something tells me it's a ring that goes on your right hand," she replied.

"Okay, smart ass. I mean what the hell is the different between a ring made for a left hand and a ring made for a right hand?" he inquired, lying back down on the couch, on his back this time, his head in her lap.

"Engagement ring and wedding band on the left, Donnie," she sighed exasperatedly.

"Who made that rule? Why does it have to go on the left?"

"I don't know. Some cultures were it on the right. But the majority believes it goes on the left because that hand is directly in line with the heart."

"That's definitely something a woman made up," he declared. "This guy is a modern day genius," he said, nodding at the television, where the maker of the GPS undies was proudly talking about, and showing off, his wears.

"His wife cheated on him and he thinks all women are bad and needed to be kept in check," Sam said, rolling her eyes. "And look at those thing. Grannie panties."

"Well maybe he makes them in boy shorts of thongs or something," Flack told her. "Twelve hundred US for three. Not bad."

"Twelve hundred for three granny pants? Are you insane?"

"Remember that website," he instructed. "I'm going to order you nine of them and put them on Master Card."

"I don't think so," she said. "Why do I need GPS underwear?"

"So I can keep track of you," he responded, as if it was the most logical thing in the world. "I wanna be able to find you if I think you're up to something."

"Okay, let's get a couple of things straight here. First, I love you more than anything in this world and would never cheat on you. Second, I'm four months pregnant with triplets. I look nearly six months. Where the hell am I going to go? And who in the hell would want me when I'm knocked up?"

"My first case back, after the bombing, was this dead guy on the Brooklyn Bridge. He had this real elaborate way planned of proposing to his girlfriend. Big fancy ring, lights on in the Patterson Building that spelled out Marry Me, the whole nine..."

"And what does this have to do with me needing GPS underwear?" Sam inquired.

"To make a long story short. He was in love with another woman. A stripper. And she was pregnant. So Mac and Stella went and interviewed said pregnant stripper. So my point is, when you asked who would want you being knocked up, the answer is lots of guys 'cause some perverts get off on stuff like that."

She laughed and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. "You mean perverts like you?" she asked.

He grinned. "Hey, I'm allowed to be turned out by it. I'm the one that got you pregnant."

"Hmmm...." she said, running her hand along the top of his head. She loved the feel of his brush cut, and had developed an obsession of sorts, of constantly stroking and rubbing his head. Which drove him nuts to no end most of the time. "Danny might have a slight argument with that."

Flack snorted. "As if Danny Messer is that virile. And what is it with you crushing on Danny anyway?"

"I am not crushing on him. I just find him cute. It's that Staten Island accent he's got going on. And his glasses. He looks much better with them on than without. And the way he says BOOM," she sighed contently.

"And you say you don't need GPS underwear," he snorted.

"Oh please. It's you and only you and you know that. Don't be so sensitive. Like you don't find other women attractive."

"I do. But I don't tell you and make it so damn obvious. You like Danny so much, than maybe we should do that wife swap thing. You for Lindsay. But unlike the show, this will be the x-rated version."

"I don't think so!" she exclaimed. "I'm not letting you have sex with another woman! Especially my best friend! What's wrong with you?"

"Who said anything about Carmen? I said Lindsay."

"That's who I meant," Sam told him.

"Let this thing go with Devine already," Flack sighed. "She wasn't the one who said anything about you. Just because her husband is a jackass with a big fucking mouth doesn't mean she's like him. She's been trying to call you and you've been screening the calls. Just suck it up and pull up your big girl pants and talk to her. There's no reason for you to be acting like this."

"She sided with Tim," Sam argued. "And with Stella."

"Stella and Carmen thought they were doing the right thing job wise by Stella pushing to process K. And did he get processed in the end? No. Did she make good on her threats to get a court order against us to submit him to processing? No. Mac and the DA saved the day and there's enough evidence to go to trial. It was professional, Sammie. Not personal."

"Still think Stella shouldn't have been such a bitch about it," she huffed.

"Stella's been a bitch about a lot of things for a long time. It's probably the baby hormones making her even worse. She'll be off soon anyway and you won't have to deal with her. Maybe when she comes back she'll have mellowed the fuck out."

"Don't defend her," Sam said. "Don't let your Stella crush kick in."

He frowned. "My Stella crush? What the hell is that suppose to mean?"

"You know. The massive crush you have on her that always make you feel the need to rush to her aid and defend her."

"You're kidding me right?" he rolled over onto his stomach and looked up at her, his eyes narrowed as he searched her face in an attempt to figure out if it was genuine hurt on her face or if she was putting it on.

"Don't deny it," she said, sipping her tea. "More than one person has told me about it."

"Yeah? Well those people are full of shit. And you can go back and tell them that if they want to tell you crap about me, than come to me and say it to my face. 'Cause I'll knock them the fuck out."

"You are being sensitive tonight," she said.

"Maybe I am. But maybe I don't appreciate people telling my wife I have a thing for another woman. Stella? They're crazy. And so are you for believing that shit, babe."

"You're always the one that goes running to help her," Sam reasoned. "The one that always defends her if someone says anything bad about her."

"Tell me one time that I've ever run to her aid. Tell me. Enlighten me."

"That whole thing she told me about with her ex-boyfriend Frankie. It was you that stayed at the hospital with her the whole time."

"She shot and killed him. Out of self defense because he was going to rape and murder her. I went there, to her apartment, with Mac and he was the one that asked me to stick around at the hospital after she was processed and get her version of things. That's it. I was doing my job. Don't read into it."

"You couldn't have just taken her statement and left?"

"She's my friend, Samantha. Would you leave any of your friends alone after going through something like that?"

She didn't respond.

"I didn't think so," he said and rolled over onto his back once more. "And I meant give me one time I did that since I've been with you. Since I've been with you, dating or married, have I ever rushed out to take care of Stella?"

"She's called you tons of times looking for help and..."

"That's not what I asked you. I've asked you if I have ever rushed out to take care of her and help her? Have I?"

She shook her head.

"Okay than. So shut the fuck up about it."

She frowned. "Get off of me," she demanded.

"Don't be like that. I was just..."

"I said get off of me!" she snapped, and twisted her body away from him so that his head slipped off her lap. "Don't fucking talk to me like that," she said, slipping off of the couch and standing up. "You can't talk to me like that just because I'm your wife."

"And you can't talk to me like you do just because I'm your husband, either," he informed her. "You actually accuse me of having a thing with Stella?"

"I never said you had a thing with her!" Sam argued. "I said you had a crush on her. Big fucking deal!"

"You're the one that's making a big deal about it, Sammie. Don't turn this around on me. Okay? Stella is just my friend. I don't have any romantic feelings for her whatsoever. And honestly, what happened before you came into my life, is really none of your business."

"Okay, so now that I know where you stand on the whole keeping secrets from each other thing..."

"I never once said I was going to keep anything from you. I just said..."

"That it's none of my business. Fine. You're right. You're always right. Doesn't that just make you feel like a big man that you're always right about everything?"

He sighed heavily and sat up and switched the channel on the television. "Just be quiet and go upstairs and go to bed before you say something really stupid," he told her.

"Don't fucking try and dismiss me!"

"Samantha...go to bed..."

"Fine. You want to be an asshole? Fine. And for the record, what happened in my life before I met you is none of your business either. So when it came to Zack, you should have just stayed the fuck out of it!"

"Whatever, Sam. Just let your deranged, idiotic ex boyfriend just snatch you off the street and rape and pillage you and dump your dead body somewhere. You actually think I'd let that happen?"

"Zack and me were none of your business and you..."

"You asked me to help you!" he yelled. "You called me and asked me for my help! When you found out that he was coming to New York City you asked me to find him! Did you not ask me for help?"

"I did. But..."

"I didn't have to help you. I know that. But I wanted to help you! Maybe it was because I felt bad for you all alone in the big city. Maybe it was because I liked you and thought by being your hero you'd like me back. I don't know why I did it. But I did and I don't regret it and you holding it over my head like that? That's not fair, Samantha. And you know it. What would have happened if I hadn't have cared enough to help? Do you ever think about that? Do you ever think where you'd be now? Where'd we be now?"

She sighed.

"There wouldn't be a me and you, Samantha. There wouldn't be a marriage and Kieran and more babies on the way. There'd be nothing. Because you'd either be stuck married to that piece of shit or dead. And if you ask me, the life you ended up with is a hell of a lot better than either of those options."

"Don, I..."

"Our lives aren't perfect. I know that. We're not perfect. We have to work our asses off to keep things on track. But I love you, Samantha. Only you. There is no one else but you and there will never be anyone else but you. And you can call me overprotective and possessive and tell me I'm jealous all you want. But there is nothing I wouldn't do to keep you happy, safe and right where you should be."

"Donnie, I'm not going anywhere! How did all of this start over some stupid thing on the television about GPS underwear! I don't understand this! I don't understand why something so simple and fun turns into these big issues with us! Why is that Don? Do you know? What is wrong with us and our relationship that everything turns into a fight?"

"Nothing is wrong with us, Samantha. We just fight. It's what we do. It's our thing."

"Well I don't want it to be our thing," she said, plopping back down beside him on the couch. "I hate how everything turns into a fight and we say things to hurt each other. I hate how it makes me feel afterwards. Why can't we just be normal?"

"This is normal," Flack told her, running a hand over her hair before settling it on the back of her neck.

"Well if this is normal, I'd hate to see what strange and obscure is like," she laughed. "It just seems... I don't know...like we hate each other sometimes."

"Do you hate me? Sometimes?" he asked. "And be honest, Sammie."

"I could never hate you. You're my husband. You're Kieran's father."

"But..."

"But there's times I don't like you very much," she admitted. And promptly burst into tears. "I can't believe I just said that!" she cried. "About my own husband? I'm a complete bitch."

"Don't cry, baby," he pulled her into him and wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. "Why are you crying?"

"Because of what I just said!"

"You were honest. Hell, there's some times I don't like myself either."

"It's the way you are sometimes. The things you say to me or the way you treat me. I can't take it. It's not you that I don't like. It's the way you are sometimes."

"Would it make feel better if I admitted there's times I think you're the biggest bitch in the entire world and that I'd love to strangle you?"

She smiled against his chest. "We have a serious love-hate thing going on, don't we?"

"A little. But I like to think that the love part far surpasses the hate part."

"It does," she said, sniffling as she sat up. "You know I love you. That I'd do anything for you. And that there's only you. You know all of that, right?"

He nodded and laid his hand on the back of her neck and kissed her. Long and soft and tender. "I love you," he said, and pressed his lips to her forehead. "We're going to be okay, Sammie. We've come this far. We just need to work on things."

"We're constantly working on things," she lamented.

"So it's a lifelong process," he shrugged. "I'm not going anywhere? Are you? Say for like the next forty, fifty years?"

She shook her head.

"Well than we have a lot of time ahead of us to work on things, don't we? We've always got love on our side, Sammie. That's all we need and everything else will eventually fall into place."

She sniffled. "You've been watching way too much Doctor Phil and Oprah since you've been off."

"Actually, it's the Cosmo magazine you left in the bathroom a couple weeks back," he teased.

She laughed. "Lindsay brought that home for me. Did you read the headline on the front?"

"Which one?"

"The 'ten sex positions and moves that every man wishes you'd try'. Did you see that?"

"I did."

"Did you read it? And don't lie to me."

"I read it," he admitted with a sigh. "And there's about five of them I agree with. The other five I'm either not into or we've already done them."

"Well when we get home, rip that article out and when, and if, I'm ever normal again, we can try those five you like."

"It's not that you're not normal, Sammie. You're just dealing with some shit. Things will go back to the way they were soon. Okay? We'll talk to that therapist and things will get better. No rush. I'm certainly not complaining about getting so much head."

"I would hope you wouldn't complain," she laughed and wiped her eyes. "Before all this happened you were always bitching and moaning you didn't get it enough. Now it's too much."

"I was just commenting, babe. Not complaining."

"Good. I was going to ask you what was wrong with you if you were. Other men would be telling you how lucky you are."

"I'm lucky in more ways that one."

She smiled and kissed him. "You can be so corny, Donald Flack Jr. If people only knew your corny, sappy side."

"My corny and sappy side stays between us. Kapish? I got a reputation to uphold."

"Big bad police man," she teased and kissed him once more. Than yawned noisily.

"Am I that boring?" he asked with a laugh.

She shook her head and rested her forehead against his. "I'm exhausted. From the flight and the drive from the airport and our activities earlier."

"We should get some sleep," he kissed the tip of her nose. "If we're taking the monster mini golfing in the afternoon."

She nodded. "And don't be teaching him to cheat either. You always cheat."

"I do not. You just suck at mini golf."

She stuck her tongue out at him.

He captured her lips in a smouldering kiss. "I've always told ya, babe. Don't be showing it unless you're going to use it."

"I just may use it when we get upstairs," she said, pulling away and standing up. "Will you check that everything is locked when you go up? I'll tidy up down here. And check on the baby? Just make sure he's okay?"

"I can do that," he agreed, flicking off the television and standing as well. "Don't be long, okay?" he pecked her cheek. "You and the trippies need more sleep."

"Yes, daddy," she said and winked playfully at him.

He smiled, patted her lightly on the ass and headed for the stairs.

"By the way," she called. "That thing you did earlier with your fingers and your tongue?"

"What about it?" he paused on the stairs.

"You've never done that before. That was very...interesting. In a holy shit, mind blowing kind of way."

He chuckled. "You can thank Cosmo for that," he said, and disappeared up the stairs.

* * *

Sam grinned and shook her head and tidied up the family room. Fixing the blanket that lay draped across the couch and neatly organizing and arranging the throw pillows. Her mother was a clean freak. If the woman wasn't working full time, she was cleaning house with every spare second she could grab. Things had to be just perfect. No leaving anything lying around. And if you touched something, put it back in the exact same place you got it from. Because the woman just knew. She knew when something was out of place by a mere hair. Quite the difference from when she was a piss poor, strung out mother of two living in the projects and subjecting her children to both abuse and squalor.

It was one of the things that burned Sam's ass the most. The fact that her mother could allow that to happen, and than years later, find herself on the lap of luxury and still be a goddamn raging bitch. She was never happy. Never grateful for the second chance she had gotten with her life. She was constantly miserable despite having a beautiful house and a fancy car to drive and expensive clothes to wear. And a man that adored her despite how crazy she was.

Her mother didn't deserve all of that. And as much as Samantha despised herself for sounding, and feeling, so bitter, there was an immense satisfaction in knowing that her mother was so unhappy with herself. Because maybe, just maybe, it was her guilty conscience kicking her in the ass for never taking care of her children better.

And just to make a point that she was a grown woman and fed up with being treated like a child, Sam decided to mess the pillows and blanket up again and leave her dirty tea cup sitting on the arm of the couch.

Just because.

She turned the lights out and headed upstairs. All the lights were out safe for the fluorescent lamp on the underside of one of the kitchen cupboards that Sarge always left in throughout the night. The spacious home was eerily silence as she made her way through the kitchen and down the hallway towards the stairs, yawning noisily and rubbing her stomach and thinking about all of the things she'd had planned for the next couple of days, never mind the next three weeks. She passed by the den and the main floor laundry room and the hall closet, and was a mere foot from the small bathroom when the door flew open and someone jumped out at her.

She screamed. A blood curdling scream that could wake the dead. Than found one strong hand clamped over her mouth as a second grabbed her by the front of the pyjamas and dragged her, kicking and screaming into the bathroom. A light was flicked on and she found herself looking up into the amused, sparkling eyes of her husband. He removed his hand as he struggled to hold back his laughter.

"You sonofabitch!!" she shrieked and beat on his chest with her fists. "You scared the living shit out of me!"

"Who did you think it would be? Everyone else is asleep and no one could break in without the alarm going off."

"I wasn't expecting someone to jump out at me like that!" she laid a hand over her pounding heart. "It's not funny, Donnie."

He bit his lip and nodded.

"No...no it's not," she argued. "Not funny at all. I nearly peed my pants! I can't feel them because they haven't started kicking or anything yet, but I am pretty sure the trippies are going crazy in there. What would you have done if you scared me so bad I went into early labour?"

"I'd feel like shit. But you didn't go into an early labour, so it's all good."

"No!" she cried, slapping his chest again. "It's not all good! My heart feels like it's going to explode! I can't believe you'd do something like to me! Did you honestly think I'd find that funny?"

"A little," he admitted. "I didn't expect you to get as spooked as you did."

"Jesus, Don," she breathed deeply. "Don't ever do that again! Okay? That wasn't nice. At all."

"I thought it was pretty funny," he said. "Who knew you'd scream and wet yourself?"

She frowned as he burst into laughter. "Asshole!" she hissed and shoved him away and made for the door.

"Baby, come back..." he caught her by the wrist. "I'm sorry," he managed through his laughter. "I didn't mean to scare you that bad. I thought you'd get a little spooked and that was that. I didn't think you'd nearly have a stroke. I'm sorry."

"You're mean," she declared, tears welling in her eyes, her lower lip wobbling.

"What? Come here," he wrapped both of his arms around her slender waist and pulled her close. "I honestly didn't mean to scare you that bad. I never thought you'd freak like that. I'm sorry," he kissed her forehead. "Don't cry. I didn't mean it," he kissed her nose. Than her lips. "Feel better yet?"

"A little," she mumbled.

"Poor baby," he said. "Give me a kiss and I'll make the bogey-man go away."

"Screw you!" she laughed and shoved him away. "That was mean you know it!"

"It was. Very mean. Absolutely. But I honestly did not mean to scare you that bad, babe. Okay? Take a deep breath and take it easy."

"Please don't ever do that again," she said. "You really scared me."

"I promise you I will never, ever scare you again," he vowed and kissed her. "Are you going to be okay? Need a drink of water or something?"

She shook her head. "I'm okay. I think my heart will calm down eventually. I'm never going to be able to sleep now. That's how bad you scared me! I can't believe you would do something like that."

"Okay, so I'm an insensitive bastard. But I really thought you might laugh about it."

"I'll laugh about it after I've calmed down," she said. "Jesus Christ, Don..."

"Want me to take you upstairs and cuddle with you? Leave a night light on?"

"This is not funny!"

He smirked. "I love you, Sammie. But yeah...it is funny."

She glared at him.

"It is. Okay? Sorry. I can't help it. I'm bad," he shook his head. "So bad. I think you need to take me upstairs and punish me."

She grinned. "I am not getting into any perverted fantasies with you, Mr Flack."

"Come on. I know you," he rested his forehead against hers and slipped his hands up the back of her shirt, his fingertips trailing along the soft skin at the small of her back. "I know shit like that turns you on. Getting scared like that. Are you honestly going to tell me that you're not the least bit turned on right now? That a scare like that didn't make you the least bit horny and hot for me?"

She just smiled.

"You are so dirty, Sam. It's one of the reasons why I married you. 'Cause you're so cute and innocent looking and deep down...." he shook his head. "If mommy and daddy only knew."

"Why don't you stop talking and teasing me so much and kiss me and maybe I can show you just how dirty I am?" she suggested.

He grinned and did as he was told. Covering her lips with his in a toe curling, blood rushing kiss that left the hair on the back of your neck and arms standing on end. Among other things. "If you're not ready to..." he began, breaking out of the kiss, pushing her hair behind her ear and over her shoulder as his lips found her neck.

"No..I feel more than ready to," she told him, her hands slipping underneath his shirt and undoing the tie on his pyjama pants.

"Might not be such a good idea," he said. "Considering how noisy you are. We go upstairs, your parents' room is across the hall and..."

She reached for the locked on the door and turned it. "Who said anything about going upstairs?" she asked, and yanking him by the front of the shirt, pulled him down into another deep, intense kiss.

* * *

It was quarter to nine in the morning when Flack found himself, still bleary eyed and nursing an aching back and tender ribs, wandering into the massive, country style kitchen at the back of the Chambers house. The radio that was mounted under one of the cupboards was turned on and tuned into the local pop station. The room smelled of cinnamon and fresh coffee. Kieran, babbling noisily away, was in the high chair his grandparents had purchased for him and feeding himself toast with strawberry jam and slices of banana and pieces of cut up peaches. Jericho the dog parked at his feet, anxiously awaiting anything that made tumble to the floor. Clint, a bowl of cornflakes with chunks of banana in and steaming mug of coffee in front of him, had his newspaper open but one eye on his grandson and the other on his step daughter. So was leaning over the island in the middle of the room, picking at fruit salad and a cinnamon bun while she had the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder.

Sarge gave a smile and a nod in greeting as his son in law entered the room. "Women," he mumbled, and stared pointedly at his daughter. "Always yapping. It's like she's damn seventeen years old again."

"Hang on for second," Sam said into the phone, than covered up the mouth piece as she accepted a kiss good morning from her husband. "There's fresh coffee and I made some of those Pillsbury cinnamon rolls that you like," she told him, nodding in the direction of the counter to her left.

"Hell freeze over or something?" Flack asked, pecking her cheek and softly rubbing her stomach.

"Maybe I just thought you deserved something nice," she replied. "You know, considering..."

Sarge cleared his throat noisily. "Your mother hears that..."

"She's at work dad," Sam told him. "So unless she has hidden cameras and surveillance equipment everywhere..."

"I wouldn't put it past her," he snorted. "I don't mind the lovey dovey, kissy face stuff. But you're mother..."

"She's just a prude," Sam complained. "You need to give in to her more. Give her more sex and go fishing and golfing less."

"Never," Sarge declared. "Fishing and golfing are the only things that keep my sanity now that I'm retired."

"Only two things that keep my sanity and I'm thirty years from retirement," Flack sighed, moving to the counter to pour himself a coffee.

"That's what you get for marrying my daughter," Sarge told him. "I warned you before hand, didn't I? And you didn't listen. Ask me, going into this willingly? You deserve everything you get. And I didn't know you like fishing."

"He doesn't," Sam said. "Only fishing he's ever done is for the mutated, two headed bass off of Battery Park. He just likes anything that gets him out of the house."

Flack grinned.

"Do you blame the man?" Sarge asked. "He's married to you!"

"And he loves every minute of it, dad. Be good or I'll spike your Metamucil with arsenic. I work in a lab, remember? I have all kinds of access to chemicals and poisons. Better yet, I'll crush up a handful of Viagra and drop them in your coffee and mom will be in her glory for a couple of days."

"You are just as evil as your mother," he declared, a smile on his face.

"Worse," Flack said. "Much, much worse. And who are you talking to this early in the morning?"

"Early? It's almost nine am. Boy, you can tell who gets up the most with the baby. And I'm talking to my favorite country bumpkin."

"You've been gone all of what? Not even twenty four hours and you and Lindsay are already yapping on the phone?"

"She misses me," Sam informed him. "I'm sorry if no one misses you."

He kissed her a final time before carrying his coffee and a cinnamon bun to the table.

"Hi, daddeee," Kieran chirped happily and gave that dimply smile.

"Hey, buddy," Flack pulled the high chair next to him and leaned across the tray to press a kiss to his son's forehead. "Give me a kiss."

Kieran planted a noisy, wet one on his father's lips.

"Sleep good?" Flack ran a hand over his son's hair. Or lack there of. "You didn't wake up all night. You like your room?"

The toddler nodded and pointed across the table. "Gwampie," he said. He pointed at the floor. "Awg."

"Whose that?" Flack asked, nodding in the direction of his wife.

A huge, beaming smile crossed Kieran's face and his eyes sparkled. "Mommeee...." he gushed, with so much love and affection on his face and in his voice that Flack felt his heart skip a beat.

"You love your mommy, huh?" Flack asked.

"Uv mommy," Kieran agreed.

"Yeah," he sighed and watched Sam as she chatted away. "She's something else alright."

"I don't know Lindsay...." Sam laughed heartily. "Personally, I say screw the horse. I just want to ride the cowboy."

Sarge coughed noisily. Both his and Flack's eyes widened as they stared at her.

"What?" she asked them. "She's listening to the song Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy. I was merely making a comment."

Flack shook his head and sipped his coffee.

"My husband is giving me dirty looks," Sam said into the phone. "I think he's just upset that he's not the cowboy."

"Samantha..." Flack glared at her. "Your father is right in the room."

"I have heard worse," Sarge assured his son in law. "You should have heard her as a college girl when she came home in the summers. All her little girl friends and her did was yap on the phone all day and talk about what men they liked. Never heard such filthy talk in my life."

"Hmmm...." Sam said into the phone once more, as she chewed on a strawberry. "Don and I have never really had the need to use that stuff...but if you're in the market for something a little different, there's this adults only store over on east eighty-two that is just unbelievable. I bought that little outfit there... the one that I showed you the other night....yeah...." she giggled. "That one. The naughty school girl."

Flack sighed heavily and shook his head.

"Hey if that's what you guys are into, that's your business," Sam told her friend. "Did I tell you what Don and I tried?...yeah...it was weird but surprisingly enough, enjoyable...no, the marks from his fingers went away after a couple of days and my neck was as good as new..."

Sarge snickered. More at his son in law's embarrassment than at his daughter's choice of conversation.

"Well tell Danny that we're not that sick," Sam laughed. "Okay...well don't forget about that store...alright...bye for now...me loves you too..." another giggle. "Okay...bye..." she hung up the phone and set it on the counter and went back to her breakfast. "Donnie, Danny wanted me to tell you about a case he caught last night," she said.

"Did you tell him I was on vacation?" Flack asked.

"You might want to hear this one," Sam replied. "This dead girl they found at the Ritz Carlton. Three thousand dollar a night suite and six hundred dollars worth of lingerie and expensive champagne and caviar."

"And?"

"Cover your ears dad if you're squeamish. This one might get to you."

"Girl, I have served in wars and seen some heavy duty blood and gore," Sarge reminded her.

"Don't say I didn't warn you. Apparently, there was an overwhelming odor in the room."

"How long the body been there?" Flack asked. "Full decomp or what?"

"No decomp. It wasn't the smell of death. It was the smell of urine."

Flack arched an eyebrow.

"Apparently, the fellow that killed her accidentally during erotic asphyxiation, had an unusual kink," Sam said.

"Don't keep us in suspense," Sarge told her.

"I guess he's into relieving himself on his ladies after sex," she said, concluding her story.

Flack nearly choked on his coffee.

"There are some sick bloody people out there!" Sarge exclaimed. "Next time keep things like that to yourself."

"I warned you," Sam said, holding her hands up in self defense. "Now you know exactly what Don and I see, and deal with on a daily basis. Donnie more so because he's the one chasing people down and getting shot at it and bit by perps and got knows what else."

"You people do not get enough respect, or gratitude," Sarge declared, and toasted his son in law with his coffee cup.

"I love this song!" Sam suddenly exclaimed and rushed over to the counter and cranked the volume on the radio. Sexy Back by Justin Timberlake blasting through the speakers as she sang and danced her way around the kitchen. Much to Kieran's delight, who began kicking his feet and clapping and laughing hysterically.

"Is this a common thing?" Sarge asked the younger man across from him. "Is she always this...."

"Nuts?" Flack inquired. "She has a tendency."

"Come on, Kieran," Sam scooped him out of his high chair and put him on the ground. She offered him her hand. "Dance with mommy. Show grandpa and daddy how you shake your booty."

The toddler happily obliged, shaking his tiny body with everything he had and jumping up and down as he held onto his mother's hand, giggling and shrieking excitedly.

"So now I know exactly what you two are doing when I'm at work," Flack commented, a smile on his face, his heart filled with so much surreal love, as he watched his wife and son as they 'danced' and laughed together.

"Isn't it fun?" Sam asked. "We have a lot of fun. You don't know what you're missing out on."

"You got a hell of family there," Sarge observed, a proud grin on his face.

Flack nodded. "She's nuts," he said. "But she's my wife and I love her. And I wouldn't give her up for anything in the world."

* * *

"So?" Danny asked, from where he sat at the Flack's kitchen table, a pen in his hand and the rental application form in front of him. "They having a good time so far?"

"They sound like they are," Lindsay replied, as she sat the phone on top of the fridge. "Apparently, the three of them are going mini golfing this afternoon. Sam says the temperature there is suppose to be near eighty today."

"Lucky them," Danny said. "Suppose to snow all day here and not get above zero. And it's the beginning of March for crying out loud. Maybe we should have went to Arizona too."

"I have done enough traveling lately," Lindsay said, standing behind his chair and laying her hands on his shoulders and kissing the top of his head. "I am perfectly content where I am. How goes the good fight?"

"Don't know why we have to fill this out," he grumbled. "Super already said we could have the apartment."

"Everything has to be in writing, you know that. Did he say when the apartment would be ready?"

"Just said that once the family packs up all the stuff and moves all the shit out at the end of the week, it would take him a few days to clean the place and paint and get it in perfect condition. So a week, two at the most hopefully."

Lindsay pressed a kiss to her boyfriend's cheek. "Sam and Flack are going to be so surprised," she said, taking a seat across from Danny.

"They're going to shit," he declared. "I'm sure they'll love the idea though. Us being that close. Especially with you taking care of Kieran when she goes back to work. And being able to help out when the triplets arrive. And it's a two bedroom. So when, and if, we get the baby...."

"We will, Danny," she assured her, reaching out and laying a hand over his. "That lawyer Flack found for you is amazing and he already said that it's an open and shut custody case. You'll get your son or your daughter."

"We'll get our son or our daughter," he corrected her. "You're going to be their mom. Are you ready for that?"

"I've never been more ready," she said. "And the name that we've picked...for a boy or a girl....it's beautiful....."

"Only seems right. I wanted to honor my three best friends in the world. Even the one that isn't with us anymore. Aiden Donald for a boy. Aiden Samantha. I think they're great names."

Lindsay smiled. "I think they're perfect. But I know you're gunning for a boy."

"I can not lie," he said with a grin, and entwined his fingers with hers.

"I'm so excited for this, Danny," Lindsay gushed. "Our own place. But I can't help but find the place we picked a little...I don't know...weird...."

"Why's that?" he asked.

"Considering who lived there before. What kind of person he was."

"Once it's all cleaned up and re-done, anything that will remind us of him will be gone," Danny told her.

"But the memory of what he did will still be here," she said sadly.

"That's going to be here for a while. It has nothing to do with the apartment. It's just something that's never really going to go away."

"Not for a while anyway," Lindsay sighed.

Danny nodded in agreement and went back to the application.

The application to ensure they would be the new tenants of the apartment once occupied by Jack Doyle.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you!!! Even the lurkers! Please drop me a review folks!**

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	55. Defensive Manoeuvres

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN…YOU KNOW THE REST**

**A/N: WE MADE IT TO 600 FOLKS! CONGRATS TO MUCHMADNESS FOR BEING THE 600****TH**** REVIEWER! SHE IS THE PROUD WINNER OF AN UNFORTUNATELY IMAGINARY TRIP TO HAWAII.**

* * *

**Defensive manoeuvres**

"All night  
Hearing voices telling me  
That I should get some sleep  
Because tomorrow might be good for something  
Hold on  
I'm feeling like  
I'm headed for a  
Breakdown  
I don't know why  
I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell  
I know, right now you can't tell  
But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see  
A different side of me  
I'm not crazy, I'm just a little impaired  
I know, right now you don't care  
But soon enough you're gonna think of me  
And how I used to be  
Me."  
-Unwell, Matchbox20

* * *

Mini Golf Paradise was located in north Phoenix, twelve miles from the city center. It boasted two elaborate eighteen hole courses. One indoors, and the other far more popular one, outdoors. Each hole came complete with sand traps and water hazards and tricky shots and gigantic statues of paper machete dinosaurs, dolphins and gorillas and more than one small pirate ship. Being in the early afternoon of a weekday, the crowds were sparse and the wait next to nil to tee off on the first hole. The highlight, for a preschooler at least, were the bright neon colored balls and the tiny putters they were given upon registration and payment. Even than the club was too tall and awkward for Kieran to hang on to and control and it became readily apparent that his father would be doing the most of the work in an attempt to avoid his son either hitting and hurting himself, his parents, or a complete stranger.

It took Kieran ten minutes to pick out which color ball he wanted to use. The girl behind the cash was so charmed by the little boy sitting on the counter in his baggy jeans and his little leather sandals and a New York Mets jersey with Delgado 21 on the back and a backwards Mets cap, that she didn't care that he just couldn't seem to make up his mind between the yellow, green and blue. Pink had been in the running until dad had nixed that idea. No way was his kid having anything to do with the color pink. So there Kieran sat – with thankfully no one in line behind them- taking his sweet time and flashing that dimply smile and cocking his head to the side and looking at the young cashier with a flirtatious glitter in his eyes.

"He is soooo cute," the young blond, her hair in pig tails and shiny pink gloss on her lips, a tag bearing the name Precious, attached to her forest green golf shirt, gushed as she tugged playfully at the hat on Kieran's head. "It's easy to see where he got his looks from," she added, giving Flack a gracious, lingering once over.

"Thank you so much," Sam said, smiling sweetly, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Now how much do we owe? Or are the boys getting in free because of their stunning good looks?"

The younger woman blushed and quickly set to ringing up the admittance fee for two adults and a preschooler. "I have to charge a dollar for the baby," she explained. "So that the books balance at the end of the day for how many clubs and balls were rented out and how many bodies the people counter picks up. I know he probably won't be doing much playing himself, but..."

"You have to do your job," Sam finished, as Flack picked Kieran up and set him on the ground. "That's fine. I don't think a dollar is going to break us."

"You'd be surprised how many people get really pissed off," the girl sighed. "That's ten dollars even."

"I better not find any women's telephone numbers in here," Sam commented, as she reached around Flack's back and yanked his wallet from the back pocket of his faded and tattered Tommy Hilfiger jeans.

His comfy clothes, as he called them. The baggy jeans that seemed to hug the ass perfectly and had a small hole on the left back pocket and frayed cuffs and a blue, white and yellow striped Michael Jordan golf shirt. An NYPD ball cap and the hideous Adidas slip on sandals that Sam had tried to toss out on numerous occasions, completing his ensemble. And of course, as usual, he smelled damn good. A mixture of soap and water and Diesel cologne. Her husband was hot. There were no two ways about it. The only problem was all of the other women who noticed it as well. She couldn't feel a slight bit of victory and vindication to think that she was the one he was coming home to and sharing a bed with at night.

"How old is your son?" Precious asked, as Kieran toddled off to check out the nearby Koi fish pond, his father hot on his heels.

"He's fourteen months tomorrow," Sam replied, opening her husband's wallet and pulling out a ten and two one dollar bills. "But he thinks he's fourteen years."

The girl laughed. "He's pretty solid on his feet, huh? My nephew didn't walk that good at even eighteen months."

"He's a strong kid," Sam reasoned. "And smart as hell."

"His name?"

"Kieran," she handed the money over and gathered up the three golf clubs and balls and the small pencil and score card.

"Unusual name," Precious said.

"We're unusual people," Sam told her. "Us New Yorkers are anything but normal."

"How old is your husband?" the younger woman asked. "Out of sheer curiosity."

Sam smiled and leaned across the counter and laid a hand on the girl's forearm. "He's way too old and way too taken for you," she replied, than turned on her heel to head over and join her family.

"Don't even say it," Flack said with a slight chuckle as his wife stepped up beside him at the pond and tucked his wallet back into his jeans. His hand firmly on the back of Kieran's shirt to keep him from tumbling into the water as he leaned dangerously close in order to splash both hands in the cool liquid.

"Can you believe the nerve of her?" Sam huffed, slipping the score card and pencil into his other back pocket. "Checking you out right in front of me. Who the hell does she think she is?"

"She's just admiring the sights, Sammie. Don't fault her for that. Maybe she's never seen a big, bad New York City boy before."

"There's one of those here?" his wife asked, scanning the crowed, a hand over her eyes, shielding them from the sun. "Where?"

"Okay, smart ass. Don't get nasty now. You love your big, bad New York City boy and you know it," he grinned at her and kissed her softly.

"And what kind of name is Precious?" Sam asked. "Seriously. Who names their kid that?"

"Same kind of people that name their kid Kieran," he teased.

"He has a beautiful name," Sam declared. "A beautiful name for a beautiful baby boy. At least he's not Donald."

"You had have had your way he would have been. Remember? Wanting to name him Donald Flack the third. What the hell is wrong with you? Thank God we already agreed to not go that direction this time around and go back to that Irish baby names book we have somewhere. So we can avoid something hideous. Kieran?" he felt a slight tinge in his lower back as he crouched down beside his son. "What are you trying to do?"

"Ish!" the toddler cried, pointing frantically into the water. "Ish, daddy! ISH!"

"I see the fish, but you can't catch them with your hands."

"ISH!" he exclaimed excitedly and slapped his palms down onto the water and than reached in once again.

"Kieran," Flack spoke calmly and patiently and than placed his hand into the water as well. "See?" he asked his son. "You can't catch the fish. Not even daddy can catch them. And daddy has bigger hands than you do. The fish need to stay where they are okay? Because they can't live outside of the water and you wouldn't want them not being able to breathe would you? You wouldn't want to take them away from their mommies and daddies, right?"

"Daddy," Kieran said, gesturing to his father. "Mommy!" he cried, and pointed towards Sam, who was watching the exchange between father and son with a soft smile of pride on her face.

"But the fish have mommies and daddies, too," Flack explained. "And they need to stay with their mommies and daddies or they'll be sad. And their mommies and daddies will cry. You don't want their mommies and daddies to cry, do you?"

The toddler shook his head.

"So we're going to leave the fish where they are, okay?" Flack dried his hand on the leg of his jeans and stood up. "Come on," he offered a finger to his son. "Leave the fish for now and we'll come back and see them before we leave. After we have ice cream."

"I-keem?" Kieran asked hopefully.

Flack nodded. "If you're a good boy we can get some ice cream. But you have to leave the fish where they are, buddy. Let's go and have some fun and afterwards you and mommy and daddy can have some ice cream. Okay?"

"Tay!" the little boy agreed happily. He wiped his hands on his father's jeans, copying what his dad had done just moments before with his own hand, and stood up and curled his hand around Flack's finger.

"What?" Flack asked his wife, when he saw her beaming at him, her golden eyes sparkling.

"And you second guess yourself as a good father," she responded, shaking her head.

He smiled. "I just try my best," he said, and bent down to kiss her softly.

"No!" Kieran cried, objection to his parents' display of affection. "My mommy! MINE!"

Sam laughed against her husband's lips. "Someone is a wee bit possessive," she said.

"Come here you little stinker," Flack scooped his son up into his arms. "I'll have you know that your mommy isn't just yours. I was here before you were. And if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even be here right now. I played a part in getting you here, too."

"A small but very significant part," Sam said, as he draped his free arm across her shoulders and pulled her close to his side.

"What do you say, K?" Flack asked the toddler. "You wanna go and have some fun? Kick mommy's butt at mini golf?"

Kieran nodded enthusiastically and curled a tiny arm around his father's neck. "My daddy," he said proudly. "My mommy."

Flack smiled. "And that's the way it will always be, buddy," he promised.

* * *

"Kieran!" Sam called, standing at the side of the start of the tenth hole, digital camera in her hands. "Look over here! Look at mommy!"

"Do you really need to take so many pictures?" Flack asked, hunched over his son's small frame, holding the toddler's hands and the golf club. The two boys looking like twins in their backwards ball caps.

"We are on vacation," she replied. "A family vacation at that. We may not get on another one for a long, long time. I want to preserve as much as possible."

"Well can you make it quick?" he asked. "Because my back is starting to cramp up."

"Kieran! Look at mommy!" Sam called to her son. "Look over here…you too, daddy…smile guys and say cheese. Say cheese, K."

Kieran gave a huge toothy smile. "Teese!" he cried.

Sam pressed the button on the top of the camera to capture the moment. "That was a really cute one," she said with a giggle, checking the image on the small screen at the back of the camera.

"Can we go now?" Flack asked. "You finished?"

"I'm good," she replied, than watched as Kieran hit the ball. It bounced off a bank of rocks to the left hand side, skipped over the small creek and landed mere inches from the hole.

"Now that was a hell of a shot," Flack declared.

"That was pure, blind luck," Sam said. "How come you two can do so well and I can do so horrible? You're like getting things in three strokes and I'm lucky if I get them in six."

"It's called talent, babe. We have it and well, you don't," he teased. "Okay, Kieran…go and get it."

The toddler took off down the green, one hand holding onto the putter waving wildly over his head and the other keeping a firm hold on the hat on his head.

"He's going to knock himself out with that thing," Sam commented. Frowning when she noticed the slow, painstaking way her husband straightened his back out, and the grimace on his face as he did so. "Is it that bad?" she asked, stepping onto the green and walking over to him and rubbing the small of his back, concern in her eyes and in her voice as she looked up at him.

"Not that bad," he replied, closing his eyes briefly and taking a deep breath before letting it out slowly.

"Do you want to sit down for a while? Or we could always just call it a day and…"

He shook his head. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. It comes and goes. Just when I bend over like that for too long…just gets to me and hurts like a bitch."

"Did you take any meds before we left?" she asked, her fingers putting slight pressure on the small of his back.

He winced. "Took a couple oxy-contins. It was fine until I bent down like that."

"My dad sees a really good chiropractor. He could get you in and looked at."

"We already know what's wrong," he said, taking her hand in his as they journeyed down the green towards where their son was crouched down by the hole, fishing his ball out. "It's the sacroiliac. Chiropractor can't fix that."

"I want you to call the doctor when we get home," she told him. "Get it looked at again."

"It'll be fine, Sammie," Flack waved off the suggestion. "He already said it would take a while before things were normal again. It's only been two weeks and a bit."

"I know," she sighed. "But if it isn't better when we get back…"

"I will go see him again," he promised. "What are you doing, Kieran?" he asked.

"Dis!" the toddler exclaimed and held aloft a bright green ball.

"I can't believe you taught him to cheat like that!" Sam cried. "He's not just putting his own in the hole, he's putting yours in there, too! You two have a lot of nerve!"

"I didn't think he'd actually learn that quickly," Flack said. "I only had him do it twice."

"Well I guess twice is enough. You're going to have to start over from the beginning. That's just not fair that you get it in two shots and I still have to keep going."

"All's fair in love and war, baby," Flack said, and kissed her softly.

"You're so mean!" she huffed. "Come here, baby K. You come and do this for mommy."

"Me?" he asked, and toddled over.

"Don't do it, Kieran," Flack warned. "Don't help the enemy."

He stopped in his tracks and looked at his mother, than at his father and back again.

"Come here," Sam encouraged. "Be nice to mommy."

Kieran smiled and journeyed over to where she was standing.

"Can you pick that up?" Sam asked, nodding down at the bright pink ball. "Can you pick that up and put it in the hole for mommy?"

"Tay," he replied and bent down to scoop it up. And proceeded to hurry over to the hole and drop the ball into it.

"There," Sam had a wide, victorious smile on her face. "Now I made it in two shots, too."

"You are such a cheater," Flack sighed as he marked down their scores. "And you, Kieran, are a traitor."

"He's loyal to his mommy," Sam said, stepping beside her husband to take a peek at who was winning. "Never underestimate what he would do for his mommy."

"Guess it's a gene us Flacks have," he mused. "Consider I all but walk to the ends of the earth and through hell for you."

"You wouldn't have it any other way," she told him, stroking his back and pressing a kiss to his arm. "Admit it, you quite like all the excitement and craziness I bring to your life."

"Well I wouldn't go that far," he said and kissed the top of her head.

"Your life would be so boring without me in it, Donnie," she declared, walking over to where their son was scooping all of the balls out of the hole and attempting to cradle them in his tiny hands.

"I'd have a hell of a lot of less grey hair and migraines," he said. "That I do know."

"You'd miss me too much," Sam told him, assisting Kieran with carrying everything. "If something happened and I was gone tomorrow, you'd miss me. You wouldn't know what to do without me."

He nodded in agreement. "Well let's just hope we never have to find out how I'd manage if you weren't around. Think we can make some sort of deal? You stick around for a while so that I don't go insane with grief? You spend say, the rest of your life with me, so I don't ever have to go through losing you?"

"I think that's a pretty reasonable deal," she said, smiling at him as she scooped their son up into his arms. "Think you can stand it? Being married to me for the rest of your life?" she asked.

"Oh absolutely," he replied confidently, following her to the next hole.

* * *

A group of school kids and their teacher supervisors- ten bodies in total- were already there and still in the process of playing through. Giving those behind them a chance to sit on the wooden benches on either side of the cobblestone pathway.

"I am getting so fat," Sam lamented as she plopped down on the bench.

"You just thought of that out of nowhere?" Flack asked, taking a seat beside her, than lifting Kieran onto his lap. He was starting to wonder if they should have brought the tether along as a safety precaution. The kid could not sit still for a minute and was already squirming and fussing on his father's lap. He kept a tight grip around his son's waist with one arm, while draping the other across his wife's slender shoulders.

"I've been thinking about it all this morning since I got out of the shower and caught a look at myself in that full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door," she said, zipping open Kieran's back pack and taking out a bottle of vitamin water. She fought with the cap for a half a minute before huffing noisily and holding it out to her husband. "Put them awesome arm muscles to good use, honey," she said.

He removed his arm from around her shoulders and easily twisted the top off the water.

"I have you trained so well," Sam gushed and winked at him and kissed his cheek. "Anyway, I nearly died when I saw myself in that mirror. How do you stand looking at me?"

"Well, maybe because I love you and find you amazingly sexy and I don't see anything wrong with your body."

She frowned. "You need to wear your glasses more," she said. "Because I am starting to get huge already."

"What did you expect?" he asked, putting his arm around her once more and running his fingertips along her bare arm. "I mean, there's three in there. You didn't really think you'd be as small as you were when you had Kieran, did you?

"I was huge with Kieran!" she cried. "Huge! So now what? I get three times as huge?"

He sighed and shook his head. "This is a no win situation for me," he said.

"All I'm saying is that I am getting fat. And if you can't see it, than you really are blind."

He pressed a kiss to her temple. "You are not fat," he said, and removing his arm from around her, laid his hand on her stomach. "You're pregnant. Major difference. And you're pregnant with triplets. So you're going to get big. Sorry, babe. No way around that."

"Damn you and your evil sperm," she grumbled.

"Evil? Ask me it's super sperm. Genius sperm, in fact. Three babies at once? Now that was pure, blind luck. And if it makes you feel any better, I don't care how big you get. I'm a self proclaimed chubby chaser."

She pulled back and looked at him, a frown on her face, the bottle of vitamin water poised near her lips. "Pardon me?"

"What? What did I say?"

"Did you just call me chubby?" she asked.

"No…what I said was that I am a chubby chaser. Doesn't matter to me if you're tiny or big. You're still Samantha. You're still my wife and I love you whether you're a size two or a size twenty-two."

"Jesus Christ!" she cried. "Don't say something like that! Size twenty two!!"

"I didn't say you'd end up that way. I'm saying that you are having triplets and you're going to be putting the weight on and after they're born, if you're big, it's not going to bother me. Just want you to know that, okay? So you're not self conscious about it and worried that I'm going to run off and find myself a girlfriend or something like that. You're the only one I want, Sammie. Even if your ass if the size of a double wide."

She couldn't help but laugh at that. "You started that out so romantic and sweet and than tossed in that part at the end."

"I am just letting you know the way it is. It will not bother me in the slightest if you're never a size eight again."

"I was a size five when we first met," she informed him, sipping her drink. "I wasn't a size eight until after I had Kieran. Actually, I was a size ten for three months after him. I worked my ass off to drop those two sizes."

"And what did I tell you than? I told you not to worry about it. That I didn't care. Because it's not the outside of you that I love the most. It's how warm and bubbly you are and how you love me and work so hard on our marriage and our family. How incredibly intelligent you are. There's so many amazing things about you, Sammie. And they all just help me fall in love with you more and more every day."

She smiled and pressed her lips to his cheek.

"Mind you," he added, and taking her water from her, took a long sip. "It sure doesn't hurt that you're incredibly hot."

"You're such a man," she sighed. "And whose to say you'll still love me if I do have an ass the size of a double wide?"

"I say that I will," he told her. "Because only I know exactly how much I love you."

"You are such a sappy bastard," she said, and laid her hand on the side of his face and kissed him softly. "But I love you regardless."

"I love you, too," he told her, and pecked her forehead. "And you," he said to his son, kissing the back of Kieran's neck and tickling his stomach, causing the toddler to burst into giggles. "Although sometimes the two of you make it very, very hard not to kill you both."

"And like you're just the innocent victim," Sam scoffed playfully, getting to her feet and slinging the backpack over her shoulders once again as the large party of people before them began making their way off the green. "You have a tendency of driving people nuts, you know."

"Maybe," he said and stood up. "But you'd be miserable without me."

She smiled. "Well I hope I never have to find out just how miserable."

* * *

An hour and a half later they found themselves at the small ice cream shop located near the batting cages and the arcade. While Flack took a phone call from one of his 'guys' regarding a long standing open case, Sam took Kieran by the hand to order some treats for the family. It had been a fun afternoon filled with a lot of laughs and a lot of memories that she'd cherish for a long time. Seeing the two most important boys in her life spending time together was more special to her than anything. Father and son didn't spend enough time together in her opinion. It was no one's fault. Just Flack's unpredictable hours made even more so since he became a supervisor. But to see him cuddling and telling their son he loved him and giving the toddler his utmost attention, was nothing short of magical to see. Especially the way Kieran listened to his father so intently and looked at him with the utmost love and adoration.

As they waited in line, Kieran holding on tightly to his mother's hand and impatiently swinging her arm from side to side, a young family with a little raven haired girl slightly younger than Kieran in a stroller, stepped beside them and offered polite smiles and nods.

Kieran immediately went to the stroller and stared intently at the pretty girl occupying it. The two babies smiled and touched each others faces and hair, both mothers keeping an eye on their respective children in case someone decided to get nasty in their exploration and scratched or hit, or in the worst of circumstances, bit. Instead, the complete opposite happened. Kieran leaned into the stroller, grabbed the little girl by the face and planted a sloppy, wet kiss directly on her lips.

The parents of the lucky recipient of the kiss were both amused, and charmed by the flirtatious little blue eyed boy in the backwards baseball cap. Their daughter was equally as flattered. Her cheeks had turned bright pink and she giggled and sat forward in her stroller and reached out and grabbed Kieran and yanked him towards her and graced his lips with a kiss of her own. Samantha was both shocked, and embarrassed that her son would even do something so brazen. She apologized profusely and longed for a rock to hide under and reigned her son in by keeping a firm grip on the back of his shirt. Wanting nothing more than to ream him out and scold him. Instead, she placed her order for two soft serve vanilla and chocolate cones and tossed a ten on the counter and told the cashier not to worry about the change and juggled the two cones in one hand while directing her son by the shirt back to where his father waited for them.

"You will not believe that your son just did," Sam said to her husband, handing him the one cone after he flipped his phone closed and sat it on the table.

"Which one was it? Picking his nose, picking his ass or playing with himself?" Flack asked, unfazed, as he scooped his son up with one arm and lifted him onto his lap.

"He's not you or Danny," Sam huffed and sat down in the chair across from him. "He just grabbed some little girl and kissed her! Grabbed her by the face and planted one on her. Just out of nowhere!"

"His first kiss, huh? He's got me beat by about six years. Way to go, K. Give me five," he held his palm out to his son.

Kieran slapped it noisily with his hand.

"Was she cute, buddy?" Flack asked, holding the cone out for his son to eat. "Did you at least make an impression on a hottie?"

"It's the little girl with her parents at the ice cream stand," Sam told him. "Black and red stroller. She's got a pink and white flowered sundress on and white sandals."

Flack looked over towards the crowd ordering ice cream. "A brunette, huh? Nice. He's got good taste. Trust me, K. The brunettes are the ones that really rock your world. Look what happened when I met your mom. She came along and just blew my…"

"Don't say it," Sam warned. "Don't even think it. How can you teach him things like that?"

"I was going to say that you just blew your mind. Get your damn mind out of the gutter. You get laid in the bathroom and look what happens to you. You just become all horny and perverted on me."

"That's the baby hormones, my dear," she said, licking her ice cream.

"Just think, that little girl can now go and brag to her day care buddies that she got lucky with some bad ass from New York City."

Sam frowned. "You are seriously disturbed, you know that? Who was that on the phone? Which one of your cronies?"

"Just one of the younger guys. They've got a brother that owns a car lot down in Jersey City that says I can either sell my truck to him and purchase something somewhere else, or trade it in."

"We're getting a new car?"

"You've got a new car. I'm getting a slightly used one."

"Why don't you sell it and take some of the money from Zack and buy a new one?"

"'Cause we need all the money we can get to buy a house," he reasoned. "With what we have in the savings and the loan from the bank and the money my parents are giving us, we should be able to get something decent. As long as it's in another borough and we don't stay in Manhattan. We stay there and the only thing we'll be getting is something even smaller than what we already had."

"I thought we agreed on either Queens or Long Island," Sam said.

"Long Island is a hell of long commute," Flack told her. "You want to be commuting from there every day? Especially on the days you decided to take the subway instead of braving the traffic?"

She sighed. "Good point. So I guess Queens it is."

"Lots of nice neighbourhoods in Queens," he reminded her. "And there's lots of good schools and parks and what not just a few blocks from my folks."

"I thought you didn't want to live near your folks," she said.

"I said I didn't want to live within walking distance of my parents. That way we avoid them being on our door step constantly. Something tells me, if we get too close, my mom will get just like the mother on Everybody Loves Raymond."

Sam's eyes widened at that thought.

"So we'll find a place that's close, but just far enough that they have to drive or take a bus to come and see us. And Queens is also closer for Lindsay to come and help out now that she's working for us."

"She's a Godsend," Sam declared. "And this thing about you wanting a new car. What made you decide to get rid of the Yukon?"

"I want nothing that reminds me of Lessing. I want to get rid of everything and anything that makes me think of that guy."

"By why would…?"

"It's just something I need to do, Sammie. Okay? No big deal. Plus the truck I'm getting is a hundred times better."

"A truck? As opposed to an SUV?"

He nodded and ate some of the ice cream before offering to Kieran once again. "Guy said he could get me a good deal on a Honda Ridgeline. Remember the one that we saw that time when we drove down to Coney Island?"

"Is there going to be enough room for all of us?" she asked. "I mean, you have three kids on the way. We're going from being a family of four to being a family of six."

"Fits five full size adults," he replied. "So there's more than enough room for everyone. But if we ever all went together somewhere, considering all the crap kids come with, we'd probably have to take two vehicles anyway. It's a sweet truck, babe. Gunmetal grey. Just like you like."

"If that's what you want and you think it's okay for the family," she said. "I just don't want you getting something that isn't going to be beneficial to all of us."

"Sammie, just trust me for once. I'm not going to buy something just for the sake of buying it. Okay? Don't worry about it. I have it all under control. Your dad called and left a message on my phone by the way."

"What did he want?"

"Guess he's got a buddy with access to a private box at arena. You know, home of the Phoenix Coyotes."

"And…." she pressed.

"And they're playing tonight and he asked me to come along to meet all his buddies. And normally, I wouldn't ask you if I could go out with the boys while we're on a family vacation, but…."

"Spit it out," she said.

"But they're playing the Rangers tonight. My Rangers are in town. And these are box seats and there's no way in hell this opportunity will ever come again because I'd never be able to afford box seats in a million years and the Rangers are on a tear and number one in their division and I'd kill to go to this game."

"And you're actually asking me permission?"

"Not permission, per say. More like I'm running it by you and seeing how you feel about it. Considering it means you'd be alone the majority of the night with your mother and Kieran. But I wouldn't be asking if this wasn't a once in a lifetime thing. A private box, babe. When am I ever going to get that chance again?"

She sighed and ate her ice cream and considered the request. "You so owe me," she said at last. "You know that right?"

"Whatever you want, babe. Jewellery, clothes, flowers every day for the next three hundred and sixty five days. Whatever. You just name it and I'll do it."

"Whatever, huh?" she grinned and licked ice cream off of her fingers. "Be careful what you say. There's a few things I can think of that you could do for more on a continual basis."

"Whatever. Just tell me what it is."

"Just go to your hockey game, Donnie. I'm just teasing you. You don't owe me anything in return. Wait, I lied. I wouldn't mind undying love and gratitude."

"You already get that," he said.

"Frequent back massages and foot rubs when I'm farther along with your triplets would be nice," she sighed.

"When did they just become my triplets?"

"Maybe when you asked me to let you go out with the boys on a family vacation," she responded with a grin. "And I don't think you rubbing my back and my feet is too much to ask."

"You're right, it's not. In fact, it seems like I should be doing a hell of a lot more considering you are having three of my babies at once."

"Hmmm…." she thought. "I like the idea of breakfast in bed when we're both off, too. And a couple of bubble baths here and there."

He grimaced.

"Private box, Donnie. Once in a lifetime chance."

He sighed. "Just promise me, not bubbles that smell like flowers. That I just can not take, okay?"

"The Rangers, private box, a night out with the boys when you're suppose to be on a family vacation," Sam rattled off. "I mean, how badly do you want to go?"

He hung his head and shook it slowly. "Just please…nothing that smells like flowers. Anything but flowers."

She smiled victoriously. "You're a good man, Don Flack Jr."

* * *

The boys had left shortly before six in the evening. Sarge and his buddies always met somewhere before hand for a couple of drinks and a bite to eat. Samantha was grateful that her mother seemed to be in a pleasant mood when she stepped through the door shortly before six thirty. Chatting happily and bearing Chinese food for supper and warmly embracing both her daughter and her grandson who sat in his high chair making a mess out of the bread and canned Zoodles his mother had prepared him for supper.

It had been a long time since Sam and her mother had been able to be in the same room without either, or sometimes both, fighting the urge to strangle the person in front of them. They were able to talk openly and civilly and share a bottle of red wine and laugh and talk about past memories in Arizona. Both steered clear of any talk of the past in New York City, and of what had happened to Kieran. It was the first time in her life that Sam wasn't made to feel like she was a child and that she was below her mother. That her thoughts and feelings and opinions were important and respected. She'd never considered her mother a friend. It was strictly a parent/child relationship. And a poor one like that. And she was hopeful that his change in her mom was a permanent one.

Kieran had just been put down for bed after a long session in the bathtub and his last milk of the night, and her mother had retreated to her home office to get some work completed for the next day,when Sam found herself heading for the front door to answer the insistent ringing of the door bell.

She blinked at the sight that greeted her when she opened the door. A massive bouquet of brightly coloured, beautiful and fragrant flowers was the first thing she saw. The second wasn't a delivery man. It was the smiling face of Allan Larson. The fairly attractive, youngest son of her mother's boss at the marketing firm she toiled away for. Allan was tall and slender with short sandy blond hair and vibrant green eyes and a lazy smile. He was also the most obnoxious, conceited bastard Sam had ever met. Which was why, despite her mom practically pushing him on her before Zack came along, Sam had stayed far, far away and never gave the wrong impression. All the money and good looks in the world would never make up for a lack of a personality.

"Samantha," Allan drawled, in a southern accent he'd inherited from his mother, a former Texas debutante.

"Allan," she coolly greeted. "Long time no see."

"Too long," he said. "These are for you," he held out the flowers.

She gave a small smile and accepted them graciously. "Thank you. They're beautiful. So…what are you doing here? Was my mom expecting you or…."

"Your mother told me that you were in town," he responded. "And I was hoping that I could tempt you with the offer of after dinner drinks."

"My mom told you that I was in town?"

"She mentioned to my father that you were staying here for a while. He passed the news along to me."

"Did she also happen to mention that I'm married? And that I have a one year old son and triplets on the way?"

"She mentioned something along those lines," he confirmed.

"So I guess that would give you an answer to your offer, wouldn't it? I have a husband. So thank you, but drinks are a definite no," Sam held the flowers out. "And while these are beautiful, the only man I will accept flowers from, save for my father, is my husband. So thank you but no thank you."

"They are just flowers, Samantha."

"I don't accept flowers from other men," she remained firm. "So take them home and give them to your mother. Give them to the housekeeper. Throw them out. I really don't care. Just I won't accept them and that's that. So if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my son. Have a good night."

He laid a hand on the front door to stop her from closing it in his face. "Now is that any way to treat an old friend?"

"No. It's the way to treat an unwelcome visitor. I've taken down guys a lot bigger than you. If you keep this shit up, I will lay you out right here and right now and than brag about it all over town. So do me a favour and take your ass off my parents' door step and piss off!" she shoved his hand off the door and slammed it in his face and locked it tightly. She pulled the curtains aside that framed the long, slender window alongside the door and peered out, watching as Allan considered ringing once more, his finger poised just over the bell. "Don't even think about it asshole," she murmured, than sighed in relief when he simply turned on his heel and stomped down the front steps.

"Who was that, honey?" her mother asked, as she appeared in the doorway of her office.

"You know damn well who that was!" Sam cried and hurried down the hall angrily. "Allan Larson! That stuck up, pain in the ass sonofabitch that you always wanted me to hook up with even when I was with Zack!"

"Allan stopped by? Isn't that sweet of him."

"No! It's not sweet of him, mother! He brought me flowers!"

"So he's a gentleman. You're probably not used to that kind of treatment."

"You mean I'm not used to other men showing up on my doorstep when my husband isn't around and giving me flowers? No. I'm not used to that. But I happen to be married to a wonderful man and I don't appreciate you insinuating otherwise."

"When was the last time that you were treated like the loving, amazing woman that you are? When was the last time you were treated to a beautiful night out and gorgeous things and…"

"I don't need that kind of shit, mother! And for your information, Don and I do go out on nice dates. He does buy me nice things. He has flowers waiting on my desk some mornings. He shows up out of the blue with breakfast or lunch. Just because I'm not a spoiled, mean little bitch like you are doesn't mean he loves me any less. It just means I don't take him for granted and expect him to buy me things!"

"You deserve the best, honey. And I don't see how he can give you the best."

"Mother, let me make something very clear to you. I don't want anything from him and I don't expect the world from him. I love him and he loves me and we live a relatively simple, unassuming life. We have a beautiful little boy and more babies on the way. I don't need anything any materialistic from him! I just need him! So do me a favour and back off of him!"

"Samantha, just listen to me…"

"No," she shook her head and held up her hand and headed for the stairs. "I'm not listening to you. I am so tired of having to defend myself and my husband to you."

"Think about the life you have!" Lynne implored, grabbing her daughter by the arm and turning her around to face her. "Having to work full time for the city. A husband who is a highly underpaid city employee himself. Who could have done so much more with his life had he had the brains to go to college and do so much better for himself!"

"Mother!" Sam snapped, pushing her mother's hand off of her. "Do not talk like that about my husband! Do you understand me?! You know nothing about Don. Because you refuse to look past the fact that he's blue collar. He's very, very smart. He could have gone to university. Easily. But he didn't. Because he was trying to prove himself to his father. And you know what? Don is an awesome cop. He's great at his job and he's well respected within the department. And he's a damn good husband and father and you have no right to bad mouth him like that!"

"You rushed into things!" Lynne cried. "You were so desperate and anxious to have someone love you and accept you after Zack that you settled for the first thing that came along! Got yourself pregnant by the first man that showed remote interest and than got sucked into marrying him out of some sense of obligation!"

"Listen to me!" Sam yelled, and grabbed her mother roughly by the tops of her arms. "I didn't marry him because I was afraid of being alone! I didn't just settle! I didn't marry him because I was pregnant! I married him because I love him! More than life itself! I would die for him, mother! Do you understand what I am saying to you? Are you hearing a thing I am saying?! I love him! And he loves me! Our marriage isn't perfect! We're not perfect! But we have love! And that love will get us through anything!"

"Sometimes love isn't enough, Samantha!" her mother argued.

"No. You're right. Sometimes it's not. And that's what we have mutual respect for. You know, you have the nerve to stand here, all holier than thou, like you're up on this pedestal and we're so far down below you! When you were a lot younger? Where were you mother?! Where were you?! Or have you somehow forgotten that part of your life?!"

"That part of my life is in the past," Lynne responded.

"Than let me remind you. You were living in the projects in Crown Heights, Brooklyn! With an alcoholic, druggie of a husband who beat your kids and molested your daughter! For years he used me as his second wife! And you were just so happy that the asshole left you alone that you never stopped him!"

"I didn't know…."

"Bullshit!" Sam bellowed. "You knew! I know that you knew! And you did nothing to stop him! You did nothing to protect me and Adam! You let him beat us and lock us in the basement and feed us stale bread and rotten meat! You let him leave us there for a couple of days at a time! You let him have sex with your own daughter! Not once or twice! But for years!"

"That was a long time ago!" Lynne snapped back. "Let that go!"

"I can't let it go! Because that fucked me up far beyond anything that you can ever imagine! I forgave you, mom! I forgave you but I will never, ever forget! And you say I got pregnant by the first man that showed interest? I wasn't the knocked up sixteen year old! So don't you fucking stand here and insult my husband! He works a hell of a lot of hours in a dangerous, dangerous job and gets little or no respect or recognition! He takes care of my and his son and he tries damn hard to make things work! He's far more of a man than my father, my real father, could have ever been!"

"Where was he, Samantha? Your wonderful husband? When your son was taken?!"

"He was working. What happened to Kieran wasn't his fault It wasn't anyone's fault!"

"If you weren't living there none of that would have ever happened!"

"It happens anywhere! Kids don't go missing based on their social, economic status! It can happen to anyone And all of this? This beautiful home and lovely things and your nice car? You'd have none of that if it wasn't for dad! Dad saved you! And you treat him like shit! You've been treating him like shit for over sixteen years now! You should be thanking him for getting you the hell out of the mess your life was! But instead you take him for granted and you take and take and take!"

"You don't know…."

"I do know! I do know! Because it disgusts me to admit this, but I am becoming just like you! It makes me sick to my stomach to realize that I am getting to be just like you! Because I refuse to let myself treat my husband that way! I would rather die and spare him the torture of having to have a wife just like you!"

"You ungrateful, spoiled little bitch!" her mother hissed, and slapped her across the face.

Sam laid her hand over her stinging cheek. Tears threatened as she stared down the woman in front of her. Who she no longer recognized, and no longer had a desire to know. "At least we both know how we feel about each other," she said, and turning away, headed quickly up the stairs.

"I didn't mean it, Samantha!" Lynne called after her. "I didn't mean the things I said! I didn't mean to hit you!"

"Spare me, mother! It's too goddamn late for grovelling!"

"I didn't mean it, honey! Please, just…."

"We'll be out of your house first thing in the morning," Sam promised her, pausing in the doorway of the spare room. "We'll be out of here and that will be the last time you ever see me or your grandson or these babies I'm having."

And with that she slipped into the room, the slamming of the door echoing through the entire house.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! I have the most amazing fans, and friends, that anyone could possibly ask for! Thank you for all of your continued support for me, and my writing. And of course, for SamFlackie! **

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	56. Little White Lies

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK. YES, TPTB, I DO, DON'T DENY IT. AND I ALSO OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE ELSE NOT ASSOCIATED WITH THE SHOW.**

* * *

**Little white lies**

"Call you up in the middle of the night  
like a firefly without a light  
you were there like a blowtorch burning  
I was a key that could use a little turning  
so tired that iI couldn't even sleep  
so many secrets I couldn't keep  
promised myself I wouldn't weep  
one more promise I couldn't keep

It seems no one can help me now  
I'm in too deep  
there's no way out  
this time I have really lead myself astray

Runaway train, never goin' back  
wrong way on a one-way track  
seems like I should be getting somewhere  
somehow I'm neither here nor there."  
-Runaway Train, Soul Asylum

* * *

It was close to midnight when Flack found himself trudging up the stairs of his in law's house. Slightly let down from a rather ugly 5-2 Rangers loss and the from the ribbing he'd taken from his Sarge and his buddies, all die hard Coyotes fans. They were good guys -all ex military- who liked nothing better than their beer and wings, and that night, picking on the New York City boy. They shared stories about time spend over seas and the wars and combat they'd seen and the injuries they'd received, and in turn, listened intently to stories about serving in the NYPD and about the bombing that Sarge had previously told them had nearly taken Flack's life. They said little about Kieran's abduction. Other than they were happy to hear that the little guy was safe and sound now, and that they'd been a hair shy of going down to New York City themselves and hunting the SOB down themselves.

He was tired. Exhausted in fact. Going to bed close to three am the night before and getting up before nine am, on top of all the sun he'd gotten being out that day with his family, had done him in. All he wanted to do was freshen himself up and cuddle up to his wife and have a decent night's sleep. If his throbbing back and head would let him. He'd only had two beers, but the simple buzz from that alcohol had done a number on his head. It was the months and months of abstaining coming back to kick him in the ass. His father in law was aware of his struggles with alcohol and had kept a close eye on him the entire night. Flack had cut himself off at a couple. Knowing that the more he had, the more problems he was going to have in his marriage. And more problems were the last thing his marriage needed. Especially at a time when, despite the traumatic experience they'd just gotten through, things had never seemed better. If anything, Kieran's kidnapping had brought them closer together and made their love and bond stronger. It had taught them that they could trust one another completely, and that together, they could survive anything.

Even triplets. The thought of his children, safely and peacefully growing inside of his wife, brought a smile to his face. He reached the top of the stairs and headed down the hall, dimly lit by a small plug in light at the opposite end, taking a detour into Kieran's room to check on him. It had become somewhat routine for Flack. To quietly let himself into his son's room in the late hours of the night or wee hours of the morning, and fix his son's blankets and tuck him back in and stand staring at him, wondering what he'd done to ever deserve such a blessing in his life. He'd been doing it since the first night his son had spent at home, and didn't expect to give up the practice any time soon. Kieran would always be his baby. His first born. Nothing, and no one, could ever take that away.

Kieran was sleeping sideways in his crib. His covers kicked off and lying in heap in the corner of the mattress, his favourite blankie tucked securely under his arm and his thumb in his mouth and his legs hanging out from between the bars.

"Not good, K," Flack whispered in the dark, silent room. He reached into crib, and placing his hands under the baby's arms, gently pulled his son into the middle of the bed and turned him the proper way. "Someone's gonna come in here and bump into you and hurt your legs…and you gotta keep your blankets on, buddy."

Kieran murmured in his sleep and turned over onto his side, thumb still planted firmly in his mouth.

Flack sighed at the sight and took hold of his son's hand and pulled the thumb out. Fighting back a chuckle when Kieran immediately put it back in. "Your mom's going to have a fit if you need braces when you grow up," he said, gathering up the two blankets in the corner and straightening them up before lightly draping them over his son's peacefully sleeping form. "Love you, buddy," he said, and placing two fingers to his lips, reached out and laid them on his son's forehead. "Sweet dreams of sweet things."

Kieran sighed contently and nestled his face into his security blanket.

Flack smiled and checked one last time that his son was tucked in securely before slipping from the room. He closed the door slightly and took the three steps to the spare room. The light was turned on in the ensuite bathroom and the door was cracked open, illuminating the dark room just enough so he didn't trip over, or bang into, anything. Frowning at the sight of all their luggage and bags arranged neatly by the closet.

Sam appeared to be fast asleep. Lying on her left side, facing the door, his pillow clutched tightly to her chest, a box of tissues sitting by her head. Her soft breathing the only sound in the room. Flack peeled off his long sleeve navy and light blue stripped shirt and the white t-shirt he wore underneath and tossed both on the chaise lounge that was at the end of the bed. He removed his jeans and socks and laid them aside as well before heading into the bathroom in just his boxers.

He spent several minutes cleaning himself up and than went back into the bedroom in a t-shirt and scrub style pants that Sam had left on the sink ledge for him and sat down on the edge of the bed and rolled his head back and forth in hopes of working out the kinks in his muscles and than took off his watch and sat it on the nightstand.

The mattress shifted underneath him and there was a soft rustling of sheets as am moved behind him. She curled her arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to the small of his back. The simple touch of her lips to such a sensitive area causing shivers to overtake his entire body.

"What time is it?" she asked in a quiet, sleepy voice.

"Just after midnight," he replied. "I thought you were sleeping."

She smiled against his back. "I was faking it."

"Thought you said you never fake," he teased, rubbing her hand softly.

"I don't. At least not when it comes to anything important. Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah…until the Rangers lost. Your night was okay?"

She nodded and yawned noisily and rolled away from him and onto her other side.

"Kieran was okay?" Flack asked. "He was good?"

"He was an angel. Shockingly enough."

"So what's the deal than?" he asked, as he climbed into bed and lay on his side behind her, her back against his chest. He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck and rested his hand on her shoulder. "You sound kind of pissed. You mad because I went out tonight?"

"What?" she looked over her shoulder at him. "No. Of course not. You're allowed to have a life and hobbies outside of our marriage, Donnie. I don't keep tabs on you. You know that I trust you enough to not go out and act like a single guy and do something stupid."

He kissed her softly. "So than what's going on?" he asked, pushing her hair away from her neck and pressing his lips to the sensitive spot below her ear.

"What do you mean?" she responded with a question of her own.

"I mean what's pissed you off? Because you're not yourself. I've been with you long enough to know when something's up your ass, babe."

She giggled at that. "Well I can tell you that it's not you that's up my ass," she said, and pressed the bottom half of her body tightly against his.

He couldn't help but chuckle. "You have one beautifully dirty mind," he informed her. He slowly and softly trailed his fingertips along her shoulder and down her arm, feeling her shudder against him and the goose bumps that took over every inch of her body.

"It's your favourite part of me," she mused.

"I don't know about that. There's a few other things that are at the top of the list. So are you going to tell me what's up? I come home and you're in a little mood and all our stuff is packed. Something must have went down to make you want to leave."

"I want to go home," she told him.

"Okay…I get that much. But are you going to give me some reason why?"

"I'm homesick," she responded.

"You're homesick? How's that even possible? Both Kieran and I are here with you."

"I know…but I miss the big city. I miss our apartment and our own bed and our friends. That's all."

He nodded slowly. "You know that I know you're full of shit, right?"

She sighed. "It's a long story, Donnie," she told him.

"So? You going somewhere? Have a hot date or something? We can lie here talking all night if that's what it takes to get it out of you."

"My mother…there's this guy that she works with. And even when I was with Zack, she was always trying to hook me up with this guy's son. Allan Larson. He's an obnoxious prick and I wouldn't give him the time of day than, and I refuse to give him the time of day now. He was so over the top when I was with Zack that Zack paid him a little visit one night."

"Probably the one decent thing that asshole did the whole time you were with him. What does this have to do with…"

"He showed up here tonight," Sam told him. "While you were at the game. Because my mother told him I was back in town."

"Did she also tell him you were in town with your husband and your son? And with the three babies you're pregnant with?"

"He said she did. I guess it didn't bother him. Didn't stop him from bringing me flowers."

Flack snorted and shook his head and rolled over onto his back. "We can't go anywhere without some damn ex boyfriend of yours showing up," he complained, a forearm over his eyes . "Zack, Chester Lake, now this asshole."

"Allan Larson is not my ex boyfriend," Sam informed him and turned over onto her side to face him.

"He just wishes he could be your boyfriend," Flack snorted.

"You are totally missing the point of what I am trying to tell you," she huffed. "Can you cut the jealous husband crap for two seconds please?"

"You don't think that that's a big deal? Some other man bringing you flowers? Your mother trying to set you up on a date with someone?"

"Donnie, knock it off. I am married to you. I gave you a son. I am pregnant with three of your babies. Give this jealousy a rest. Okay?"

He held his hands up in self defence. "Okay…okay. Fine. What are you trying to tell me?"

"If it makes you feel better, I told him to take a hike and shove his flowers up his ass. It's the issue with my mother that's bothering me."

"What's the wicked witch done now?" he asked, laying a hand on the back of her head and looking at her in the moonlight.

"We got into a thing. About how she disapproves of my marriage and thinks that you and I rushed into things and only got married because I was pregnant. And a whole bunch of other nonsense shit that I knocked her down a peg or two about. And than I gently reminded her that all of this? Her fancy house and car and designer clothes? She only had all of this because of Sarge. That she's from the ghetto just as much as Adam and I are and she's no better than either of us."

"Good," he said with a nod. "About time you stuck up for yourself."

"My mother knew, Donnie," her voice was quiet. "About my father. About what he was doing to be all those years. She knew and never did anything. She was just happy that he was leaving her alone and getting his needs fulfilled somewhere else."

He stared deep into her troubled, tear filled eyes. He couldn't say that he was overly surprised about her revelation. He had often wondered how her mother couldn't have known what was going on. And how in the hell she could have possibly let it go on for so long. How she could have put her children through such agony and torment. Which was one of the many reasons that made it so impossible for him to warm up to the woman.

"She knew," Sam repeated, a tear slipping down her cheek. "She knew and she let him do it. I was five years old, Donnie. I was five years old and she knew that…"

He laid two fingers over her lips. "I know," he told her, his voice a near whisper. "I knew all along that she knew."

"Why?" she asked. "Why would she let him do that? Was I that bad of a kid? Did I do something wrong? What did I do that wrong that she felt I deserved that? Does she hate me that much?"

"You didn't do anything wrong," he told her. "You didn't deserve that. And I don't know why she didn't stop it. Why she didn't just grab you and Adam and take off. But she didn't and you and your brother are suffering long term from that and that's not fair to either of you."

"I'm so screwed up," she sniffled. "What he did…it's screwed me up. Mentally. Sometimes even intimately. Ever since what happened to Kieran bringing all these memories back, things haven't been exactly what you call normal between us, Donnie."

"Sammie, we're dealing with things. Just since last night alone we've come leaps and bounds. I understand why you're being the way you are. I accept it. I'm not holding it against you. We'll work on anything that comes our way and we'll get past it. Okay? Don't ever think that I'm not supporting you."

"Boy, I bet you never imagined your married life to be like this," she laughed dryly and wiped her eyes. "A nut job for a wife."

"Sammie, do you remember what I told you? Shortly after we got together? When you said that you had way too much baggage and issues and that it wasn't fair for me to have to deal with all of that? Do you remember saying that to me?"

She nodded.

"And do you remember what I told you? I told you that I was a big, strong guy and that all that baggage. That I was more than ready, willing, and able to help you carry it. Do you remember that?"

She smiled. "That was probably the most romantic, wonderful thing you ever said to me," she said.

"I meant it, baby. I meant it than and I mean it now. You don't have to go through anything alone. I'm here. I'm always going to be here. Whatever affects you, affects me. And we'll deal with it together? Okay?"

"You shouldn't have to…"

He raised his head and kissed her softly. "I want to. I'm your husband, Samantha. We're in this life together. Until death to us part, for rich or for poor…"

"Hmmm…" she frowned, her nose and eyes crinkling. "That last part there was my least favourite of our vows. I think it should be changed to for rich or for richer."

He smirked and combed his fingers through her hair. "You're a goddamn gold digger," he complained.

"Yeah, right," she laughed. "Gold digging on a cop's salary. Okay. It's not your money I'm after, Donnie. Trust me."

"Good. Because we have a joint account so you know just how poor I really am. Makes me think that if you're still with me, that maybe you actually are in this for love."

"Well that's just wishful thinking on your part," she teased. "Me and you? Lust and nothing but. The sex is so good that we can't walk away. So good that we have devoted the rest of our lives together as opposed to never having that kind of sex ever again."

"I wouldn't go that far," he said. "It's not that good."

"Excuse me?!" she slapped his chest. "That's mean! You have said it before many, many times. I am the best you've ever had."

"You are," he confirmed. "But I'm in this strictly for the love, babe. That blinding, overwhelming, kick you in the ass love that brings you do your knees and drives you insane."

She smiled. "I am becoming quite fond of you," she said. "You're starting to grow on me. You're okay to have around."

"You'd miss me like hell and go crazy with grief if you woke up one day and I wasn't around anymore," he said.

She nodded, growing sombre. Tears threatened again and she leaned down to kiss him. Long and soft. "I don't even want to think about that," she said, her voice choked with emotion.

"Neither do I," he said, and running his hand over her hair, laid it at the back of her neck. "I love you, Samantha. So much. And whatever we come up against, we can get through it. You know that right?"

"I do," she said confidently. "And I love you, too."

He smiled and pulled her towards him by the back of the head and covered her lips with his in a long, soft and lingering kiss. Finding himself pushed back onto the mattress as she slid her body up and along his without their mouths ever losing contact. He buried his fingers in her hair, giving that one kiss all he had, wanting to, and unknowingly achieving, make her feel safe and secure and most of all loved. At the feel of her tongue pushing against his lips, he gently tugged on her hair to get her to break from the kiss.

"What's wrong?" she asked, looking both confused and concerned.

"Nothing's wrong," he replied. "I just…I don't know if it's a good idea…especially after what we were just talking about with your father."

"Why does that bother you?" she inquired, leaning down to presses kisses to his ear and along his jaw line.

"Maybe because you're my wife and I love you and the thought of him doing that makes me sick to my stomach."

"What I'm doing makes you think of what my father did?" she asked, trailing her lips against his cheek to his mouth. She kissed his lips softly. "I make you sick to your stomach?"

"What?" he blinked. "No…that is not what I said. I said the thought of him doing that to you makes me sick to my stomach. Why would you think I meant something else?"

"I was just checking," she reasoned, and sitting on his stomach, slipped her hands underneath his t-shirt and along and up his chest.

"Does it feel like you make me sick to my stomach?" he asked, nodding down at his body. "Look where you're sitting. Tell me if that feels like you make me sick to my stomach."

She smiled. "Feels like someone is more than ready, willing and able."

"I am. It's just…I don't know. Us, making love after talking about your father? It just seems…I don't even know what it seems like. A little strange I guess. That that is even on our minds after…"

She leaned down to kiss him, her hair falling over his face and shoulders. Meeting no resistance, just full compliance and exuberance when she slipped her tongue into his mouth for a second time. His hands rested briefly on her hips before sliding up the back of her pyjama top, fingertips grazing up her spine and than back down to the small of her back. She shivered at the sensation and drew away from him, staring down at him in the moonlight, their breathing ragged and chests heaving.

"I need you to help me forget," she whispered. "I need you to get rid of all those memories I have."

"I know, Sammie. But…"

"Please," she said. "Please make love to me and help me forget. Help me heal from this, Donnie. Because without you, I don't know if it's ever going to go away or be better again."

"It will. I promise you that it will. You need to give it some time, baby."

She shook her head. "I need you," she told him, and grabbing the bottom of her shirt in both hands, pulled it up and over her head and tossed it aside. "Please make this go away."

He saw the tears that threatened in her eyes, the pleading and almost desperate quality to her voice. The way the silver of the moonlight played on her creamy skin and alluring curves. He reached up and laid a hand along her face and pulled her down to him, covering her lips in a long, deep, sensuous kiss. Moaning into his mouth at the feel of his fingertips drifting along the small of her back and up her side, resting just below the curve of her right breast.

He rolled her gently onto her back and propped himself beside her on his arm, wanting to avoid putting any of his weight on her stomach. His lips drifted to her ear, where he traced the outer edge with the tip of his tongue before allowing his mouth to travel down onto her neck. His free hand softly cupping and caressing one breast, her fingers playing with the nipples.

"Tell me you love me," she breathed.

He drew back to look at her. "I love you, baby. So much. From the moment I saw you. And I'll always love you."

"Always?"

He nodded and kissed and licked his way along her collarbone. "Always," he vowed.

"That's a tall order to fill there, Detective."

"Maybe," he grinned, kissing the underside of her chin, than her lips. "But I think I'm the perfect man for the job."

She raised her head to kiss him passionately. "I think so too," she said.

His lips and hands travelled down her body, his mouth lingering on her pregnant stomach. "You are so beautiful," he told her, looking up at her with love and respect and admiration in his eyes.

She smiled and touched his face softly. "You know," she said. "I can think of a couple ways you go show me just how much you love me and just how beautiful you think I am. That you can prove to me that you are the perfect man for the job."

"Yeah?" he ran a hand along her leg and to the inside of her thigh as he bent to kiss her stomach. "Well I guess I better get to work than."

She sighed as his lips moved further down his body. "I guess you should," she said dreamily.

* * *

Flack woke to sunlight streaming through the bedroom window and the sound of his son babbling and shrieking happily in the next room. He found himself laying on his right hand side, a protective and loving arm around his wife's warm, peaceful figure as she slept soundly on her side, her head on his pillow and a soft smile on her lips. The covers drawn over their naked bodies and a gentle breeze trickling into the room from the open balcony door.

He yawned noisily and rubbed at his tired eyes. Despite the now insistent and impatient bellowing that was now filtering in from the bedroom next to them, Flack made no move to get up and start his day. He lay there and trailed his fingertips over the delicate, beautiful facial features of the love of his life. He brushed his fingers across her smooth forehead and over her eyes, her long, dark lashes falling on her pale cheeks. Travelling down the bridge of her nose before he softly kissed the tip.

She murmured and rolled over onto her back with a long, content sigh, her hair falling over her face. He grinned and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck before pushing her hair away from her face. It was than that he noticed the slight bruising to her left cheek and the small bump and tiny cut just under her eye.

What in the hell, he thought. He wondered if Kieran had accidentally head butted her or kneed her in the face while they were playing. He loved nothing more than rough housing and didn't know his own strength.

He kissed her temple and received another sigh and pulled back to look at her just as her eyes flickered open and focused on him.

"Good morning," she said, giving a sleepy smile.

He kissed her. "Good morning," he responded. "Very," he kissed her once more. "Very," another kiss, this time to her cheek. "Very," he kissed her forehead. "Good morning."

She rubbed the tip of her nose against the tip of his. "Eskimo kisses," she said with a giggle.

"You're like a ten year old some times, you know that?"

"I keep you young," she declared.

"What's going on here?" he asked, gently touching her injured cheek. "Looks like you went about half a round with Tyson."

"I went half a round with Kieran," she replied. "We were playing in the backyard and I was lying on the grass and he fell and got me with his knee. Nothing major."

"You've got to be more careful, Sammie. Especially now. You know how hard he likes to play, and if he ever gets you in the stomach…."

"It was an accident," she said. "But you're right. I shouldn't be doing stuff like that anymore. Just he loves to play and I didn't want to tell him to leave me alone and hurt his feelings. Next time I just won't give in to the rough and tumble stuff and get him interested in something else. It's just…"

A knock came to the closed bedroom door.

"I'll be out in a second," Flack called. "I hear him. Just give me a few."

"Take your time," Sarge's voice responded. "I've got him. Just wanted you to know that I've got everything under control. He can have French Toast?"

"That's fine, dad," Sam told him. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," he said. "Enjoy."

They lay listening to the older man talking animatedly to his grandson as the two of them made their way down the hall and than the stairs.

Flack grinned at Sam. "Did your dad honestly just tell us to enjoy ourselves?"

She nodded. "He's a dirty minded perv just like you," she said and curled her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply.

"Guess we shouldn't disappoint him," Flack said, peeling the sheets away from her body.

"No," she giggled as his lips and the slight stubble on his cheeks tickled the side of her neck. "I guess we shouldn't."

* * *

"Your mother told me about what happened," Sarge said to his daughter, later that morning as they stood at the kitchen sink.

Sam was up to her elbows in soapy water and Sarge armed with a dish towel. Watching through the window as Flack entertained Kieran by throwing a tennis ball around and having Jericho bound around after it.

"How much did she tell you?" she asked, looking down at the cup that she scrubbed vigorously.

"Everything. From Allan Larson showing up at the door with flowers to her slapping you and telling her that you'd be out of the house first thing this morning."

"I'm surprised she admitted that," Sam snorted. "You know how she just loves to be the victim and make everyone else look bad."

"She feels really bad about what she did," Sarge said.

"Sure she does," sarcasm dripped from Sam's voice. "Only thing she feels bad about is her wounded pride. Because I finally stood up for myself and called her on the way she is How she acts like this stuck up rich bitch when in reality, she started out as nothing more than a teenage mother on welfare and ended up being a druggie and an alcoholic who let her husband abuse his kids. She must be really proud of herself."

"Your mother has come a long way," Sarge gently defended his wife. "She's turned her life around."

"You turned her life around," Sam told him. "And it's too bad that in the process of treating her like a Queen and buying her whatever she wanted, you couldn't buy her a personality transplant. She's no better than I am. She thinks it makes her a better person? Because she has money to burn and drives some fancy car and lives in gorgeous house? She's no different than me. She's just some girl from Crown Heights, Brooklyn."

"And you've come a long way yourself," he said. "Once you moved out here you got your act together. Went back to high school, got your diploma, went on to university. Got a great career and now a great husband and a wonderful little boy. And three more babies on the way."

"And what about everything in between?" she asked. "What about everything else I fucked up in my life?"

"Everyone makes mistakes," Sarge responded.

"Zack was more than a simple mistake," she said. "That was one monumental screw up. And what about my childhood? Or lack there of? And Adam's? She stayed with our father knowing what he was doing to me and she just sat back and let him beat the shit out of us. Do you think that's okay?"

"No," Sarge sighed. "But I think that it was a long time ago and you need to come to terms with it, accept it and get on with your life. Because the longer what happened with your father eats away at you, the harder it will be to get over it and it will start affecting the life you have now."

"Trust me," Sam said, setting a plate in the rinse water. "It already has. Let's just say that I'm damn lucky I have a husband that is so understanding. Because most would have screwed off by now, or at least found someone on the side that could give them what they wanted. Thank God we got away from the that little issue for the time being."

"I think it's more because he loves you with everything he has more than him being so understanding," Sarge told her.

"Or a bit of both. Mixed in with tons of patience. Because trust me, dad. I am probably the world's most difficult person to love. And he makes it seem to effortless. He doesn't judge me or hold things against me. He just loves me. And he deserves a lot better than what I have been giving him in return."

"I see how much you love him, lady bug. It's in your voice when you so as much say his name. It's in your eyes and in your smile when you so as much look at him or he enters the room.

"I treat him like shit, dad," she said. "There are times I treat him like complete shit and I…" she fought back emotion and shook her head. "He doesn't deserve that. It makes me feel like crap when I treat him like that. And I'm trying to change. I am. I try not to be like that. But it's part of me. Part of who I am. Maybe I'm just too damaged to be with anyone."

"That's a load of shit," Sarge declared. "What you are is too busy feeling sorry for yourself all the time. You dwell on the past. On your father and what he and your mother were like. On Zack and how he treated you. On all the crappy choices you've made. That's all in the past. This is the present. That.." he nodded out the window to where Flack was supervising Kieran as he rolled in the grass with the Jericho the dog. "That is your present and your future and if you don't let go off all this other shit, you're going to lose everything. You'll push him away. And you don't want that. I know you don't."

Sam didn't respond.

"Deal with the crap that's hanging over your head and maybe you'll actually find yourself being happy."

"I am happy," she argued. "I am happy with my life. With my husband and my son. With my career and my friends. I just got over a hell of an ordeal with Kieran so excuse me if I'm not Mary fucking Sunshine at the moment. But I am happy."

"Samantha, you're my daughter. Maybe not by blood, but I've been your daddy for nearly eighteen years now. I know you very well. And I love you more than anything. But forgive me when I tell you what a crock of crap that is. You are incapable of being happy."

She snorted.

"You put on a good show. You laugh and smile and act like you're happy. But I see it in your eyes. And if I can see it, than you can rest assured other people noticed it, too."

"And you say I talk a lot of shit," she smirked.

"Say what you will. It's the truth. And if you value what you have. If you truly love that man, than you'll deal with what happened in the past and trust him with your future. Because you're right, the way things have been? The way you've been. He does deserve better than that."

"Well now that I know how you really feel," Sam struggled with tears. "Mom and I agreed this morning to work on things. On us. That me and Don and Kieran would stay. Now I'm not so sure."

"That's something else you do," Sarge said. "You run away when something doesn't sit right with you."

"I don't need to listen to this shit," Sam told him, and removing her hands from the water, dried them on her sweat pants. "You want to talk to me like an adult, come and find me."

"I want to help you, Samantha," Sarge caught her by the wrist and pulled her back to the sink. "I just want to help you. Like I used to when you were sixteen and finally getting a decent life. Le t me help you."

"What can you do, dad? Seriously? What can you do?"

"There's someone I want you to go and talk to," he replied, and reaching into pocket of his jeans, pulled out a small piece of folded writing paper. "It's someone from your mother's past in Crown Heights. When she was just a young girl in high school around the time she met your father."

Sam took the paper and opened it. "Lincoln Scott," she read. "Who the hell is he?"

"Like I said, he's someone from your mother's past. She just told me about him this morning. She doesn't know I wrote the name down and that I'm giving this to you."

"But what does someone from her past have to do with me? Why would I want to talk to him?"

"Because your mother," Sarge sighed heavily. "Your mother has always thought that he was your father."

Sam blinked. She looked down at the paper in her hands, than up at her 'father'. "Why would she keep something like that from me?"

"I don't know. Like I said, I didn't even know a damn thing about this fella until now. But I really think you should…"

The sound of the screen door that led from the kitchen to the deck opening caught them by surprise and Sam jumped, and hurried shoved the paper in her pocket as Kieran came running in, arms outstretched.

"Mommy!" he chirped, planting a huge kiss on her cheek as she scooped him up.

"Sammie," Flack stuck his head into the kitchen. "I gotta take an important call from back home. You okay with him?"

She nodded. "Fine. I'm fine. Is everything okay?"

"Just one of my old guys. He needs some help working some things out for an old case."

"Don't these people know you're on vacation?" she asked.

"I was the arresting detective," he responded. "He needs to talk to me."

"Well I'm not stopping you," she said. "Take your call."

He frowned. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Go and take your call," she said, and smiled.

"Alright," he said, scepticism in his voice. "You sure that…"

"I'm fine," she assured him. "What would be wrong with me?"

"You never know," Flack said and disappeared from the doorway.

Sam sighed heavily and attempted to put on a happy smile for her son.

The closet was slowly filling with skeletons once more.

* * *

Flack dialled the long distance number and sat down on the top stair of the front porch. He'd wanted to be as far away from his family, most importantly his wife, when he made the call. The number was all too familiar. And had appeared on his call display more than a dozen times since he'd arrived in Arizona. The owner of the number leaving just as many messages that he'd erased as quickly as they were left. He'd finally gotten up the nerve to put an end to the bullshit.

"What the hell do you want?" he asked, as soon as someone picked up.

"Hello to you, too, Don," she snorted. "You're in a cheery mood."

"I don't have time to play games with you, Jess. What do you want? You keep calling me."

"And you keep ignoring me."

"I am on vacation with my family," he reminded her. "What makes you think I'd answer?"

"We need to talk," Angell told him.

"About what? And don't say a case. You just used that in your messages in case Sam checked my voice mail. So cut the shit and tell me what you want."

"We need to talk," she repeated. "About us."

He laughed. "About us? There is no us."

"But there was. And there could be. And I want there to be and I think you do too."

"You're fucking delusional," he snorted. "I'm married. I have a wife. A wife that I love more than anything in this world. And I'm not tossing her and my family away for you."

"I don't mind being the other woman, Don," she said, ignoring him. "At least for a bit until you figure out what, and who, you really want."

"You're insane!" he hissed into the phone. "You've got some serious screws loose, girl."

"Why are you denying that there's something there? Something we both feel? That we haven't been able to get rid of even though we're with other people."

"Jess, listen to me…"

"Are you going to deny it, Don? Are you going to deny that there's feelings for there? I saw it in your eyes. I know you have feelings for me. Are you denying that?"

He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. "I never said that," he responded. He stood up and headed down the stairs and across the grass. Needing to be away from the house.

"Which is exactly why we need to talk."

"No," he said. "We don't. Because even though there's feelings there, or chemistry or whatever the hell you call it, there's never going to be anything between us. Do you understand me? NEVER. I am in love with my wife and I'm going to spend forever with her. And you need to cut your single white female, Fatal Attraction bullshit off. Do you hear me?"

"Does Samantha know about us?" she asked.

"What? What is there for her to know? There's no us!"

"You just said…"

"I just said there's no us!" Flack snapped. "Get it through your fucking head!"

"Does she know there was an us?" Angell asked.

"I told you that she did! What the hell…"

"Does she know about the baby?"

Flack stopped his pacing. "Don't fucking throw that up in my face."

"I take that as a no. So she doesn't know? About the baby that I was pregnant with and aborted. Because you didn't want it."

"There was no proof that that baby was mine, Jess. You even admitted it could have been two other guys'."

"And there was no proof that it wasn't either. Because I took care of it like you wanted."

"Like I wanted? An abortion was your choice! That was all you! I told you that if you wanted to have it, that that was fine. That if a paternity test proved it was mine, I'd pay child support. I told you that! That I wanted nothing to do with you but that I'd take care of my kid. Did I not say that?"

"So Sam doesn't know," Angell concluded.

"No. She doesn't. And she doesn't need to."

"Hmmm…well I'd hate for me to tell the wrong person. Because you know first hand that a lot of people have really big mouths around here."

He laughd dryly and shook his head. "Don't even think about it, Jess."

"Shouldn't be keeping secrets from your wife, Don."

"What do you want from me!" he shouted into the phone. "What the hell do you want from me?"

"I want me and you to sit down and talk. When you get back to the city."

"Fine," he said. "Fine. But I'm telling you right now, I am not leaving my wife. I am not busting up my family. Understand me?"

"We'll talk," she told him. "I better go. Get back to work."

"Yeah, that would be a good idea," he snorted.

"We'll talk soon."

"Don't call me here again, Jess," he warned.

"'Bye, Don," she said and hung up.

He pressed end and looked down at the I-phone in his hand. Gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white. Clenching his jaw together so firmly it actually ached.

For the first time in his life, Don Flack was dreading going home.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing. I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers! Please drop me a line folks! It would mean the world to me after the God awful shitty week I've had!**

**Thanks to:**

**Laurzz (especially for giving me the courage to go with the F/A at the end there)**

**muchmadness**

**Hope4sall**

**Laplandgurl**

**Forest Angel**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Bluehaven4220**

**GregRox**

**wolfeylady**

**Kassandra J**

**Mjels**

**ImaSupernaturalCSI**

**shopaholic20**


	57. Promising Forever

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF IT'S CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND KIERAN FLACK**

**WARNING: RATED M FOR SMUT. AND IT'S NOT WHO YOU THINK FOLKS….**

**SPECIAL WELCOME TO DOLLCITY**

* * *

**Promising forever**

"I wanna drive  
Until we get lost  
Lie in a field staring up at the sky  
While you point out the Southern Cross  
Somehow I know  
Without asking why  
That you love me more in a minute  
Than anyone could in a lifetime

Dancing in the parking lot  
While the band plays inside  
Sweep me off my feet  
Baby, marry me

We don't need no preacher man  
Readin' from the Good Book  
And I don't want no fancy dress  
Ain't no ceremony for the vows that I took  
From the moment I met you  
I have been blessed

So let's make a toast  
And drink up the wine  
Here's to you lying here next to me  
Until the end of time  
Wherever you are  
I wanna be  
And anything that means anything to ya  
Means everything to me  
Sneakin' out the back door  
While they're throwing the rice  
And they'll talk for weeks

But we're all we need  
So baby, if you're free  
Marry me."  
-Marry Me, Amanda Marshall

* * *

Lindsay stood in the doorway of her new living room, a smile of immense satisfaction and pride at the finished product before her. The soft cream coloured walls and the sage green sectional couch and matching reclining chair and the rich looking mahogany tables. She and Danny had all but maxed out every credit card either of them owned setting up their own place. From furniture for every room to electronics and simple kitchen necessities such as a microwave and dishes and silverware and pots and pans. Name it, and they needed it.

They had gone into their relationship with relatively nothing. Frustrating and expensive as all hell, but exciting and fun all at the same time. To experience such little things like shopping for household items and picking out bed sheets and bath towels together was a surreal experience. They had never gotten that far the first time around, and now every experience they went through together became something memorable to cherish.

"What'cha doing, Montana?" Danny asked, as he came down the hallway from their bedroom, the sheets of plastic that had been wrapped around their new mattress and box spring upon delivery, rolled into a large ball that he was carrying.

"Just admiring," she replied. "We worked really hard to make this place our own, you know."

"Oh I know," he said. "My aching knees and back and my credit cards are statement to that. I'm dreading getting those bills next month."

"But look at everything we got. And how everything turned out," Lindsay gushed, as she glanced around the apartment. Their apartment. It felt so surreal to be saying that. To be there with him, surrounded by things of their own and a chance to have a life of their own together. Knowing that nothing could possibly come between them now.

He stepped beside her and turned to look at their home. All traces of Jack Doyle had been erased. Now everything there was strictly Danny Messer and Lindsay Monroe. And if Danny had his way, soon that would change too. The Monroe would be out the door and in it's place she'd be a Messer too. If she'd have him, of course.

Danny smiled lovingly down at her. Laying a hand on her shoulder, he softly trailed it down her arm to her hand and clasped it tightly. He kissed her cheek tenderly.

"Looks pretty good from where I'm standing," he commented, eyeing her from head to toe. In her jeans that hugged her curves and a pale yellow t-shirt that clung to her like a second skin. A white and yellow striped bandana holding her hair back from her forehead and face. No make up gracing her features. She didn't need it. She was a natural beauty. The most amazing woman he'd ever met hands down.

"I was talking about our apartment," she said, giggling as he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.

"That's okay, too," he said, his lips softly touching the spot below her ear. "You really need to stop wearing Brooklyn's clothes and get your own," he told her, releasing his hold on her and carrying the garbage to the front door to add to the waiting pile.

"Can I help it that she has better clothes than I do?" Lindsay asked. "That and the governor is still holding mine hostage. He's insisted, Danny. He won't ship anything here. He wants me to come back and get my stuff. Alone. Probably so he can try and persuade me to come back to him."

"Well that ain't going to happen," Danny declared. "You go there, I'm right beside you. I told you that already. You know what he'd try to do? To keep a sweet, young thing like you? Probably offer you tons of money to stick around."

"Maybe," she said, picking up one of the hunter green throw cushions on the couch and playing with the fringe around the edges. "But there's not enough money in the world to get me to stay with him. I know where I want to be. Where I'm destined to be. And that's right here. In New York City. In this apartment. With you. The only place I want to be is with my heart. And you've had that all this time, Danny."

He smiled and dropped the garbage by the door and joined her back in the living room. "He's holding the clothes hostage, I was holding your heart hostage," he grabbed the pillow from her hands and tossed it aside.

"Pretty much," she laughed, and found herself pulled into his strong, warm embrace, her breasts flattened against his chest.

She shivered at the sensation of his hands sliding from the middle of her back and down and around to her slender hips. The man just had a way of getting to her. The simplest thing could turn her on in ways she'd never experienced with anyone else. Small, tender touches, delicate kisses and a look that told her he adored her beyond what any words could ever communicate.

"So you want your heart back now?" Danny asked, resting his forehead against hers.

Lindsay shook her head and curled her arms around his neck. "You can keep it," she replied. "For the rest of my life. Or the rest of your life. Whichever is longer."

"Yeah?" he pressed a feathery kiss to his lips. "That actually makes me so relieved that you said that."

"Relieved?" she cocked a curious eyebrow. "Why?"

"I was thinking about things. Me and you type things. And I was thinking, that me and you and the word forever sounds pretty damn good together. So…" he reached behind his neck to untangle her arms and stepped away from her, than slowly dropped down to one knee in front of her.

"What the…." tears immediately sprang to her eyes as she looked down at him and laid one hand over her mouth and the other over her heart. "Danny…what…."

"I know it seems really, really soon," he said, and leaning sideways, stuck his hand under the cushion of the couch and pulled out a small Tiffany's box. "But I know how I feel. And I know that I never should have let you walk away, Lindsay. I should have hunted you down and stopped you from ever leaving. Or I should have gone to Montana and claimed you as mine and brought you back. But I didn't. I was a damn fool. I treated you like shit when you were here, over Ruben and Rikki and…" he sighed heavily and shook his head. "God, baby. If I could take that all back I would. I'd take back all the pain and all the hurt I ever caused you. You know that right?"

"Of course I do," she whispered.

"But I can't. No matter how bad I want to. But I can make a promise to you, right here and right now. That I will love you until the end of days. That I'll never take your for granted or speak ill of you or mistreat you or disrespect you. That I will love you and honour until my very last breath. And that even when that comes, and we meet in another place, another time, I'll love you even than."

"Danny…" Lindsay sobbed against her hand. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

"I love you more than words could ever, ever say. And everything that's happened, everything that drove us apart, in a way, was a blessing. Because we found each other again, Montana. And when we did, something unbelievably powerful and whole took over us. Something beyond anything I could ever imagine. We can't ignore that or let it slip through our fingers. We need to capture on to it and each other and never let go. Never let go. And that is why, I am here, right now, offering you my entire heart and soul. Why I would be proud and honoured to call you my wife."

"I don't know what to say…" Lindsay breathed, dropping her hand from her mouth to touch his face softly.

"Yes would be nice," Danny said, sniffing back his tears. "Hell yes would be even better."

She smiled and nodded rapidly. "Yes," she told him. "Hell yes."

With trembling fingers, Danny flipped open the lid of the small box, revealing a brilliant, sparkling, large oval shaped diamond set in a thick yellow gold band. "Took some lessons from Flack," he said. "Brought him with me to Tiffany's the day before he left for Phoenix. So if you like it, thank him. Hate it, blame him."

Lindsay laughed and brushed away her tears with the back of her hand as he took her left hand and slipped on the ring. "I love it," she gushed. "It's beautiful."

He pressed a tender kiss to the top of her hand. "You and me forever, Montana. That's one promise I can make."

"Get up here and kiss me, cowboy," she playfully demanded.

"Yes, m'am," he drawled in a faux Southern accent and tossed the empty ring box aside and stood up. Finding himself yanked by the front of his shirt and into a long, intense, toe curling kiss.

"You know what would make this moment extra perfect?" Lindsay asked, breaking her lips away from his and reaching between them pull his shirt from the waist of his jeans, her mouth finding the sensitive side of his neck.

"What's that?" Danny asked, still breathless from their kiss, sneaking his own hands between their bodies to snap open the button and slip down the zipper on her jeans.

"If me and you christened our own couch," she replied, moaning as his hand slid down the front of her underwear to caress her intimately.

"I think you read my mind," he said, and capturing her lips, backed her up towards the couch. Until the back off her knees came in contact with it and she lost her balance and toppled backwards.

"How long until you have to pick Sam and Flack up at the airport?" she asked.

"Long enough," he responded and yanked her jeans and underwear off in one swift movement.

Tossing them aside, he dropped to his knees and pressed kisses from the top of her foot to the inside of her ankle and up along her calf and to her thigh. Finger tips tracing the same path on the other side of her leg. Feeling the goose bumps that took over her flesh, hearing the hitch in her breath as his tongue lingered on the back of her knee. Her ultimate secret spot, other than the obvious.

"Danny," she whimpered, as he lightly grazed her inner thigh with his teeth. She tunnelled the fingers of both hands through his hair. Her back arched off the couch in anticipation. Her heels dug into the carpet. Her entire being ached and longed for him.

His hands slid up the sides of her legs and than moved in between her thighs to encourage her to part them further. He met no resistance and he placed a trail of hot kisses along her silky skin, one hand drifting from her hip to her stomach and sliding underneath her t-shirt and up to fondle and caress her breasts through the thin fabric of her soft pink bra. His other hand slipped further up her leg, his fingertips just brushing against her already moist opening.

She moaned loudly, her body eager, anticipating his touch. Sweat beading on her forehead and trickling down the back of her neck and in the valley between her breasts. Her body tensing as a fingertip drew a slow, steady line down, and than up, her throbbing clit. Aware of his eyes locked on her face. Watching the intense pleasure take over her. Filled with a sense of pride and satisfaction that he was able to coax such a response from her.

"You are so beautiful, baby," Danny's voice was a harsh whisper as he pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh and slipped a finger inside of her warm, welcoming body. "So beautiful…everything about you…"

She whimpered as his finger moved inside of her slowly and steadily. Her breath quickening, her toes curling. Crying out and digging her nails into his scalp as the tip of his tongue teased her clit. Working her quickly, and efficiently and effortlessly, closer and closer to the point of no return.

"Danny!" she suddenly gasped and attempted to push his head away from her. "Danny…stop….you have to stop…"

He ignored her, intent on seeing the task through. Not giving up until she was a screaming, quivering mess under his mouth and his hands.

"Danny!" she cried, yanking his head back by his hair, forcing him to break contact with her. "You have to stop!" she insisted. "You just have to…"

Worry clouded his eyes and furrowed his brow as he looked at her. "What's wrong?" he asked. "I do something wrong?"

"No," she panted, shaking her head. "You were doing everything right. It's just that…I don't want it to happen that way. I want you inside of me. I need you inside of me."

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her quivering stomach. "Your wish is my command," he said as he stood up and pulled off his t-shirt and threw it to the side. Looking down at her as she licked her lips in anticipation as he unbuckled his belt and snapped open the button on his jeans and pulled down the zipper. Quickly removing his pants he tossed them onto the growing pile of clothes on the floor as she discarded both her shirt and her bra. He reached for the waist band of his boxers, only to have her still his movements by laying her hands over his.

"I want to do it," she said. "Let me."

"Lindsay, I don't know if…"

She pushed his hands away and leaned forward to trail the tip of her tongue along his waist, just above the band of his boxers, pausing to moisten the area around his navel before blowing softly on it.

He gasped at the sensation.

"You like that do you?" she asked, pressing kisses around his navel. "I have another trick up my sleeve that you might like."

"Yeah?" he combed his fingers through her hair as he looked down at her, love and desire in his eyes. "And what would that be?"

She smiled devilishly and hooked her fingers in the waist band of his boxers and yanked them down roughly. "Tale them off," she demanding, nodding down at the underwear now pooled at his ankles.

"Demanding are we?"

"I said take them off," she repeated, reaching around to dig her fingernails into his bare ass.

"Easy, Montana, Easy," he winced at the pain she was inflicting on him and kicked his boxers off. "You've been hanging around Brooklyn way too much. What do you two do? Compare notes about me and Flack?"

"Maybe," she said. "Are you complaining?"

"Hell no. You ask me, she's a damn good influence."

"She knows things, Danny. Some of the things she's told me that he's into…"

"Okay…I don't need to hear that kind of thing about my best friend, alright? So if you're going to do something while you're down there, than do it and…" his words were cut off as a strangled groan erupted in his throat as her lips closed over the tip of his painfully erect cock. Her small, delicate hands tightening around his shaft, pumping him in time to the motion of her mouth.

She looked up at him. Never breaking her pace. Watching his face. The way his eyes closed and his jaw clenched and sweat dripped down his forehead and chest. Listening to his ragged breathing and enjoying the way his hands clenched her hair roughly. Bringing him dangerously closed to the edge before pulling back and clearing the pre-cum that leaked from the tip of his cock with her tongue.

He opened his eyes slowly and looked down at her. "You never did that before…"

"Well that was before," she said. "And this is now. And I want to do that and more to you."

"What kind of things to you want to do?" he asked.

"All in good time, Danny. Now it's about what I want you to do."

"And what would that be?"

She reached for his hand and yanked him towards the couch. "Make love to me. Here and now."

"Got a better idea," he said, and shoving the coffee table out of the way, yanked the blanket off the back of the couch and spread it out across the floor. "You said here and now," he said to her. "Well, there you go."

"What's wrong with the couch?" Lindsay asked.

"Its brand new!" he cried. "I don't want us to be getting any of our, you know…stuff, on the new couch. That stuff would be murder on the fabric."

"You have such a way with words," she laughed and climbing off the couch, sank down onto the blanket.

"I am my own man," he declared, dropping to his knees beside her and capturing her lips in a steamy kiss. Chuckling as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down on top of her. Her legs opening invitingly and than encircling his waist.

"Make love to me, Danny," she breathed, her lips against his ear.

"My pleasure," he responded, and positioned himself at her entrance. Pulling back to look deep into her eyes as he filled her with one solid, fluid thrust.

She moaned at the sensation. Her eyes closed and her head tipped back and her heels dug into the small of his back. Her nails scraped across his shoulders and than dug into his biceps. He kept his eyes on her. Revelling in her sighs and whimpers as he moved inside of her at a deep, slow pace. Letting her tell him what she wanted, what she needed.

"Please," she pleaded, thrusting her hips up at him, forcing him deeper. "I need more…I need everything…please…"

He obliged. Easing out of her completely before pushing back into her on one hard, rough thrust. She cried out, scraped her nails down his arms and gripped his wrists as he propped on his hands above her. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his back and dripped from his chin as he pounded into her, her noises of pleasure filling the apartment. He bent his head to lick and suckle her neck, the feeling of his teeth on her pale, delicate skin and a final powerful thrust sending her over the edge. Screaming his name as a mind blowing, numbing orgasm took over her body.

The repetitive clenching and releasing of her inner muscles sent him over the edge as well. He called out her name and bit his lip to reign in a scream of his own. His arms trembled and she pulled him down on top of her and held him tightly, kissing his ear and his neck and his shoulder as his entire body trembled and tears spilled down his cheeks.

"I love you," he breathed into her neck. "So much…with everything I am and everything I have."

"I love you, Danny," she responded. "I always have. I always will."

They lay clasped tightly together. Eyes closed. Attempting to compose themselves. An eternity seemed to pass before he finally pulled back and kissed her. He looked into her eyes as he pushed hair away from her face.

"Welcome to our home, Montana," he said, kissing her lightly. "Welcome to forever."

* * *

Despite the fact that it was snowing and the temperatures barely cracked the freezing mark, it was good to be back in New York City. Sure, the balmy temperatures and sunny skies and the lazy days of doing nothing more than hanging around by the pool or just spending quiet afternoons and early evenings taking walks and doing things as a family would be greatly missed, but the familiarity of their home city was something they relished and treasured.

Danny was waiting for them at the arrival gate. Grinning like the cat that had swallowed the canary. Flack had nudged him in the arm and gave him a knowing nod and commented that he was glad his best friend found it in the goodness of his heart to cut getting laid short to make sure he picked them up in time. Danny had given him that innocent, little boy looked he'd perfected a long time ago and just shrugged his shoulders. He wasn't going to kiss and tell. Even if he couldn't move his arms properly thanks to the painfully deep nail gouges across his shoulders and back.

"Check you out," Danny said to his best friend's wife, as he noticed the baby bump she was sporting around. "You didn't leave with it looking like that."

"It sprouted up overnight," she sighed, rubbing her stomach in slow, easy circles. "And they're kicking now too. All three at once last night around eleven thirty. I couldn't believe it. I've never felt anything like that. I know Kieran could kick, but these three," she shook her head. "They are going to be the death of me."

"They doing anything now?" Danny asked, laying a hand on her tummy.

"Keep your damn hands to yourself, Messer," Flack said, as he juggled two duffle bags on each shoulder and sleeping Kieran on one arm. The toddler's arm curled around his neck, his head resting in between his dad's neck and shoulder.

"It's not like I'm feeling her up or anything," Danny informed him. "Just want to see what it feels like. Never felt three babies at once before. That's kinda surreal."

"You want to feel babies kick?" Flack asked. "Knock up Monroe."

"Bite your tongue, Flack. I couldn't handle two women pregnant at roughly the same time. What's going on, Brooklyn? They sleeping or something?"

"Apparently," she said, as Danny pushed the cart holding the rest of their luggage and they headed for the exit.

"It's 'cause they're up all night," Flack complained. "Huey, Duey and Louie woke me up out of a sound sleep last night. Sam was sleeping with her stomach against my back and I felt them kicking. It was like a damn stampede of elephants."

"Huey, Duey and Louie?" Danny grinned.

"Don watches way too many cartoons," Sam complained.

"Come on Duck Tales was one of the best ones out there when were young," Flack defended his taste in telephone show. "And seriously, Donald Duck's nephews. I'm named Donald. There's three babies in there. How perfect could that be?"

"You're a geek," Sam informed him.

"It was an awesome show," Flack said. "Do you remember the one where Scrooge McDuck took Huey, Duey and Louie to Scotland to check out that castle that was suppose to be haunted?"

"I was more of a Transformers type of girl," Sam told him.

Danny gasped dramatically. "Be still my heart."

"You were a Transformers fan?" Sam asked.

"Oh absolutely. My brother Louie and I never missed it. Twice on Saturday mornings on two different channels and once on Sunday. We were loyal fans. And the toys…" he shook his head and smiled in fond remembrance. "I swear we begged and pleaded every birthday and every Christmas and even Easter for those toys. Optimus Prime. He was my favourite hands down."

"I was a Shockwave girl," Sam said. "I remember this one time, and the two of you can't arrest me for this because it's way past the cut off time in the statue of limitations. But I remember this time that Adam and I skipped school and stood outside the Vine subway station in Brooklyn and begged subway tokens off of people. And we went into midtown to FAO Schwartz and while Adam distracted the sales woman in the toy department with his pretty blue eyes and his sweet little face, I actually managed to steal a Shockwave for me and a Bluestreak for him."

"Great," Flack said. "Now I'm married to a clepto."

"How'd you manage that?" Danny asked, an amused grin on his face.

"Just shoved them in my school bag and calmly walked out of there. No one suspected a thing and we never got caught."

"What about your parents?" Danny inquired. "They didn't wonder where they come from?"

Sam shook her head. "We took them out of the boxes and scuffed and dirtied them up and tossed the containers before we got home. So if they asked, we could say that someone left them lying around at the park and we just scooped them up. But they never did.

"Screw the statue of limitations," Flack said. "I'm still going to cuff you when we get home."

"Don't be so dirty," Sam winked at him and snaked her arm around his waist. "Especially in front of someone so sweet and innocent as Danny Messer. Anyway, those toys were the first, and only things, I ever stole."

"Besides Flack's heart," Danny said.

Flack frowned. "That was way too cheesy and corny for someone like you Messer."

"I've had a corny and cheesy day," the CSI reasoned. "A corny and cheesy three weeks actually. Montana and I got a couple of surprises for you guys when you get home."

"What?" Flack asked. "You burnt the place down and now we're homeless? You bought us all new furniture and a high def plasma tv? Maybe hired us a maid for a year?"

"Just surprises," Danny replied. "You gotta wait and see."

"She's pregnant?" Sam asked excitedly.

"What is wrong with you?" Danny exclaimed. "Hell no. We are protected to the max. We are leaving the baby making to you and Flack. I mean, look at you," he nodded down at her stomach. "It's something you two are obviously really good at."

"You think?" Sam laughed and rubbed her stomach. "Don sits beside me when I'm ovulating and I get pregnant. I think we're stopping after these three though."

Flack narrowed his eyes as he looked down at her. "Says who?"

"Says the person who has to carry triplets and whose body is going to get horrifically deformed because of it. That will be four kids. Aren't four kids enough?"

"Two more," he told her, motioning for her to go ahead of him through the automatic sliding doors that led outside.

"You're insane!" she cried and zipped up her winter coat before stepping out into the grey, dreary afternoon and the bone chilling temperatures and swirling snow. She stood at the curb as Flack loaded Kieran into his car seat and Danny arranged all the luggage in the back, and closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the cold air and exhaled slowly.

"What'cha doing, Brooklyn?" Danny asked curiously.

She opened her eyes and smiled. "Nothing," she replied. "Just thinking about how great it is to be home."

* * *

The first surprise had been when Danny announced, as Flack unlocked the door to his apartment, that he was going over to his place to check on Montana and the 'little thing' she had planned, than proceeded to take four steps across the hall and unlock the door to what was Jack Doyle's apartment. While it was weird, the thought of their best friends shaking up in the same place that had once housed the disgusting, pathetic piece of slime that had molested their son, the thought of having the people they were closest to and loved like family, was a welcoming, warm thought. Lindsay and Danny seemed to be the only two people, outside of his parents, that Kieran seemed to feel a hundred percent safe and comfortable with, and having them that close would only cement the bond even further.

No sooner were they in their friends' front door -the unpacking would be left to later, there was no massive rush- the second surprise had been unveiled. Lindsay, with a beaming smile on her face, bounded to the door with her left hand outstretched and her new diamond ring sparkling brilliantly.

Sam had let out an ecstatic, shrill shriek that had nearly deafened both Flack and Danny, who than stood, smirks on their faces, watching as their significant others hugged each other and jumped up and down like a bunch of hyper, giggly school girls sharing gossip about the hottest guy in school.

"Why do they have to do that?" Danny asked, as he and Flack stood in the kitchen, listening to their girls chattering excitedly about wedding plans and dresses and baby showers.

"What's that?" Flack inquired, leaning against the counter by the sink.

"Make plans months and months in advance," Danny replied, opening his fridge and taking out two bottles of Bud. Lindsay had already set out nachos and salsa and chips and dip and an endless supply of junk food in the living room. "Without even consulting us."

"Consulting us?" Flack chuckled. "What planet are you living on? They don't consult us. They inform us of things. You know how I found out that we were going to this support group for parents of multiples? Sam wrote the date and time and location and the chapter president's name and phone number on a sticky note and attached it to my computer at work. She just writes stuff on those notes or on the calendar. That's how I find out about plans she makes. Nice, huh? Pain the ass. But I've just come to accept it as a way of life with her."

"She may be a pain in the ass, but you wouldn't give her up for anything in the world," Danny told him, holding out one of the beers.

"You trying to make me fall off the wagon, Messer?" Flack smirked.

"I keep forgetting you're an abstainer," Danny said, and returning the beer to the fridge, snagged a can of Coke instead.

"And there are days I wish I'd never agreed to staying away from booze," Flack sighed, nodding his thanks as he took the pop and snapped open the tab.

Danny frowned. "What's going on? You seem a little…I don't know…distracted."

"Just a lot on my mind," Flack said, taking a swig of pop. "I mean, Sam and the triplets and all the doctors appointments we have to start going to soon. Once she hits twenty weeks we have to go for an ultrasound every two weeks. And than what happened with K and Doyle threatening charges," he sighed heavily and shook his head. "I got a lot of shit to deal with, Dan-o."

"Maybe you should be having one of them beers," Danny said. "Ease the burden a bit."

"Alcohol would only cause more issues. Marital ones. And those I do not need," Flack told him. Than frowned at the sensation of his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. For the tenth time in only two hours. He pulled his phone out and checked the caller ID. Same name, same number. He pressed ignore. Than turned the thing off all together.

"What's going on there?" Danny asked. "You got yourself an admirer?"

"Stalker's more like it," he replied. "I'll take care of it."

"You following in Mac's footsteps? Getting your own version of the 333 nut job?"

Flack shook his head. "This person's harmless," he said.

"People thought Dahmer was harmless, too," Danny pointed out.

"She's nowhere near being a cannibalistic serial killer," Flack assured his best friend.

Danny arched an eyebrow. "A she? It's a woman?"

Flack nodded.

Danny's eyes narrowed. "You have a thing behind Brooklyn's back?" he asked in a hush tone. "Got yourself mixed up with some broad going all Fatal Attraction 'cause you broke it off?"

"I didn't cheat on my wife," Flack informed him defensively. "I would never cheat on my wife. This is someone from my past. My not so distant past."

"Devon?"

"No. For once, no. Sam and her are actually hanging out some times. They talk on the phone a lot. She's pregnant, too."

Danny's eyes widened. "Devon's pregnant?"

Flack nodded and sipped Coke. "About three months I think Sam said. Sam got Devon into her OB because apparently there's some massive issues with her pregnancy. Some kind of birth defect or something that the doctors told Dev and her fiance was incompatible with life. Sam hasn't said much more than that. I think Dev and her guy are keeping it pretty close to the chest at the moment. In case she doesn't carry to term."

"That's rough," Danny said with a sigh, shaking his head. "Don't know if I could handle something like that. I mean, you guys are kinda dealing with something like that. With those tests coming back there might be a problem."

"That's the least of our worries, right now," Flack said. "This bullshit," he nodded in the direction of his phone. "I need to deal with that."

"You gonna fill me in?" his best friend asked. "Or make me guess?"

Flack sighed. "It's Angell. I'm having issues with her."

"An affair?"

"Did I not tell you a few minutes ago that I'd never cheat on my wife?" Flack asked angrily. "Cut me some fucking slack, already."

Danny held up his hands in surrender.

"When K was missing and I truly believed in my heart that he was dead, I went to the chapel at the hospital. To try and get some kind of sign, find some kind of solace. Find something, I guess. Angell found me in there and we got to talking and she got all emotional and so did I and she said some things, about Kieran, that really gave me some hope. And we had this moment…"

Danny frowned. "What kind of moment?"

"I kissed her. Nothing major. Just a small, affectionate kiss. I apologized for it right away and told her it never should have happened. Than she grabbed me and kissed me. And I kissed her back. And I enjoyed it, Danny. I actually enjoyed it. Can you believe that?"

"No," Danny said. "I can't. So what are you saying? You want out of your marriage? You want to be with Angell?"

"What?" Flack nearly choked on a mouthful of pop. "No. Hell no. I love my wife, Danny. She's the love of my life. She's the mother of my kids. She's the only woman I want. It was a moment. I was at this low point in my life and I…"

"Cut the fucking bullshit, Flack," Danny snapped. "There's no goddamn excuse for doing something like that. When you're supposedly madly in love with your wife. A wife who was in the hospital half crazy while you're son was missing. What in the hell is wrong with you?"

"Look, I know there's no excuse. I made a stupid mistake. I never should have initiated anything. Because I am paying for it big time. But with all respect, Danny, things may be great now with you and Monroe. And I'm happy for both of you. But you're the last person to judge me. Does the name Rikki Sandoval ring a bell?"

"Don't play dirty, Flack. I'm your best friend. I'm looking out for you. Most of all, I'm looking out for Brooklyn and your kids. 'Cause whose going to be there, Flack? If you just decide to up and leave? It's going to be me and Lindsay. And don't think for a minute I'm going stand behind you while you fuck around on your pregnant wife."

"I am not fucking around on my wife!" Flack snapped, his voice a harsh whisper. "Would you fucking listen to me? I need help, Danny. I need someone to have my back! Angell's been calling me and calling me. Telling me she has no problem being the other woman. She wants to have an affair with me for fuck sakes. I don't want her in that way. Are you listening to me?"

"I'm listening. But when does Angell want anything with you when her and Hawkes seem so happy?"

"How in the hell should I know? All I know is that she's obsessed with our past. And something that happened in it."

"You two were together for what? A few months before you met Brooklyn and started chasing after her? What could have happened in a few months?"

"Angell got pregnant. She told me about it and than informed me that it could belong to me or two other guys. I told her that whatever she decided to do was up to her. If she wanted to keep it, that was fine. I'd be responsible and pay child support."

"And?"

"And what? She didn't have it obviously. She had an abortion. Now she's holding that over my head and threatening to tell my wife."

"So Sam doesn't know?"

Flack shook his head. "She knows Angell and I had a relationship. She knows nothing about any pregnancy."

"Why haven't you told her?" Danny asked.

"I didn't see a reason to. It happened before Sam came along. It got resolved."

"So if it happened before Brooklyn, what makes you think she'd freak if you told her?"

"That's not what I am worried about her freaking over, Danny! I'm worried that Angell will somehow convince her that me and her are having an affair! I don't want that happening. Sam doesn't need that kind of bullshit dumped on her."

"No, she doesn't," Danny agreed. "Which is why you need to tell Angell to knock this shit off and tell your wife what's going on. Preferably you should deal with the latter first."

Flack sighed heavily and shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. "How in the hell did I get myself into this mess?" he asked.

"I don't know," Danny told him. "But it's up to you, and only you to clean it up."

Flack nodded in agreement.

And hoped he wasn't setting himself up to lose everything.

* * *

She had forgotten to bring over snacks and a juice box for Kieran. With the excitement of Danny and Lindsay moving across the hall, it had unfortunately been the last thing on Sam's mind. So she excused herself halfway through the laughter filled, enjoyable get together and headed for her own apartment. She had just closed the door to the Messer residence and turned towards her own place when she saw the familiar face standing at her door. Chin to her chest, her eyes closed and her hand poised in mid air, as if not sure whether to knock or not. A Macy's shopping bag in her free hand.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked.

The red head jumped, startled by the voice behind her. Her eyes snapped open and she turned to face her best friend. Or was it ex best friend? She wasn't too sure anymore.

"I came to see you," Carmen told her. "Danny told me yesterday what time you guys were getting in at today and I thought maybe you'd be all settled by now."

"Unpacking will take forever. Don and I are just hanging out for a bit with Danny and Linds. Celebrating with them. You know, the whole new apartment thing."

"Convenient, huh?" Carmen nodded at the door across the hall. "Having them live so close."

"Makes it easier for Lindsay to come over to watch Kieran," Sam told her. "It won't be for long because we're going to start looking for houses soon."

"In Manhattan?"

"Queens," Sam said. "Flushing. Near Don's parents. What are you doing here?"

"Peace offering," Carmen held out the bag. "Just a little something for you and for the babies."

Sam sighed and reached out and reluctantly took the bag. "Thanks…I'll take a look at it later if that's okay."

Carmen nodded. "Whenever. It's just a little something. You've been avoiding my calls."

"I was on a family vacation," Sam reminded her. "I wasn't talking to anyone."

"Something tells me that you weren't going without talking to your girl at least once a day," Carmen said snidely, casting a glance at the apartment across the hall as Lindsay' laughter rang out.

"Lindsay was there for me when I needed someone. She came all that way from Montana to be there for me. When everyone else turned their back on me, she was here. She didn't judge me or talk about me behind my back."

"I'm sorry Tim opened his big mouth, Sammie," Carmen said sincerely. "He was an asshole. And trust me, he's been riding the couch ever since."

"Now that I find hard to believe," Sam snorted, and moved to her apartment door and stuck the key in the lock. "You can't go without it for more than a day. So either you got yourself one hell of a vibrator or you have another guy on the side."

Carmen winced. "That's harsh, Sammie."

"Yeah? So was all but accusing me of kidnapping and murdering my own son," she said, and unlocking the door, opened it and stepped inside.

"I never once said that," Carmen told her, following quickly behind. "I know that you would never do anything to hurt Kieran. But you had been treated for depression and taking meds and…"

"And that automatically makes me unstable and homicidal," Sam snorted. "Whatever. Do me a favour," she held the bag out. "Take this back and get the hell out of my apartment."

"I never said a word about you, Sammie," Carmen told her, tears threatening. "Never. And I defended you to Tim and to Stella. I'd defend you to the death and you know that."

"Do I?" she asked, opening the fridge and grabbing an apple juice drinking box, a cheese string before shutting the door and snagging a banana from the top of the fridge. "Didn't seem that way to me."

"If you answered the phone, I would have been able to tell you a lot sooner. But you were too busy with your new best friend to…"

Sam laughed. "Is that what this is all about? Because Lindsay and I are best friends?"

"You hated her, Sam!" Carmen cried. "She caused you nothing but grief and now look how tight the two of you are!"

"We caused each other grief," Sam corrected. "And you know? We've grown up. We've matured and given each other a chance and guess what? We actually like each other. A lot. So why don't you grow up and try giving her a chance too?"

"What?" Carmen snorted. "So I can be the third wheel? Just sit back and let her steal you from me?"

"Are you kidding me?" Sam started at her. "Steal me from you? I'm not some possession of yours, Carmen. Don doesn't even treat me like that and he's my husband. I can't believe you're being so damn childish about this."

"I miss you, Samantha. I miss my best friend. I miss that closeness we shared. I miss…"

"You screwed that up!" Sam snapped. "You turned on me! You accused me of doing something to my son!"

Carmen shook her head. "I never, ever said that. I just…"

"You what? You just thought it? Thinking it is bad enough! And you have the nerve to come here, to my apartment, claiming to miss me and going all possessive and jealous because I have a new friend? Jesus Christ, grow the fuck up!"

"I'm sorry!" Carmen cried. "Okay? I'm sorry that things got said and feelings got hurt! I was angry that you were replacing me! I lashed out! Is that what you want to hear? That I said those things out of pure spite to hurt you like you hurt me?"

"We're in our thirties, Carmen. This isn't high school. I can have more than one best friend. Are you listening to yourself? How pathetic all of this actually sounds? It's insane."

"I just want another chance. Another chance to prove to you that I can be the kind of friend you want and that you deserve! But that goes both ways. And you've been pushing me away for a long time. Ever since you got pregnant it's been all you and all Don…"

"Don is my husband!" Sam exclaimed. "He's my husband and we have a family together! I'm sorry if my husband comes first in my life. Maybe if you put your husband's wants and needs and feelings ahead of your own for a change, you two wouldn't have the problems you do. Why'd you even get married, Carmen? Seriously. Marriage is about two people acting as one. Not you doing your own thing and saying to hell with him. It's about sacrificing your own personal needs and wants for the other person. It sucks sometimes. It does. But when you love someone that much, that kind of sacrificing should come easily. And you should be willing to make them! Act as a cohesive unit for Christ sakes! Not be just concerned about yourself and say fuck him, let him worry about the marriage."

"We can't all have the perfect marriage like you, Samantha," Carmen remarked dryly.

"Yeah.." Sam snorted. "Because my marriage and my husband and my life with him is just so damn perfect. Give me break. Don and I have to work damn hard just to get through one week and into the next. Half the time it seems we hate each other. But you know what, we went into this marriage, taking the same vows as you and Tim did. For better or for worse. Remember that part? Don's not perfect. Trust me, he's far from perfect. He can be a real asshole sometimes. But you know what? When he looks at me and he touches me and kisses me, I know he loves me. I've never doubted it. Ever. And he's a damn good man with a big heart who tries goddamn hard to take care of me and our family!"

Carmen didn't respond.

"And you know what? Him not being perfect? That's okay," Sam continued. "Because I'm not perfect either. And he doesn't expect me to be. He just wants me to love him and respect him and want him. That's all he asks for."

"You guys have something so special though, Sammie. Not everyone finds that."

"We all find something different for ourselves," the tiny brunette said. "I found what's good for me and Don. Just like you found what's good for you and Tim. And if you don't start putting him and your family first, trust me, he's going to walk. And honestly, I wouldn't blame him."

"Maybe that's what would be best for him." Carmen said. "If I'm that awful to him."

Sam snorted. "That's it Carmen. Do what you do best. Turn things around so you're always the victim."

"I don't do that. I don't know why you and Don and Tim all think the same thing."

"Maybe because it's true," Sam said. "Look, I appreciate you coming here and bringing something for me and the babies. I really do. But I have to get back to my family. I have a son just about dying for a drink and a snack. So if you don't mind…"

"But we're in the middle of something here, Sam!" Carmen protested.

"And now we're putting it on hold until another time. Because I just told you that my family is across the hall and I need to tend them before anything else. See what I mean? About your whole me, me, me attitude."

"So it's something I need to work on, okay?! You're not Miss Perfect either."

"I know that. I've got enough issues to last half of Manhattan, I swear."

"Than let me help you with those, Sammie!" Carmen pleaded as she followed her to the door. "Let me prove to you that I can be a good friend again. That's all I'm asking!"

Sam sighed as they stepped out the door and into the hallway. Where she closed and locked the door. "If you want," she said. "I have tomorrow off. I could come by the lab. We could do lunch?"

Carmen nodded. "I'd like that," she said with a small smile.

"So would I," Sam told her. "Because deep down, I missed you too."

Carmen reached out and drew her friend into a tight hug. "I love you., Sammie girl. You know that, right?"

She nodded. "And I love you, too, Carmen. But I need to love my husband and my children more. And I think maybe you need to start loving yourself less and putting your family first for a change."

"I'll work on that," Carmen assured her. She held her friend out at arm's length. "So we're good?"

"We're good," Sam said. "I think that…" she suddenly gasped and laid a hand on her stomach.

"What's wrong?" Carmen asked, alarmed. "Are you okay?"

Sam nodded and laughed. "I'm fine…it's just…when all three get going…it hurts when the three of them are ganging up on me."

"They're kicking?" Carmen asked excitedly. "When did this start??"

"They started in on me last night for this first time. Sometimes I forget there's three in there and than…" she winced. "Knock it off in there, guys!" she said to her stomach.

"Can I feel them?" Carmen asked hopefully.

"You know you don't have to ask," Sam replied. "You'll need both hands. One's on the left and the other two are on the right."

Carmen reached out with both hands and laid them on her best friend's stomach. Her eyes sparkling and a bright smile spreading across her face at the kicks and tumbles assailing Sam's belly.

And there they stood, laughing together, feeling of life inside of her.

And enjoying the new, fresh start of their lives.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing. I appreciate each and every one of you! Please continue to not only R and R, but also enjoy this story! A new one should be hitting the boards soon! Keep an eye out! Much love, BEG75**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**muchmadness**

**hope4sall**

**laplandgurl**

**Forest Angel**

**Bluehaven4220**

**ImaSupernaturalCSI**

**Kassandra J**

**Soccer-bitch**

**wolfeylady**

**DollCity**

**shopaholic20**

**GregRox**

**moinejaina561**


	58. Cleaning out the closet

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN**

**SPECIAL THANKS TO HOPE4SALL FOR LENDING ME HER OC KARLY SHEDD FROM HER MAC/OC STORY, UNEXPECTED**

**SPECIAL WELCOME TO DAYTIME DRAMA**

* * *

**Cleaning out the closet**

"Passion or coincidence  
Once prompted you to say: "Pride will tear us both apart"  
Well now pride's gone out the window  
Cross the rooftops  
Run away  
Left me in the vacuum of my heart  
What is happening to me?  
Crazy, some would say  
Where is my friend when I need you most?  
Gone away  
But I won't cry for yesterday  
There's an ordinary world  
Somehow I have to find  
And as I try to make my way  
To the ordinary world  
I will learn to survive  
Papers in the roadside  
Tell of suffering and greed  
Here today, forgot tomorrow  
Ooh, here besides the news  
Of holy war and holy need  
Ours is just a little sorrowed talk."  
-Ordinary World, Duran Duran

* * *

Flack couldn't sleep. Despite the exhaustion from being up early that morning to take care of Kieran to make sure that the car was loaded up and nothing had been forgotten, than the drive to the airport in Phoenix rush hour and the long, turbulent flight home, he found it impossible to fall asleep. Too many thoughts and worries surging through his mind. Danny's threats echoing in his ears. The dire warnings of what would happen to him at the hands of his best friend replayed over and over again. Flack had been sincere in his insistences that he would never, ever cheat on his wife. Not with Angell, not with anyone. He loved Sam more than life itself. And the thought of not having her in his life nearly broke him. And the thought of not having his children in his life…that thought was even worse.

All of that one his mind, mixed with the fact that his wife had done nothing but toss and turn from both heartburn and discomfort, had found him lying in bed beside her in the dark, his hands behind his head and eyes wide open, staring at the moonlight cascading through the window. Occasionally, when she'd whimper or moan in her sleep, he'd reach out to stroke her hair or her back and whisper to her that everything was okay, that she was safe and no one was going to hurt her as long as he was there. And when she'd finally found a comfortable spot and position to lie in and she was completely silent, he slipped out of bed and threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and headed from the bedroom.

He made himself a travel of mug of coffee and grabbed his pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the top of the fridge and retreated outside. Cursing himself for being so damn weak that he couldn't give up such a nasty damn habit. That it plagued him and he was nothing more than an addict to tar and nicotine. But he was determined to beat it this time around. He had made a vow, to both himself and his wife, that he would quit before the triplets came along. He had noticed how winded he was becoming chasing suspects, and that he had developed a rather horrific smoker's cough that kicked in first thing in the morning. Sam held off on the nagging, but she had expressed concern more than once about his health and had declared, near tears, that he wasn't going to be around to see any of his kids graduate from high school if he kept up with the pace he did.

She was nearly seventeen weeks now. Considering, by the research on line that Flack had done about multiple births, that triplets were delivered by c-section usually no later than thirty-three weeks, his wife was already half way through her pregnancy. Sixteen more weeks to go and there was still so damn much to do. Weekly doctors appointments for her and bi-monthly ultrasounds. Baby stuff to purchase and no room to but any of it. A house to go searching for so that four children didn't have to share one room.

A nearly two pack a day habit to quit.

Flack sighed at that thought as he brushed snow off of the small, two person swing that Sam had insisted he buy her for her last birthday. Grabbing a rusted tin coffee can from the corner of the balcony, he sat it and his coffee down on the ground before sitting down and shaking a smoke from the package.

It was bitterly cold out. His breath and smoke visible each time he exhaled. He sipped steaming coffee in between drags on the cigarette and tried desperately to sort the thoughts and worries and feelings out in his weary, troubled mind.

* * *

The sound of the sliding door, followed by screen opening tore Flack from his self-torture. He glanced over, giving a small smile as his wife stuck her head out into the cold night. Her face was getting chubby for the rapid weight gain she was experiencing with the triplets. Her hair was messed from tossing and turning and her eyes were puffy from sleep. But to Flack, she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.

"What'cha doing up, Tinks?" he asked. Using the term of affection he'd adopted for her after someone had told her she was no bigger than Tinkerbell, the fairy from Peter Pan. She'd been highly offended, even more so because Flack had burst out laughing at the comparison, and while at first she argued with him about calling her that, it had slowly grown on her.

"One of the babies kicked me in the bladder," she replied. "Made me have to run for the bathroom. Than when I realized you weren't in bed I thought maybe you got a call out and either I didn't remember you waking me up, or you didn't bother to."

"I always wake you up if I have to leave in the middle of the night, babe. You know that. You know I can't leave without telling you I love you."

She gave a sleepy smile. "What are you doing out here? You couldn't sleep?"

"I think I have some insomnia going on," he told her. "You should go back to bed. You and the babies need as much rest as you can get. Not to mention it's freezing out and I don't want you getting sick. That's the last thing you need. "

"I know…but I was worried about you. Are you going to come back in soon?"

"In a little while. Go back to bed, Sammie."

"I'll be back in a minute," she said and disappeared from the doorway.

"Didn't you just hear me tell you to go back to bed?" he called after her.

"I did," her voice drifted outside from the living room. "But when do I ever listen?"

He smirked and hurriedly finished his cigarette and butted it out and tossed it into the tin can at his feet. Looking over once more several minutes later, as his wife, in a pair of pink Ugg boots and his winter jacket over top of her flannel pyjamas and a white ceramic mug with the words Worlds Best Mommy written on it in her hands, appeared once again at the screen door.

He got to his feet quickly and went to help her. The last thing he wanted was her having a fall and something happening to her or those babies. He took the mug from her and offered his other hand, which she curled her fingers around before he assisted her stepping out onto the snowy balcony.

"Always a gentleman," Sam said with an appreciatively smile as her husband let go of her hand and placed his on the small of her back and helped her down onto the swing. "I'm not that pregnant yet, honey," she reminded him.

"Better to be safe than sorry," Flack reasoned, taking a seat beside her and handing her the mug. The aroma of peppermint and chocolate permeated his senses. "I think I got you addicted to that stuff," he said, nodding down at the drink in her hands.

Two weeks ago, he'd been in a Starbucks when the woman in front of him had ordered a hot chocolate with a peppermint tea bag dropped into it. He'd taken the chance that it was somewhat half decent and decided to purchase one for his wife, leaving it on her desk for her to discover when she took a break. Ever since than, he was constantly stopping off at the store for mint tea bags and instant hot chocolate.

"It's my crack," she declared and took a sip.

"You really shouldn't be out here, babe," Flack said. "You get sick and you'll be down out for a long time. Both you and the babies don't need that."

"Me and the babies are fine," she assured him, mug in one hand, as she curled her other arm around his bicep and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Are you okay?" she asked. "You've been kind of quiet all night. And when you didn't feel like making love, I was seriously thinking you'd come down with the plague or something."

"I'm just tired, Sammie. I didn't think I'd be able to give you the attention you deserved. And I've got a lot on my mind and I seriously didn't want to be making love to you and unable to clear that shit out of my head."

"But it's not me, right? I mean, you don't find me disgusting or anything, do you? I know that I'm getting pretty big really quick and that's a lot for you to deal with and I can understand that if you don't want to touch me or anything."

"What?" he looked down at her in disbelief. "I can not believe you just said that. That you'd even think that."

"Can you blame me? You're not usually the one that can't get into it. You're always ready and raring to go. For you to not want to bother, I just thought maybe you…"

"Samantha, listen to me. You are the most amazingly sexy and beautiful woman in the world. I wouldn't care if you weighed five hundred pounds. I will always love you and always be attracted to you. Don't ever doubt that. Tonight had nothing to do with you, babe. And everything to do with me."

"Are you sure? Because if you feel that way, Donnie…"

"I don't feel that way," he insisted. "I will never feel that way. It's me, Sam. All me. Okay?"

"Okay," she said and kissed his shoulder. "Are you going to tell me what's going on then with you? Because you've really got me worried about you."

Flack sighed heavily. "Babe…we really gotta talk," he said, his voice low and dead serious.

Her eyes widened and she released her hold on his arm and sat up. "See," she said. "I knew that you were pissed off at me," she pushed him away from her and stood up. "I knew that there was something going on with you. You do find me repulsive!"

"What?" he couldn't help but laugh. "Are you crazy?" he grabbed a hold of her hand and tugged her back down. "That's not what this is about. I'm not pissed off, I don't find you unattractive or unappealing. Get a grip, Sammie. Get a grip and just sit there and listening to what I have to say. Okay?"

She nodded. Her body trembling from both cold and nervousness.

"Honestly, babe," he said, laying a hand on the back of her neck. "There's nothing wrong between us. It's just something that if I don't deal with know, it could cause some major issues with us and I don't want that."

"I don't want that either," she told him. "That's the last thing I want. After everything we've just been through with Kieran and getting ready to have babies soon, the last thing we need is something tearing us apart."

"Which is exactly why I need to tell you what's been bugging me. And I just want you to listen to me. I don't want you saying anything or interrupting me. Alright?"

She nodded.

He took her free hand in both of his. "You know how I told you that Angell and I dated, right? That we spent a few months together."

"And I told you that that didn't bother me and that…"

He laid two fingers of his free hand over her lips to silence her.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly, kissing his fingertips before he took them away. "I'm a Ross. It's hard for me to shut up. Go ahead, baby."

"When Angell and I were together, we obviously, you know, had sex."

"I would be surprised if you didn't," Sam said, than grabbed his hand and laid it over her mouth to keep her quiet.

He couldn't help but grin at her actions. "After Angell and I broke up, right after I met you and we started dating, she told me that she was pregnant."

Sam's eyes widened.

"She wasn't sure if it was mine," he added quickly. "Around the same time she'd been with me, she'd also been with two other guys. And girls too, but that's besides the point."

She pulled his hand away from her mouth. "Excuse me?" she cried. "Girls too? What…?"

"Come on. You can't tell me you didn't know, hanging out with her like you do, that you didn't know she was into women too."

"What?!" Sam couldn't wrap her head around that piece of information.

"I'm seriously surprised you didn't know. And that she didn't put the moves on you. You're actually her type."

She shook her head. "You're kidding right? Tell me you're kidding."

"About the pregnancy or the fact she swings both ways?"

"Both!"

"I'm dead serious, Sammie. Both things."

"Jesus Christ. You think you know someone. Not that it bothers me. But it would have been nice to be in the know. And this baby thing…"

"Angell didn't know if it was mine or not. I told her that if she had the baby and a paternity test proved I was the father, that I would take responsibility. That I had no intention on being with her, but that I wanted a part in my kid's life."

"So you wouldn't have…"

"Broken up with you and to be with her and the baby?" Flack asked. He shook his head. "That was never an option. It was only you, Sammie. Even than. I would have walked through hell for you even than. I was never going to be with anyone but you. You believe me, right?"

She nodded. "So what happened? Did she loose the baby or…"

"She had an abortion. It was strictly her choice. I never once suggested it. You know how I feel about that."

"You always said that no matter what was wrong with our children we'd have them regardless. I don't doubt your version of things, Donnie. I know you'd never suggest something like that. Were you upset? When she miscarried?"

"A little," he admitted. "I guess in a way, I wanted it to be mine. So I could be a dad."

"But what would that have done for Kieran?" she asked.

"What do you mean? We would have still had K. That wouldn't have changed."

"I mean would you have loved him the same even if he wasn't your first born?"

"Sammie, K is K. I'd love him as much as I do if he was my tenth kid or my first. You know that. And Kieran was conceived out of love. He wasn't something that happened by accident. Well…he was kind of an ooops but still, two people that were in love made him. Angell and I? I don't even know what we were. There was no chance of forever there. So I would have loved K just as much as I do now."

"Do you think it was yours, Donnie? In your heart or hearts?"

He sighed. "I honestly don't know, Sam."

"Wow…" she said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Finding this out…wow."

"Would you have still married me if she had have had the baby?" Flack asked. "Would you have been able to deal with that?"

"I love you, Donnie. You having a child wouldn't have changed how I felt about you."

He smiled.

"And had you had a child, I would have loved that baby and accepted it," she told him. "You know that right?"

He nodded and laid a hand on the back of her neck and pulled her into him and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Thank you," he said. "For letting me get that off my chest. And for not freaking out about it."

"Why would I freak out?" she asked. "You and Angell happened before we met."

He sighed heavily and laid his forehead against hers.

"Oh God…" she groaned. "Please tell me that something didn't happen between you and her while we've been married, Donnie. Please tell me that you didn't screw around with her behind my back."

"I didn't have an affair with her, Sammie. I'd never do that."

"But?" Sam drew away from him, tears welling in her eyes. "There's a but, isn't there."

He nodded.

She bit her bottom lip and fought back her emotions. "Donnie…please don't do this…"

"When Kieran was missing, when I thought for sure that he was dead, I went down to the chapel. That night that the nurses were fighting with you to take those sedatives. I went down there to just get away. Clear my head. Find salvation. Find something. And Angell found me."

She shook her head, gripping his forearm tightly. "Please don't do this," she begged.

"It was a moment, Sammie. Just this small moment. I was distraught about Kieran and worried about you and Angell was there and she said some things about finding K that really touched me and I just reacted. I wanted to take it back as soon as I did it."

"What did you do?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

"I kissed her. I'm not proud of that. Trust me. But it was nothing seriously. It wasn't romantic or passionate or anything like that. It was a simple kiss. And I told her right away that I shouldn't have done it."

"And?" she pressed. "And?"

"And she grabbed me and kissed me. And I kissed her back."

"You bastard!" she hissed, releasing her grip on his arm and jumping up. "How the hell could you do that to me!"

"Keep your voice down, Sam. It's two in the morning. The neighbours don't…"

"Fuck the neighbours!" she snapped. "And fuck you too for doing that to me! I needed you! Our son was missing! Kieran was missing and being molested by that sick fucking bastard and you were off trying to get into Angell's pants! Fuck you, Don!"

"That's not what happened, Samantha," Flack grabbed a hold of her wrist to keep her from heading for the door.

"Don't fucking touch me!" she ripped her arm out of his grasp. "How could you do that to me! While our son was missing! While I'm pregnant with your children! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"It was just a kiss, Samantha. That was it."

"Did you like it? Were you into it? Did you enjoy it?"

"Why the hell…"

"Tell me!" she yelled. "Tell me! Did you? Did you like kissing her? Tell me!"

He sighed and reluctantly nodded.

"You sonofabitch!" she screamed and before he could react, slapped him across the face. "How could you do that to me!" tears spilled down her face. "She's my friend! How could you do that me, Don?"

"I never meant it," he slowly rose to his feet, ignoring the sting of his face as he reached out and wrapped his arms around her trembling body, a hand on the back of her head, holding her face against his chest. "I swear to you I never meant it, Samantha."

"How could you do this to me?" she sobbed. "Why? Why would you do it? You don't love me? You don't want to be with me? You want to be with her? What?"

"I love you more than life. You know that. More than life baby."

"And you show me by kissing another woman!" she shoved him away from her. "That's how you show me you love me? Would you have slept with her? Had it gone that far? Would you have done it or said no?"

"I would have said no and you goddamn well know that," he snapped.

"Do I? Half an hour again I would have sworn up and down you would never hurt me like that. And now I don't know anymore! What have you done? What have you done to us?"

"I'm sorry, Samantha."

"You're sorry?" she laughed dryly. "You're sorry? So am I. I'm sorry that I ever trusted you. I'm sorry I ever believed all those times you promised me you'd never hurt me. I'm sorry we ever met."

"Don't say that, baby," his voice and his voice pained. "You don't mean that."

"You're right. I don't. Because without you, I wouldn't have Kieran. And he means more to me than anything else in this world. He's the best thing you've ever given me. I thought that you and your love was the best thing. Now I know what a fucking stupid, naïve little girl I was."

"I do love you, Samantha. You're my wife. You're the mother of my children. I love you wholly and completely. It was just a kiss."

"One kiss is enough." she told him. "That's enough."

"Don't walk away from me," he pleaded as she turned and headed for the door. "Please don't walk away from me.'

"If I don't, Don, I'm probably liable to kill you."

"Are you going to leave?" he asked, sounding terrified at the thought. "Are you walking out on me?"

She paused, her hand on the handle of the screen door. "I honestly don't know," she said, and without a glance back, opened the door and slammed it shut behind her as she disappeared inside.

He stared after her for what seemed like an eternity. Than he sat down on the swing and put his face in his hands. And cried.

* * *

When he finally returned inside an hour later, with no tears left to cry and his heart shattered into a million pieces, Flack found his wife back in their moonlit bedroom. In the middle of their rumbled bed, lying on her side with her back to the door, crying softly into her pillow.

He approached the bed slowly and cautiously. Walking around it, he knelt on the floor at the side of the bed so that he and his wife were at eye level and reached out and gently touched her hair.

"Why?" she whispered. "Just tell me why, Don. Why would you do that to me?"

"It was a moment, Sammie. And I know that's a lame excuse. But that's all I have. It just happened. It happened and I reacted. Badly."

She sniffled noisily. "Do you love me?" she asked. "Can you look me in the eyes and tell me you love me?"

"I love you, Samantha," he told her, blue eyes intently focused on golden ones. "With everything I am and everything I have. You're my wife. The mother of my children."

"But do you love me?" she pressed. "Outside of all of that? As a person? As Samantha the individual. No titles. Do you love me?"

He leaned across the bed and kissed her softly. "More than I could ever tell you," he said.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled, reaching out to touch his face. "For slapping you. I never should have done that. I just reacted. I was so hurt and so angry. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he told her, and pressed his lips to her forehead.

"No, it's not," she cried. "It's not okay. I'm scared. I'm scared of what's happening to us. I don't like this. It feels like we're disintegrating and I can't take it."

"So we'll get some help." he said. "We'll take to the therapist. We'll get past all of this crap that's been happening."

"What if we don't?" she asked.

"We will," he replied confidently. "We always get past crap."

"I'm scared," she whispered. "I don't want to lose you."

"I'm the one that's going to lose you," he said. "Don't walk out on me, Sammie. Please. I need you. I need my son. I need my Huey, Duey and Louie."

She managed a small smile.

He kissed her softly. "Please don't leave," he whispered, his lips to her forehead.

"I won't," she promised. "But I am tired."

He nodded in understanding and stood up. "I'll let the four of you have the bed and I'll go and sleep on the couch."

"No," she protested, grabbing his hand. "Don't. Please don't. You know I hate sleeping alone."

"Sammie, after what all went down…."

"I need you," she said. "I need you here with me. Beside me. More than I've ever needed you."

He didn't respond. At least not with words. He simply shed his clothes and tossed them in the laundry and than lifted the comforter and climbed into the bed behind her. He lay on his side and wrapped his arms around her tiny frame and pulled her tight against him.

"Please just hold me," she pleaded. "I need you to hold me."

"I'll never let you go," he vowed. "Ever."

She closed her eyes and prayed to God that that was the truth.

* * *

With Carmen running behind, stuck in the trace lab waiting for important tests results to come back on a case she'd got that morning, Samantha decided to take a wander around her place of employment and seek out some familiar faces to chat with and catch up on the last five weeks of lab gossip. The place was hectic and chaotic, but each person she hunted down was genuinely happy to see her and to welcome her back and were sensitive in their questions with anything that regarded what had happened to Kieran. With such a high profile case, there'd been no possible way of keeping every little detail a secret. Most steered clear of mentioning the molestation, while a couple of the less sensitive souls that clearly possessed neither brains or common sense, seemed a little too interested in that aspect of the abduction.

Sam ignored it and simply smiled politely and assured them that Kieran was doing fine and would continue to do fine. And she was sure of that herself. The internal injuries that he had suffered had almost completely healed now and he was experiencing less and less pain and discomfort each and every day. The family doctor was keeping him on a once a month schedule for blood work since Jack Doyle's own medical tests had shown that he suffered from syphilis and hepatitis. And because the sick bastard hadn't used a condom when he…

Sam pushed those thoughts out of her mind as she headed for Mac's office. She could see him, through the glass walls, at his desk with the phone pressed to his ear and his fingers flying along his computer keyboard while his eyes were intently focused on the screen in front of him. She refused to let herself think about what Jack Doyle had done to her soon. Or at least she didn't allow herself to dwell on it. It had happened and she couldn't take it back, and while it was going to take a heal of a lot of time to heal emotional, at least all wasn't lost. A therapist that Chester Lake knew personally through Special Victims had left a message while they were aware, anxious to set up sessions for the entire family, and just for mom and dad as a unit. Flack was planning on calling the man back that morning and setting something up.

_I wonder if he handles marriage counselling, too, _she thought as she raised a hand to knock on the open door to her boss' office. _Because I think we're sure as hell going to need it before we kill each other._

Mac looked up from his typing and smiled warmly at the familiar face standing in the doorway. He held up a finger indicating to give him a minute to finish things off.

Sam waited, hovering in the doorway, as he finished off the last of his typing and saved his work and told the party on the other end of the phone -whom she assumed was Stella by the soft, loving tone to Mac's voice and the genuine smile on his face - that he'd have to call them back because someone very important had come to see him. He hadn't gone as far as saying I love you, but Sam knew that the "Me too" he offered up shortly before he hung up, was just as good as those three words in Mac Taylor's book.

"Do you have a couple minutes, Mac?" Sam asked hopefully as he turned towards her.

"For you I have a lot of minutes," he responded. Pushing his chair away from his desk, he stood up and met her in the middle of the room. He gathered her tiny body into a protective, fatherly hug. "Good to have you back," he said, than chuckled as he felt a flurry of activity in her stomach that was pressed against him. He pulled back and looked down. "Looks like someone else is here to say hello to me, too."

Sam smiled sheepishly. "They do that a lot now. It started one night while we were away. Sometimes it's just one, but most of the times, it's either two or all three."

"Well with a kick like that, someone in there is going to be the next David Beckham," Mac laughed. "How are you? How was your vacation?"

"Nice. Relaxing. We had a good time for the most part. It was a welcome change spending time as a family without having to worry about Donnie getting a call out in the middle of things. How have things been here?"

Mac motioned for her to take a seat in the chair in front of his desk. And waited for her to sit before returning to his own chair. "Busy," he answered. "But if it wasn't, I'd be concerned. I got the message you left me last week. About wanting to be put in the lab as soon as possible."

"I thought I'd be able to work longer this time around," she sighed. "But I already look six months, Mac and with three of them in there…this pregnancy is considered high risk and I don't want to be doing anything that puts my babies in danger."

"That's understandable. And acceptable. We can have the same arrangement that we did when you were pregnant with Kieran. You can work out of yours and Danny's office. You can be my personal liason, of sorts."

She smiled. "Thank God. I was hoping you'd say that. I couldn't be stuck working as a lab tech, Mac. That would drive me insane."

"Well we don't want that," he said with a smile. "I was talking to Flack this morning at our scene. He was telling me how good Kieran is doing. Especially healing wise."

Sam nodded and cleared her throat uncomfortably. "He's almost there. Don and I on the other hand. We're no closer to healing now than when it first happened. Sometimes I think we're even farther away."

"There's no set time limit on dealing and coping with things," Mac told her. "You've all been through a hell of an ordeal."

"I just want us to be the way we were, Mac. And I'm afraid…I don't know. I'm afraid that's never going to happen."

"Give it time," he encouraged. "You're both strong, tenacious people. In time, this will only make what you have stronger and bring you closer together. I also told Flack that if there's anything either of you, or Kieran needs, that my door is always open and neither of you should hesitate to come to me. Understand me?"

She gave a small smile and nodded.

"And the way that things were handled, when Kieran was missing, by some of the members of the team…"

"It happened, Mac. I'm trying my best to not be so bitter and angry about it."

"I want you to know, and I told Flack this morning, that that behaviour was not tolerated in my lab. Or within the media. Specifically with Reed Garrett. He's agreed to go on public record with an apology."

"How did you manage that?" she gave a small laugh. "Go all Marine Mac on him?"

Mac gave a smirk.

"Sorry," she blushed slightly. "I just couldn't resist that. But whatever you did do, thank you. Because that hurt, a lot."

"I know. Flack told me how bad you took it. And I was telling him, and now I'm telling you, that the members of the team that exercised such blatant stupidity and disregard, were hauled in to Sinclair's office and were each written up and given a warning that that behaviour was not appropriate, and if happened again, suspensions would be in order."

Sam blinked at the fierceness in Mac's voice. "Even Stella?" she asked.

"Even Stella. Her actions at the hospital, completely unacceptable. The DA and I had already gone over the evidence and there was enough to nail Doyle without processing Kieran. He didn't need to be put through that. And I'm sorry that she acted the way she did and upset both you and Flack. I hope both of you know I was not supportive of her decision."

"Both Don and I know that you wouldn't have done anything to hurt Kieran even more," Sam said. "And for you to take those steps with Stella."

"At work she's my employee first. Wife second."

Sam nodded in understanding. "How is she? I didn't see her around and I was wondering how she and the baby are doing."

"Stella's on maternity leave now," Mac told her. "Last Friday was her last day. She's seven months long."

"Wow," Sam shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe all that time has passed by. When someone else is pregnant it goes so fast, when you're pregnant it just drags. But she's okay? Her and the baby are fine?"

"As far as I know," Mac said.

Sam frowned.

He sighed heavily. "Before you hear it from the office grapevine, Stella and I have separated."

Her eyes widened. "Because of her getting in shit for acting the way she did?"

"That," Mac nodded. "And a lot of other things. We've been living under separate roofs since you and Flack left for Arizona."

"Jesus, Mac," Sam breathed. "I'm sorry. I didn't think that there were problems between you. I thought you guys were happily married and excited about being parents. I didn't realize there were issues."

"We're both very good at hiding things," he said. "It's been going rapidly down hill almost from the beginning. And it's not that we don't love each other. It's more that we just can't seem to live together. If that makes sense. Things are better the way they are right now."

"Do you think you'll get back together?" she asked. "Or are you looking at it as a permanent thing or…?"

"I just don't know right now," Mac replied. "I just don't know."

"I always thought that after all the years you two spend loving each other but not doing anything about it, that if there were two people in the world who would make it, it would be you and Stella."

He smiled. "The strange thing about it, is that Stella and I always said the same thing about you and Flack."

"I wish I could tell you that I agree with you. But honestly Mac, sometimes I don't know if Don and I are going to make it. I mean, I love him so much. I can't imagine my life without him. I just wonder if maybe Don and I would be better off apart than we are together."

"He loves you Samantha. And he wouldn't be able to live without you."

"I like to think that," she sighed. "But some days I just don't know."

"You're just feeling a little down from what you went through with Kieran," Mac told her. "Mix that in with pregnancy hormones and it's a near lethal combination. Things will start to get easier. I promise. And coming back to work will take your mind off of things."

"I'm sure," she said. Not wanting to go into the issues with Angell and how she'd spent the majority of the wee morning hours in tears. "I should go," she got to her feet. "Carmen and I are meeting for lunch."

Mac got to his feet as well and walked her to the door. "Glad to see the two of you are back on friendly terms."

"It's a slow process," Sam said, pushing the strap of her Guess purse up onto her shoulder. "But we're working on it. I really hope things work out with you and Stella, Mac."

"Only time will tell," he sighed and pulled open the door. "Glad to have you back, Samantha. Eight o'clock tomorrow. Everything will be ready for you."

"Thank you," she said with a smile. "I appreciate it."

"And keep your chin up," Mac called to her as she headed out into the hall. "Things could always be a lot worse. What doesn't kill us will make us stronger."

"God I hope so," she sighed and gave a small wave before journeying down the hall.

* * *

"Mac's having an affair."

Danny made the shocking announcement as he and Flack were driving back from interviewing a witness in Staten Island. Cups of coffee in the cup holders by their seats and static on the PBR.

Flack cast a doubtful glance at his best friend. "Get outta here," he said.

"Would I lie about something like that?" the CSI asked. "I don't gossip and make shit up. You know that. I am telling you that because I know for a fact that he is."

"Stella know about it?" Flack inquired.

"It's one of the reasons she booted his ass on out of the house."

"Whoa…whoa…" Flack eased his foot down onto the brake as the unmarked squad approached a red light, the tires sliding slightly on the black ice under all the snow. "Slow down for a second Messer. What do you mean she booted his ass out?"

"Just after you and Brooklyn took off for Arizona I guess her and Mac got into it. Mostly about her getting hauled into Sinclair and written up over her bullshit at the hospital that day. I guess it got pretty nasty and she brought up the fact she knew about this girlfriend that she knew he had on the side."

Flack shook his head, trying to comprehend what he was hearing. "How'd she know about the girlfriend?"

"Who knows. But she knew and kept it back for months apparently."

"What? For months? He's had another woman on the side for months?"

Danny nodded and sipped his coffee.

"Man, of all people that I thought would have more morals and class," Flack snorted.

"Goes to show you that no one is immune to that kind of shit," Danny commented. "Is it wrong of me to say that I'm not surprised? And that I'm somewhat on Mac's side considering the way Stella has been as of late?"

"You mean the way she's been a cold hearted, mean, spiteful bitch?" Flack asked.

"Tell me how you really feel, Flack," Danny chuckled.

"She's been that way for a long time," the detective said. "That just didn't start a few months ago, Messer."

"True. Very true. But I gotta say, this new girl of Mac's?" he nodded appreciatively. "She's not bad."

"How the hell would you know?"

"Montana and I ran into them about a week back when we hit Times Square to grab a bite to eat and do some shopping. He was all dressed down and relaxed and smiling and laughing. He was not Mac if you know what I mean. Holding her hand, giving her small kisses and all. Her name's Karly something or other."

"What's she like?" Flack asked.

"She's nice. Real bubbly and down to earth. Kinda witty and sarcastic. Keeps Mac on his toes I can tell. She said she was studying at Julliard. Getting her Doctor of Musical Arts or some shit like that. Plays violin for the New York Philharmonic. Mac says she's damn good, too."

"What's she look like?"

"I'd say five six at the most, hundred and twenty if that. Long brown hair, brown eyes. She's really pretty. And really young."

Flack arched an eyebrow. "How young is young?" he asked.

"She's younger than Brooklyn. By at least a few years."

"So let me get this straight. Mac Taylor, your boss, who is seventeen years older than me and has a wife and a kid on the way, is having some mid life crisis and has hooked up with some young, hot thing?"

Danny nodded. "Pretty much. Scandalous, huh? What's going around that place that none of us are happy with what we have? Me and Erica went down the shitter, now Mac and Stella…"

"You and Erica went down the shitter a long time ago," Flack told him. "And Mac and Stella…well who the hell knows what's up with that."

"Than there's you and Brooklyn."

Flack looked at his friend out of the corner of his eyes. "I resent you putting me and Sam in the same category as the mess that was you and Erica," he said.

"Come on, Flack. You're marriage is a mess at the moment and you know it. From what you told me about what went down last night over the whole Angell thing, you're just damn lucky your wife is even sticking around. Lots of women would have kicked your sorry ass to the curb."

He sighed heavily and stared out the windshield at the snowy expanse of road in front of them.

"What are you going to do about it?" Danny asked. "About putting your marriage back together?"

"We're going to see a therapist," Flack replied. "We've got our work cut out for us. Trying to rebuild the whole trust thing all over again."

"Think it can be rebuilt?" the CSI asked.

"I sure as hell fucking hope so," he responded. "I don't want to lose my family."

"At least you're willing to work on shit. And what about this crap with Angell?"

"I told her I'd come over to her place to talk in a few days."

Danny arched an eyebrow. "Just talk? Aren't you afraid she's going to put the moves on you?"

"I know how to say no, Messer. And besides, I've got some back up. Some support. I'm not going into it alone, or blind."

"Good," Danny said with a nod. "Good luck. You're probably going to need it."

Flack hoped in hell he didn't. Because luck didn't seem to be on his side.

* * *

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**ForestAngel**


	59. The hits keep coming

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN.**

**SPECIAL WARM WELCOME TO: REBANDMEL**

* * *

**The hits just keep coming**

"I never thought that I had any more to give  
you're pushing me so far  
here I am without you  
drink to all that we have lost, mistakes that we have made  
everything will change, love remains the same  
So much more to say, so much to be done  
don't you trick me out, we shall overcome  
'cause our love stays ablaze  
We should have had the sun  
could have been inside  
instead we're over here  
Half the time the world is ending,  
truth is I am done pretending  
too much time to love defending,  
you and I are done pretending."  
-Love Remains the Same, Gavin Rossdale

* * *

Kieran's infectious, boisterous giggle filled the apartment and drifted into the bedroom, greeting Flack as he stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, beads of water still dotting his shoulders and arms and torso. It was quarter to ten in the morning and sunshine streamed through the blinds on the bedroom window. Four days had passed since the altercation on the balcony. Since he'd nearly destroyed his marriage and lost everything that was amazing in life. His wife and his son and his unborn children that were all that mattered to Flack, and when he'd seen the seriousness in her eyes and heard it in her voice, he had come to the realization that he needed to smarten the fuck up. She wasn't kidding around when she said she'd walk. And he knew that she was more than capable of taking care of herself and their children. It wouldn't be easy on her and she'd struggle, but she'd be more willing to do that than put up with his shit.

Things had to change. He had to change. And he made the decision, as he quickly towelled off and dressed, that he was going to stop at nothing to get things back to the way they were. To put all the secrets and lies and demons behind him. To earn back his wife's trust. No matter how long that took. Because while they continued to sleep in the same bed and live under the same roof, things were far from being normal. She shunned any form of affection and barely spoke more than a few words to him on a good day.

He couldn't live like that. Most of all, he couldn't live without her and his kids. And no matter how hard it was going to be, it was time to swallow his pride and suck it up and grow some balls and deal head on with not only their shit, but his own. Before it was too late and he lost her for good.

He journeyed out of the bedroom and down the hall and into the living room. Carrying his suit jacket and his tie hanging loose around his neck. Badge and holster clipped to the waist of his pants. He paused, watching his son with a bemused smirk on his face, as Kieran, in a pair of Happy Feet pyjamas, ran in circles in the middle of the living room, staring down at the floor and laughing hysterically.

"What'cha doing buddy?" Flack asked his son, running his hand over the toddler's shorn head as Kieran paused to catch a breath. Hiccups raking his tiny body, his chest heaving from excursion.

"Dat!" Kieran cried, pointing at the rays of sunlight on the hard wood floor and than continuing on with his game. "DAT!" he shrieked at the top of his lungs, laughing once more. "DAT! DAT! DAT!"

Flack grinned and headed into the kitchen. Where his wife, in a pale blue, terrycloth bath robe over her Winnie the Pooh flannel pyjama, her feet bare and her hair pulled up into a sloppy ponytail, stood leaning against the counter by the stove, rubbing her pregnant stomach with one hand and munching on toast and honey with the other. A cup of steaming tea beside her.

"Good morning, babe," he greeted, a laid a hand on her stomach and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Morning," she returned, with a hint of a smile. "I made you some coffee if you want any," she told him, handing him a clean mug from the drain board and nodding towards the fresh pot on the counter.

"Thanks," he said, taking the mug from her and moving to pour himself a coffee. In the living room, Kieran continued to laugh noisily, the bright, uplifting sound echoing around the apartment. "I think he's gone nuts or something," Flack commented. "He's out there running around in circles talking to himself and giggling. Any clue what he's actually doing?"

"He's chasing his shadow," Sam responded, biting into her toast. "He's done it three mornings in a row. I guess it's his new thing."

Flack nodded. "Just like your new thing is sleeping on the couch?" he asked casually, sipping his black coffee. It was steaming hot and incredibly strong. Just like he he liked it.

"You were snoring really bad last night," Sam told him. "I needed to get some sleep. That wasn't going to happen if I stayed in the same bed as you. It's not personal, Don."

Don. It was just Don now. Or even worse at times, Donald. She'd retired the more affectionate Donnie four days ago. And as much as he had bitched and moaned and complained about that name when she'd first started it, he would now give anything in the world to hear it again.

He gave a small smirk. "Sure as hell felt personal," he said.

"You mean as personal as it felt to find out my husband kissed, and enjoyed kissing, a close friend of mine?" Sam asked. "While our son was missing and while I'm pregnant with his child. His children, I should say."

Flack sighed heavily and leaned against the counter beside her. "I guess I deserved that," he said.

"I only slept on the couch because of how bad you were snoring," Sam told him. "It was loud enough to wake the dead and I was having some massive hot flashes and needed to be somewhere I could open the window."

"You could have just elbowed me in the head and told me to shut the fuck up," Flack said.

"I did. Three times. Don't turn this into a huge thing."

He cast a glance down at her tiny hands as she dipped a piece of toast into a small serving of a honey in a bowl to the side. Feeling relief when the diamonds in both her engagement ring and anniversary band sparkled brilliantly. "Guess that's a good sign, right?" he asked. "That you're still wearing your rings."

She frowned. "You actually thought I'd take them off? You're still my husband, Don. I'm still your wife. Just because we're going through stuff doesn't mean I don't want to be married to you and spend forever with you. Just because I'm pissed off doesn't mean I'm going to take my rings off. You actually think I'd be that hurtful and spiteful and disrespectful to you because we're having some issues?"

He shook his head. "Guess I just thought this might be the last straw and maybe you wanted out."

"I don't ever want out," she said in a scolding tone. "I love you. That will never change. I just love myself too and I just want you to respect me more and not take advantage of me. Not take me for granted. Because how would that feel, Don? If something happened to me and I wasn't around anymore? And I'm talking permanently. As in off the face of the earth."

"Don't talk like that," his voice was quiet and solemn as he stared down at his coffee.

"That would feel like shit wouldn't it? Because I know how I would feel if something happened to you. Which was why we both need to stop treating each other like we do. Taking each others presence for granted. Anything can happen and I don't want that on my conscience for the rest of my life. All the things I've said to you out of anger or how I treated you out of spite."

"I don't want that either, babe," he said. "If something happened to you…" he sighed. "I couldn't live with all that regret hanging over me. Things I should have said or done. That would kill me."

"We need help, Don," she sounded and looked, close to tears.

He nodded in agreement. "Whatever it takes," he said sincerely. "And I know it's going to take a long time for you to trust me again. For me to even rebuild any form of trust. I just want to know that it will come eventually."

"It will," she promised. "But it's going to take some time."

"I know," he sighed and ran a hand over his weary face. "I know."

"Do you want anything to eat?" she asked, moving to the fridge and opening it and taking out a plastic container of strawberry cheese danish. "I hate eating alone. And seeing as I can't seem to stop eating…"

He managed a small smile. "I'm good," he told her. "I'm not hungry."

"You have to eat something," she argued, snapping over the container and taking out a danish. "I can't have you wasting away while I become a blimp."

"Do I look like I'm wasting away?" he laughed. "I weigh more now than I ever have in thirty one years. I'm in better shape now than when I went into the Academy. Something tells me I won't waste away. If anything.." he took a bite of the breakfast treat as she held it up to his lips, "…I'm going to pile on the sympathy weight again. Happened with Kieran, too."

"That's because you're such a good husband," she declared, taking a bite of the danish herself and setting it on her plate. "You don't let me suffer alone."

He gave a smile and laid a hand on the back of her neck and pulled her into him. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he breathed in the soft scent of her shampoo that still lingered from her shower the night before.

"I'm going to get my grimees all over your shirt," she told him, wrapping her arms around him, her hands on his back.

"So I'll change," Flack said. "I've got other shirts. I just want to hold you without you trying to push me away. That's all I want. To feel that closeness with you again. To try and get that back."

"I want that back too. I want to feel that bond again. I've always felt that with you. From you. I was always able to feel it in the way you looked at me and the way you touched me or kissed me. When we made love. And now…" she sighed heavily and rested her forehead against his chest, fighting tears.

"What about now, babe?" he asked, kissing the top of her head and stroking her hair.

"Now I don't feel that. And it's not you, okay. Because you still look at me that way and kiss me that way and touch me that way. It's just…I don't even know what it is anymore. Everything with Kieran bringing back stuff about my father and this thing with Angell. I feel like I'm going insane, Don."

"It's going to be okay," he whispered into her hair. "Me and you are going to be okay. We always are. Right?"

"Right," she agreed and smiled up at him. "I just…I can't take much more."

"I know," he said and pecked the tip of her nose. "Once this whole thing with Angell is taken care of, me and you can go on with our lives. Me, you and our children. Because that's all that matters to me, Sammie. You know that."

She nodded and allowed him to kiss her. Long and soft and sweet. "You're still going to see her after work?" she asked.

"You're still going to come with me? Meet me there?"

"Lindsay said she'd watch Kieran," Sam told him. "So I'll be there."

"And you promise me you won't lose it? Because the last thing I want, or need, is you freaking out and something happening to those babies. Speaking of which," he slipped a hand between them and placed it on her stomach. "How goes things in there this morning?"

"It goes," she sighed. "They've been going nuts since about six this morning. I hope when they arrive, they're schedules will be a bit more organized. Like maybe all sleep at the same time."

"That's just wishful thinking," Flack said, grinning at the movement inside of her. "They'll probably be all ass backwards just to annoy us."

"Probably," she laughed. Than gave a small gasp, followed by a slight wince and a giggle. "Did you feel that?" she asked. "Right by my belly button? Now that hurt. Someone in there packs a hell of a kick. Did you feel it?"

"It felt beautiful," he said, his voice quiet and filled with emotion.

She smiled and laid her hand over his. "It's surreal, isn't it? The thought of there being three in there?"

He nodded. "What's even more surreal is that we managed to make three at the same time."

"Well, if I've learned anything since we first met, it's that if something is going to happen, it's going to happen to us."

"You can say that again. It's been a journey and a half."

"One you would take over and over again," she declared. She removed her hand from over his and pulled back slightly so she do up the last two buttons on his shirt and flipped the collar up before attending to his tie for him. "I'm an old pro at this now," she said.

"I like when you do that for me," he told her.

She smiled. "I like doing it for you," she said, quickly, and expertly, tying his tie and tightening it. "Do you think you could do something for me now?" she asked,

"Anything," he replied.

"Do you think you could kiss me? Like really kiss me? It's been too long since you've really kissed me."

"It's only been four days," he said with a grin.

"To me that's a life time," she declared.

He took her tiny face in his hands and covered her lips in a long, deep and tender kiss. Feeling her sigh against his mouth and feeling her hands grip the front of his shirt tightly.

"Me!" a voice suddenly chirped below them. "Me!"

They both laughed and glanced down at their son, tugging at his father's pant leg.

"You got great timing, kid," Flack told the toddler.

"Just wait until we're trying to indulge in other things and he's bursting into the room to sleep between us," Sam laughed, as her husband kissed her a final time before stepping back as he reached down to scoop their son up into his strong arms.

"Me!" Kieran cried, touching his father's lips. "Me, daddy!"

Flack pressed a tender kiss to his son's lips. Only to receive a wet, sloppy, noisy one in return. "You kiss like your mother," he teased, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Excuse me!" Sam laughed and swatted his chest. "You're always telling me what a great kisser I am."

"You are," her husband agreed. "I just like bugging you. Come here," he reached out with his free hand and caught her by the front of her robe and pulled her back into him. "You guys are my everything, you know that?" he kissed her forehead, than Kieran's. "You're all that matters."

"You're all that matters to us, too, Donnie," Sam said. "You know that."

"I missed that," he told her. "You calling me that."

She smiled. "I missed that, too. I miss a lot of things to be honest."

"Me too," he said. "It's going to get better. I promise. I'll do whatever it takes to make things better, babe. Don't lose faith in me, okay? In us? Promise me you won't."

"I promise," she said, and laid her head on his chest.

Kieran reached out and pushed some hair away from his mother's face. "Hi mommeee," he purred.

"Hi baby boy," she said. "Can I have a kiss?"

He nodded and leaned over and pressed a soft, tiny kiss to her lips. Than to her nose.

"You are definitely your father's son," Sam giggled. "He's learned that from watching you, Donnie."

"Like I said, Sammie. His greatness comes from me."

Flack's department issued cell phone, resting on top of the microwave, rang noisily.

Sam groaned audibly. "They just know how to ruin the moment, don't they?"

"Always," Flack said and sat Kieran on the ground and snagged his phone and flipped it open. "Flack," he answered, than listened to the voice on the other end of the line.

"Mommeee," Kieran yanked at the bottom of her robe and used the sign for eat. Than drink.

"You just had breakfast an hour ago," Sam informed him, as her husband moved into the front foyer to hear dispatch better.

"So?" Kieran gave a shrug and a cheeky grin. "Tirsty," he told her. "Ungy," he rubbed his stomach.

"You are definitely a Flack, mommy's little man," she said, and scooping him up, slipped him into his high chair and buckled him in before going to the fridge and taking out a sippy cup of grape juice. She sat it, and half of her danish, on the tray. "Everything okay?" she asked Flack, as he came back into the kitchen and snagged his suit jacket from the chair he'd draped it over.

"I gotta go," he said reluctantly and kissed her softly. "Homicide in Crown Heights."

"Why does that not surprise me?" she snorted.

"You want me to try and meet you at K's appointment?" he asked, slipping into his jacket.

"If you can make it," she responded. "If not, that's okay too."

"I'll see what I can do," he said and pecked her cheek. "Call me if you need anything. And I mean anything, okay?"

She nodded and walked him to the door, getting his long, wool winter coat from the closet as he slipped into his shoes and laced them up. "Be safe," she told him, handing him the coat.

"Always," he said and kissed her a final time and shrugged into his coat. "Give K a hug and a kiss for me."

"I will."

"And you guys behave," he said, as he laid a hand on her stomach. "I'll call you later," he told his wife, unlocking the front door.

"I love you," she said, as he stepped out into the hall. "Always. You know that right?"

He smiled and pecked her forehead. "I do. And I love you, too."

She stepped out into the hall, leaning against the door, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched him head for the elevators. "Please be careful, Donnie," she called.

"Aren't I always?" he asked.

"Uh…no."

He grinned. "I'll be a good boy," he promised, than gave a final wave before stepping onto the elevator as the doors opened.

You better she thought with a smirk and headed back inside.

* * *

Four hours later, Flack found himself, armed with old case files of the four victims of the murder/suicide that had greeted him at the Wellington Street housing complex, stepping off the elevator onto the thirty fifth floor.

His crime scene had been across the street from the exact same group of tenement town homes that his wife had once grown up in and endure sheer and utter hell at the hands of her own father. He hadn't even known until that day that that was where she'd grown up. She'd never given him the exact address or area she'd spent her childhood in, and he had never asked in order to avoid bringing back to many unwanted memories. It had been Adam, grateful to be out of the lab and doing some field work -being groomed by Mac for a possible CSI promotion Flack was pretty sure- who had told him that those run down buildings had been where he and his sister had grown up.

Flack was pretty sure Adam wouldn't have said a word about it either if Flack himself hadn't walked out into the living room, needing a break from the bloody mess in the kitchen where the bodies lay, and found his brother in law, staring out the window and across the street, his lips set in a grim line and tears threatening. He had asked Adam what was wrong and at first the younger man had shook his head and tried his best to go back to his work. Flack had pressed. Not used to seeing his brother in law in such an emotional state. He'd become quite close to the kid and loved him like a brother. A much geekier little brother, but he still loved Adam nonetheless. It had taken some forceful pressing, but Adam had eventually told him that Sam and him had grown up across the street. Unit 17. And that being there and seeing that house, a place he hadn't been near since he was nearly twelve years old, was damn painful.

Adam had since recovered well and was now holed up in the trace lab. Flack had gone onto the computer the minute he'd returned from the scene and ran all the names of their vics. Each had extensive records and each had spent some impressive time in prison for drug trafficking, carrying illegal weapons, and assault.

"Hey, Dan-o!" he called to his best friend as he spotted the CSI stepping out of ballistics. "Hold up a second."

"What's up, Flack?" Danny asked, as the two men met in the middle of the busy hallway.

"Old case files on Damien Thomas and his brothers and cousin," Flack held them up. "Seems our boy and those nearest and dearest to him all had skeletons in their closets. Big ones. All of them had impressive rap sheets."

"What for?" Danny inquired.

"Drug trafficking mostly. Thomas got pinched trying to sell coke to an undercover six years ago and spend some time in Sing Sing. All of them had drug and weapons offences and assault charges under their belts. I got a call from Narco, too. That was nearly fifty kilos of coke they'd pulled out of that old freezer in the basement."

"That's a good haul," the CSI said, whistling lowly. "Think maybe it was a double cross? That Damien Thomas found out that his family was going haul ass with his stash and make themselves rich?"

"Who knows," Flack responded. "Only person who knows for sure what went down in that house is Damien Thomas and he's dead. You guys find anything else in that house that shows someone other than the deceased parties could have been around when these shootings went down?"

Danny shook his head. "Not a damn thing. As far as the evidence is showing, those four were the only ones around at the time. Doesn't mean that there wasn't someone else there.."

"Just means you're going to have a hell of a time proving otherwise," Flack concluded.

"Exactly. But, I did find out that some of the bullets picked up at the scene, did not come from any of the weapons that we recovered. Two of the bullets pulled from Thomas' youngest cousin, Jeremy Davies? Belonged to twenty two. All the weapons at the scene were nines. So these little babies," Danny held up the small plastic baggy in his hand. "Are gold right about now."

"So hello mystery person," Flack said. "Anyone find any casings that came from twenty-twos at the scene?"

Danny shook his head.

"What about prints?" the detective asked. "Pull anything off of them bullets?"

"I was just heading off to do that. Keep your pants on would you? And I hate to burst your bubble, but the chances of getting anything off of fragments like this? Slim to none. Now maybe if we had a first class ballistics expert in our midst.."

"Don't even think about it, Messer," Flack said as they headed down the hallway towards the fingerprint and DNA lab. "No way Sammie's going anywhere ballistics so dream on. She's Mac's secretary now. That's it."

"Don't let her here you call her that," the CSI laughed. "She's liable to kick your ass. So me and Montana were starting some wedding plans and…"

"Already?" Flack asked. "Haven't you guys only been engaged a few days."

"Five, actually. Five days and three hours and thirty seven minutes. But whose counting? Anyway, we were talking about some things and we're going to go with something small. Just the team and our immediate families. Nothing major. We're scouting for a small church or some nice outdoor place. Around the end of July."

"So soon?" Flack asked.

"So soon," Danny snorted. "So soon says the guy who had his girl knocked up within a month and a half of hooking up with her and was married by the end of the year. Lindsay and I just don't see a reason to waste anymore time. We wasted enough time and enough chances to last us a life time. Whole point of all of this, is that I was hoping you'd be able to make good on a promise you made me a while back."

"What promise is that?" Flack asked.

"The one that you made me when I first met Erica. That you'd have my back no matter what decision I made."

"I always have your back, Dan-o. You know that."

He nodded. "Well, now that I've made a decision, regarding my future, I was hoping that maybe you'd put your money where your mouth is and be my best man."

Flack smiled and clapped his best friend on the shoulder. "I'd be honoured to," he said.

"Good. 'Cause if you had have said no to me considering you were Mac's best man, I would have kicked your ass."

"Like I'd ever say no to you," Flack chuckled. "You're not going to hug me, are you?"

"Nah…" Danny waved the idea off. "But is it wrong that I want to?"

"No. Just if you value your life, you wouldn't do it."

"That's not a nice thing to say to the captain of Team Flack," Danny declared.

"Captain of what?"

Danny stopped walking and turned to face his best friend. "I gotta show you what I got made at that printing place over on Broadway and 45th," he said and unbuttoning his lab coat, held it open to reveal a white t-shirt with big red letters across the chest that read TEAM FLACK.

Flack couldn't help but chuckle. "What in the hell…"

"I got one for Montana too," Danny told him. "And for Hawkes and Adam. Hawkes won't wear his because he's not into that type of thing, but he wants you to know that he supports you and Sammie a hundred percent. Adam's got his own on as we speak. You like?"

"In a strange and obscure kind of way," Flack said.

"Check this out," Danny closed his lab coat once again. "Hey, Speed," he nodded in greeting as his colleague wandered past him, his nose buried in a file. "Check this out."

Speed looked up as Danny opened the lab coat. Giving him full view of the shirt.

"Mature, Messer," Speed murmured, and kept walking without so as much a second glance to Flack.

"Carmen's making him ride the couch since that whole incident with the press," Danny said, chuckling as he and Flack once again headed down the hall. "He's not talking to you?"

Flack shook his head.

"And he has the nerve to say I'm not mature," Danny snorted. "He's the one who had the big mouth and he's avoiding you? Only reason he should be avoiding you is to avoid getting his head punched in."

"The thought has crossed my mind to re-arrange his face," Flack said. "Wouldn't do any good though. Would only get me in huge shit with the brass. Can't jeopardize my job in any way. I've got too many people relying on me to bring home the bacon and pay the bills."

"You ever hear any more about this shit with Doyle?" Danny asked.

Flack shook his head. "As far as I know, it's not going any further."

"Well if it does," the CSI said. "I've got your back no matter what. You know that right?"

Flack nodded. "Thanks," he said sincerely.

Danny clapped him on the back. "What are friends for? Now stop for a second and give me a huge hug."

"Fuck you, Messer," Flack laughed and pushed his best friend away from him. "Keep your hands to yourself."

"What?" he asked. "Your wife doesn't like to share?"

"Sammie's not the sharing type. Sorry."

"Too bad," Danny sighed as he slipped into the DNA lab. "Me and you could have had something hot and great."

"Shut up and get to work, Messer," Flack said, continuing on his way to Mac's office.

Danny whistled noisily down the hall. "I see what you're wife sees in you just from the back view!" he called.

Flack just smirked and shook his head and kept walking. Hearing Danny's infectious laugh echoing behind him.

* * *

The pediatric audiology department was located on the third floor of Women's and Children's Hospital. Kieran's appointment had been scheduled for one thirty in the afternoon. His second appointment since he'd gotten the tubes inserted into his ears, he'd become somewhat or a pro in the testing room. The light were turned down to a bare minimum while he sat in his stroller facing a one way mirror while his mother took up residence in a chair in front of him in an attempt to keep his attention focused on her. The technician behind the glass spoke and made noises of various volumes and pitches through different speakers surrounding the room. All Kieran had to do was look towards the sounds and a toy, hidden in a dark box , would light up and start playing. It was simple. Yet he had barely passed previous tests he had had before and after his tubes had been inserted.

Samantha knew they were doomed the moment the tech lowered the volume of her voice and Kieran showed absolutely no sign he'd heard a damn thing. All she had been able to do was sit there and internally pray and beg for him to react. To just cast a glance in the direction of the noises. Fighting back tears at the realization that her son just could not hear. That despite the surgeon's reassurances that the tubes would improve his hearing by allowing excess fluid to drain, the procedure hadn't made a lick of difference. No sooner did they step out of the testing room and were ushered into a conference room, she had found herself bombarded with things that her frustrated, frightened mind just simply couldn't comprehend. Boarder line normal hearing in both ears, sensorineural hearing loss, amplification devices. The hits just seemed to keep on coming. She felt so overwhelmed by the news and the incidents over the past month and a half, that she had begged the tech to just leave her alone, to just back off. Than proceeded to put her face in her hands and bawl like she never had before. The alarmed tech had than ran out to call the social worker on call, and the next name on Kieran's chart listed as next of kin and who to call in an emergency.

The social worker had already arrived and was attempting to calm Samantha down when Flack, shown the way by the department's receptionist, was shown to the room. Kieran, unaffected by all the craziness, sat off in the corner playing with some of the many hospital owned toys, doing more flirting with the med student assigned to keep an eye on him than actual playing.

He'd been on his way back from breaking the news to Damien Thomas' family that their son and brother had murder two of his brothers and a cousin, when the audiology department had called him and asked him to come to the hospital right away. That his wife was in a state. At the current moment, as he stepped through the door, she was quiet and sitting on a floral print couch, sniffling and dabbing at her eyes with a wrinkled tissue.

"Mister Flack," the social worker stood and offered her hand. "I'm Rebecca Walsh. I was called down here to speak to your wife. I'm sorry that you had to be called out of work."

"Don't be sorry," he said, shaking her hand and than taking a seat on the couch beside Sam. He laid a soft, comforting hand on the back of her neck and placed a tender kiss on her temple. "My family is always more important than my job."

"Considering the seriousness and important of your job we thought that maybe your wife was overreacting by expecting you to come all this way. We…"

"My wife and my son come first," Flack interrupted her. "What's this about?"

"Your son's hearing test," Rebecca explained as she took a seat across from them. She opened a file resting on the small coffee table between them and removed a sheet of paper that she held out to Flack. "You've already seen what result paper looks like obviously."

"A few times," he said and took the paper from her. "Didn't make much sense to me than so why don't you just not waste my time and tell me what's going on."

"Kieran's deaf," Sam cried. "He's deaf, Donnie! He can't hear anything!"

"Of course he can, Sammie," Flack argued. "He just looked over here when you said his name."

"He failed his test," Sam told him. "He failed it!"

"He didn't fail," Rebecca corrected her gently. "He showed a difficulty in hearing voices and noises at softer volumes and pitches."

"Border line normal hearing!" Sam exclaimed, pointing at the paper in Flack's hands. "Border line normal! What the hell is that suppose to mean?"

"It means that…"

"It means he's got some hearing issues," Flack cut the social worker off. "We get it. So what happens now?"

"I'm really sorry that you had to come down here for this, Mister Flack," Rebecca apologised again. "If you're wife hadn't have overreacted…"

"First off, do you see the badge and the gun?" Flack asked. "It means I'm on the job still. So it's Detective Flack. Second of all, in case you haven't noticed, my wife is pregnant and she doesn't need the extra stress I know you people are known to dump on people. We've just come off possibly the worst two months of our lives. Our son was put through a hell of an event, so excuse my wife if she gets a little emotional when it seems as if people are kicking her while she's already down."

Rebecca blinked.

"All I want to know is what this means," Flack continued. "Borderline normal hearing. What do we need to do to work on this? Make it better?"

"As I was explaining to your wife," the social worker said. "Kieran has what is known as a sensorineural hearing impairment. Where there's damage to the inner ear or to the nerves leading from the inner ear to the brain."

"And you know this how?" Flack asked. "Are you an audiologist or an ENT on top of being a social worker?"

"No. I'm strictly a…"

"Strictly a social worker," he concluded. "So what's going on? A renowned hospital like this can't have a specialist come and talk families about stuff like this? They just get you to read a bunch of words off a piece of paper?"

"Donnie…" Sam said quietly, rubbing his thigh. "Don't get upset."

"I've got a reason to be upset. We pay how much money to these people to do these tests? Hearing tests and ENT appointments and surgeries. All of that and they can't be bothered to have the proper people talk to us about this?"

"The audiologist is very busy," Rebecca explained.

"Yeah?" Flack nodded slowly and stood up. "Than you tell him that when he's not busy to give either my wife and I a call and than, and only than, will we come back here and discuss anything about our son. Come on, Sammie," he offered his hand to his wife.

She curled her fingers around his and stood up.

"You'll need to stop by the receptionist and book more tests for your son," Rebecca told them.

"He has a name," Flack informed him. "Kieran. That's his name. And I'm not booking shit until someone who knows what the hell they are talking about gets in contact with us. A social worker? Come on. That's the best they could do? Kieran," he called over to his son and waved him over. "Let's go buddy. Time to go home."

"Daddeee!" Kieran cried and raced across the room and threw himself at his father's legs.

"I'll pass along your message to the audiologist," Rebecca said as she and the medical student headed for the door.

"You do that," Flack said without looking back at they left the room. "Come on, K. Let's get your coat and stuff on, buddy."

"He did really bad, Donnie," Sam sniffled, watching as her husband snagged their son's winter jacket and hat and mitts from the stroller sitting across the room. "He didn't react to any of the softer noises. I just kept begging him in my mind to look over and he never did."

"Maybe he was just distracted," Flack reasoned, kneeling down to bundled Kieran into his jacket. "Were you playing with him too much maybe?"

"I just was showing him a book."

"Were you talking to him? If you talk to him he might not have heard what else was going on."

"I've been to these tests half a dozen times now," Sam defended herself. "I know not to talk to him. He just didn't hear those noises, Donnie. Plain and simple."

"He hears fine at home," Flack reminded her, zipping Kieran's coat up and slipping the NYPD winter hat onto his son's head. "Maybe he just didn't want to cooperate today. He's stubborn. Like his mother."

"He didn't hear them," Sam insisted, as Flack buckled their son into his stroller. "There's no excuse. He just didn't hear them."

"There's nothing wrong with his hearing." Flack told her, using his foot to release the brakes on the stroller.

"But they…"

"Get your coat and your bag and stuff and I'll walk you guys to your car," Flack said.

She reluctantly reached for her jacket and shrugged into it. Slinging her hobo style purse over her shoulder, she followed him to the door, opening it so he could push the stroller through. "He might need a hearing aid," she said.

Flack snorted.

"Donnie, if he can't hear properly than…"

"There's nothing wrong with his hearing, Samantha. My son does not have a hearing impairment. Okay? There's some other reason he did bad on that test. There's nothing wrong with him. Understand me?"

She sighed heavily and nodded meekly as he headed out the door. Leaving little more for her to do than follow.

* * *

She answered the door in a simple black wrap style dress that showed off her amazing figure and lean, silky legs. Her thick, luxurious dark hair fall about her shoulders and framed her smooth, flawless face. Her perfume permeated his senses the second they came face to face. There was no denying that she was a phenomenally beautiful woman. But she wasn't his woman and he didn't want her to be. And after the day he had had, Flack was in no mood for any type of bullshit.

"I was afraid you weren't going to show up," Angell said, eyeing the attractive man on her door step. His dress shirt wrinkled and un-tucked, his tie long gone. His eyes and face weary. A five o'clock shadow dusting his jaw.

"I got held up a bit," Flack told her. "I've had a hell of a day with Kieran."

"Is he okay?" Angell asked, opening the door farther and motioning for him to step inside.

"He's got some issues with his hearing," he replied, stepping into the apartment and toeing off his shoes and setting them by the door. "It's nothing Sammie and I can't take care of."

"Want me to take your coat?" she asked hopefully.

What he really wanted to do was get the fuck out of there. The sight of dozens upon dozens of candles lit in the living room and a bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket on the coffee table, accompanied by two crystal wine glasses, turned Flack's stomach. Angell obviously had lofty plans. Plans he wanted no part of. But if things were going to go down like he wanted, he needed to play along for the time being.

"Sure," he smiled warmly. Almost flirtatiously. Shrugging out of his jacket, he held it out to her.

She returned the smile and stood on her tip toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

As she headed for the closet to hang up his coat, Flack glared at her back and quickly used the back of his hand to wipe off the lipstick she no doubt left behind.

"Care for a drink?" she asked, leading the way into the romantically lit living room.

"I'll have one. I can't stay too long. Family stuff, you know?"

Angell nodded. She plucked the bottle of wine from the ice and pulled out the cork. Pouring two glasses, she held one out to him. "I'm glad you're here, Don," she said, taking a seat on the couch.

"I told you I'd be here," he said, sitting down beside her. "You wanted to talk and here I am. So let's talk. What do you want from me, Jess?"

"You know what I want from you," she told him, sipping her white wine.

"I can't give you what you want," Flack said. "I'm a happily married man. I love my wife and my family. I'm not losing Sammie or my kids for you. I'm just not. I don't need someone on the side when I'm perfectly happy with what and who I have."

"Just give it a chance, Don," she encouraged, laying her hand on his knee. "It was amazing what we had. The connection we had. Every time we made love…it was incredible. We were incredible. And I miss that. Don't you miss that?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Jess. But I can't do that to my wife."

"She doesn't have to know," Angell argued. "It can be our little secret."

"And what about Hawkes?" Flack asked. "Are you forgetting about him?"

"He doesn't need to know either. No one needs to know but us. We can go on with our lives and have us on the side. And when you realize that it's me that you really want and you come to your senses…"

"I love Samantha, Jess. She's my wife. The mother of my children. She's who I want. Just her. You'd just be second. And no woman wants to be, or deserves to be, second."

"Some day I can be first," she said in a near whisper. "This is just between me and you, Don. It doesn't leave this apartment. In fact, we can start tonight and…"

A loud knock came to the apartment door. Blessedly and thankfully sparing Flack from having to take the charade any further. He hid a satisfied smirk behind his glass as he sipped his wine and Angell hurried off to answer the door. Murmuring about how other tenants weren't suppose to let people off the street in, that no one could get up to the apartments unless they rang the buzzer. And that whoever it was on the other side of the door was in for a rude awakening.

Angell angrily snapped open the dead bolt lock. Cursing whoever was on the other side for putting a temporary halt on that night's action. "Look," she said, as she yanked the door open. "Whatever the hell you're selling I don't.."

All words suddenly escaped her at the sight that greeted her.

The sugary sweet, overly friendly smile of Samantha Flack.

And the furious, dark and hurt eyes of Doctor Sheldon Hawkes.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! And to all of those who have added me to their favourites and alerts. I appreciate each and every one of you! Please R and R folks! Makes my day!**

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	60. Slightly obsessed, you think?

****

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND KIERAN FLACK. AND THE SOON TO BE FLACK TRIPPIES.

**A HUGE THANKS TO ALL OF YOU ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVOURITES. AND TO ALL MY WONDERFUL, LOYAL AND SUPPORTIVE READERS. MUCH LOVE TO ALL, BEG75.**

* * *

**Slightly obsessed, you think?**

"It's not a bird, not a plane  
It's my heart and it's going, gone away  
My only weakness is you  
Only reason is you  
Every minute with you  
I can feel like I can do anything  
Going going, I'm gone away in love  
You changed my whole life  
Don't know what your doing to me with your love  
I'm feeling all super human, you did that to me  
A super human heart beats in me  
Nothing can stop me here with you  
Super human."  
-Superhuman, Chris Brown feat. Keri Hilson

* * *

Time seemed to stand still. Two sets of eyes simmering with fury locked on one set filled with anxiety, worry and fear. Hawkes' hands shook with a mixture of anger and hurt, and he kept them firmly shoved in the pockets of his tanned coloured suede bomber jacket in order to hide his exact feelings from the woman he loved more than life, who had lied to him and lead him on and ultimately betrayed him. She didn't deserve to know how badly she'd wounded him. He owed her nothing. And she owed him a damn good explanation and an even better apology.

"What are you two…"

Samantha didn't give her friend a chance to respond. Instead she pushed her way into the apartment and hurriedly toed off her boots before journeying into the living room, both Angell and Hawkes hot on her heels.

"Sorry I'm late," Sam said to Flack as he stood to greet her, a broad smile on his face as he kissed her softly. "Sheldon picked me up and we got held up in traffic."

"You didn't miss much," Flack assured her, helping her peel her coat off before tossing it over the back of the couch. "How's the babies?" he asked, laying a hand on her stomach and pecking her cheek lightly.

"Hungry," she laughed. "Can you feel them in there? Going crazy?"

Angell attempted, vainly at that, to hide her disgust at the sight of the happy couple standing there in the middle of her living room. Laughing and beaming over the miracles of life that continued to thrive and grow inside of Samantha's stomach. She was bitter and jealous. Because that picture of family unity before her, should have been hers. She had deserved that. But she had thrown it away simply because she wasn't ready. And because the man she had hoped and prayed was the father of her unborn child, had simply not wanted her the same way she had wanted him. So instead of carrying that baby and caring for it on her own, she'd chosen to simply snuff it out. All because she couldn't have him.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he was that happy with another woman. A husband and a father. Madly and crazily in love. She had deserved that from him. And he he'd been blind and foolish to not want the same thing.

Hawkes glanced around the apartment. At the flickering candles and the bottle of chilled wine and the two glasses. Than at his girlfriend's attire. He shook his head and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Trying desperately to keep his temper in check.

"Looks like quite the romantic little get together," Sam commented, looking around the living room. "I guess we weren't exactly invited to the party Sheldon."

"Well I guess you could say we're here to crash it," he said. Shrugging out of his jacket, he laid it over the back of the couch before he and Sam, with Flack in the middle of them, took a seat.

"So?" Sam asked, leaning back against the sofa cushion, her hand on her stomach and her eyes riveted on her so called friend. "I think you owe Sheldon and I some sort of explanation as to why you've been practically stalking my husband, and quite clearly, planning on starting an affair with him."

"I wasn't…"

"Don't even try to lie," Hawkes interrupted her. "Do you think we're stupid? All the phone calls you've made to Flack? Making a move on him in that chapel while his wife was in the hospital and his son was missing? Threatening him with past mistakes, thinking it will coerce him into having something with you? Emotional blackmail? So don't stand there and act innocent."

Angell glared at a silent Flack, who sat holding on tightly to his wife's free hand and staring down at the floor. "You actually told them?" she asked, fuming.

"He told me," Samantha corrected her. "He told me because he felt bad that he kissed you and he felt like he'd betrayed me and his conscience was getting the better of him. You took advantage of him and jumped on him at difficult, emotional time in our lives. Our son was missing. We thought he was dead. And instead of supporting us, you took his moment of weakness and used it against him. That's pathetic. And for the record, I told Sheldon. Because he's an innocent victim in all of this."

"What's even worse is that even after he told you not to knock it off, you still continued," Hawkes said.

"He owed me…"

"He owed you shit," Sam snorted. "He told me about the baby, too, Jess. About how you weren't even sure that it was his. That he was in the running with two other guys. And I'm not judging you for that. We all make dumb ass mistakes. I've made tons, trust me. But you made the decision to get rid of that baby despite him telling you he'd pay for it if it was his."

"I don't need to listen to this," Angell snorted. "All of you get out of my apartment. You think you can come in here and attack me?"

"Sit down," Flack told her, his voice quiet. "No one's attacking you. We're just trying to put an end to your bullshit."

"I can't believe you turned on me like this, Don," Angell spat at him. "Stabbed me in the back and turned on me! Told her!…" she gestured wildly at Samantha. "Everything that went down between us!"

"She's my wife, Jess," he defended himself. "Of course I'm going to tell her. I love her. I don't keep shit like that from her. You don't lie and hide things when you're in love with someone. When you have the depth of a commitment with someone. So just sit down and…"

"I want you all to leave!" she yelled, pointing towards the door. "Leave now!"

"Just sit down," Flack said calmly. "Sit down and face the fucking music."

"Get out!" she hissed.

"He said sit down!" Hawkes bellowed, jumping to his feet and pointing at the love seat across from the couch. The volume and tone of his voice so wildly different from how people normally say him, that both Sam and Flack jumped.

Angell blinked. Opened her mouth to say something, than quickly shut it again before moving to the love seat and sinking down onto it.

"How could you do something like that?" Hawkes asked, returning to his seat, his voice back to it's normal quiet and calm volume. "How could you do that to your friend? Whose pregnant? How could you just come onto her husband like that? Take advantage of him at a weak moment in his life? At a time they both needed you."

She didn't respond.

"You couldn't just take no for an answer," Sam said. "Once Don told you that he didn't want you in the way you wanted him, you couldn't accept that. You pressed and you pressed. You called him while we were on a family vacation for Christ sakes. You threatened him over this whole baby thing. That if he didn't do what you wanted, you'd spread the news around the precinct and the lab so that I'd hear about it and be pissed at him for not telling me. And you know what? I was pissed he didn't tell me. Not that it happened. Because what went down between you and him when I wasn't around is the least of my worries. Baby or no baby, I still would have fallen in love with him. But I wouldn't have been pissed off enough to end my marriage. And that's what you were hoping, weren't you? That he'd come clean to me about that and the kiss and that I'd be angry enough to leave him and you could just move on in on my husband. Well let me tell you something, Jess. He's mine. Not yours. And I'd fight long and hard to keep him away from you. And you taking over as his wife and the mother of his children? That would have to be one cold day in hell for me to allow that to happen."

"I saw it in his eyes," Angell argued. "After he kissed me. I saw…'

"You saw fuck all," Flack snorted. "There was nothing there, Jess. I don't feel anything for you. Accept it. Deal with it. I was never going to fall in love with you and leave my wife and my kids. So let this shit go and get on with your goddamn life and leave me alone!"

"Don't sit there and lie, Don!" she snapped. "I saw it! Don't deny what you felt!"

He shook his head and gave a dry laugh. "You're delusional. You're a fucking nut case, Jess. You really are."

"What the hell does she have that I don't?" Angell asked. "Seriously, Don. What does she have that keeps you where you are?"

"She's my everything, Jess! My entire world. She's beautiful and smart and keeps me on my toes. She treats me with respect and takes care of me. She's the mother of my son! Of my unborn children. And you know what she has most of all? What really keeps me home where I belong? You know what that is?"

Angell shook her head and glared at him challenging.

"She has my heart, Jess! She had it from the moment I met her. And you know what? I don't want it back. Because she has it and it's in good hands and I'm happy where I am. So don't fucking disrespect my wife like this."

"I think what we're all overlooking here, if we'd put the insults and cheap shots on the back burner, is that someone else completely innocent is involved in all of this," Sam spoke up. "This whole time we've been sitting here, Jess, you've not once expressed any kind of remorse for hurting Sheldon. All you've done is put me down and call Don out on things he may, or may not, have done. Not once did you even look at Sheldon and tell him you're sorry. Don't you feel bad? For hurting someone that loves you like he does?"

"He never would have found out if you didn't keep your goddamn mouth shut!" Angell snapped.

Flack gave a small laugh and shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger. "You are clueless," he said. "Completely fucking clueless."

"You don't even feel bad," Sam said quietly. "You don't even feel bad about hurting him."

"Only thing she feels bad about is that she got caught," Flack concluded and got to his feet. "We've said what we needed to say, Sammie. If she can't get it, that's her problem. Let's go home. Say fuck this shit and get on with our lives. We don't need this crap."

He offered his wife his hand and helped her to her feet and into her coat as Angell, tears brimming in her eyes, and Hawkes, hurt and rage in his, sat staring at each other in the silence of the room.

"I'm sorry, Sheldon," Sam whispered to her friend, as she leaned over him and hugged him warmly. "I'm sorry you had to be brought into this."

"You did the right thing by telling me," he assured her, embracing her. "Don't ever doubt that. And I'm sorry that this has caused so many issues for you and Flack."

"We'll be okay," Sam said as he pulled away from her friend. She reached for her husband's hand and entwined her fingers with his and smiled at him. "We always get through things. We're working on them."

"It's a marriage under construction, Hawkes," Flack told him. "Even a year later. It will probably be like that for the next sixty years too. It's worth it though. It's all worth it."

Sam frowned. "I wouldn't go that far.'

"Okay. So there's some things I'd erase or skip by," Flack said. "But what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger, like Mac says."

"Positive way to look at things," Hawkes reasoned and stood up to walk the couple to the door.

"Only way of looking at things most days," Flack sighed, as he dropped Sam's hand and snagged his coat from the hall closet and slipped into his boots. "I'm really sorry about this, Hawkes," he said, as he put on his jacket. "I wish I could take that moment in the chapel back. None of this would have happened if.."

"Yes, it would have," Hawkes told him. "Eventually it would have. She wasn't letting go of you. I've noticed it for a long time. I just chose to ignore it instead of dealing with it head on. None of this is your fault, Flack. I just feel bad that it caused the problems it has."

"We'll survive," Flack said. "Sam and I always do. It'll take some work, but we'll be alright."

"Good luck, Sheldon," Sam kissed his cheek sweetly. "If you need anything, just call us okay? Don't hesitate. I know we have our own issues, but Don and I are always here for you. You know that, right?"

He nodded and unlocked the door and held it open for them. "Good night guys," he said. "And give Kieran a big hug and a kiss from his Uncle Shelly. You want to talk about that hearing thing or you need me to call some people and give them your name, just let me know."

"Thanks," Flack said sincerely. "It was a bit of a shock to hear something like that. I though the tubes would clear everything out and his speech would get better once he could hear us properly. And I thought there was a difference in him. Talk about being in denial, huh?"

"He's not entirely deaf," Hawkes reminded him. "He's got a small hearing loss by the looks of the test results Samantha showed me. And you have to remember, that not only can that be corrected by a hearing aid, but there can be room for testing error. Don't dwell on it too much. Wait until Kieran's re-tested and see what happens than."

"Think you could quit being a CSI and go open a private practice?" Flack asked, only half joking. "Be a GP? So we can bring K to you instead of those goddamn morons at Women's and Children's? They're so negative, end of the world doom and gloom and you're always so upbeat and positive."

"Well I'll tell you what," Hawkes responded, smiling. "Let's see how horrifically wrong the rest of the night goes. Who knows? I just may take up another line of work and than the Flack family can be the first patients I see. How does that sound?"

"We'll hold you to that, Hawkes," Flack told him. "Thanks. For everything. You're always there for us. We appreciate it, you know."

"I know. Now go home and scoop that little boy up and hold him tight and spend time together as a family. Because that should be first and foremost in your minds."

Flack nodded in agreement. "That and feeding Huey, Duey and Louie," he joked, smiling and winking at his wife and reaching out to rub her tummy softly. "They're eating me out of house and home."

"Must be all boys than," Sam laughed. "We should go. Leave Sheldon to take care of things here."

"Call us if you need anything," Flack said to the other man. "And I mean anything. We're not great problem solvers, but Sam's got a shit load of comfort food in the cupboards."

"Smart ass," she grumbled.

He grinned and wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him and pressed a kiss to her temple. "Four of you, ready to do?" he asked.

"Whenever you are," she replied. "See you tomorrow, Sheldon."

He nodded and watched as the couple headed hand in hand to the elevator. Sam looking up at Flack with a slight wince on her face as her free hand stroked her stomach. He gave a grin and bent down to whisper something in her ear. Whatever he said earning him a dramatic gasp and a small shove away from her. He chuckled and pouted at her, mimicking her face, than grabbed her by the arm and pulled her tightly into him. Tucking her into his side as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Hawkes smiled at the simple displays of affection. Vowing to get a love like that. So pure and simple, yet so abstract and amazing. And he was bound and determined to get that from the woman that remained in the apartment behind him.

Sam glanced down the hallway at the sound of a door softly closing. She sighed and looked up at Flack as he pressed the down button for the elevator. "What do you think is going to happen?" she asked.

"You want me to tell you what I think should happen?"

She nodded.

"I think he should cut his losses and tell him to fuck off," Flack said honestly.

"But what do you think will happen?" she inquired.

"He's going to stick around," he responded. "Because he loves her. He's nuts about her. And he's going to stick around regardless of what bullshit she hands him or however bad she treats him."

Sam nodded slowly. "I'm not like that, am I, Donnie?"

"Like what?"

"I don't treat you like that, do I? I mean I know I can be an opinionated bitch but…"

"You don't treat me like that," he assured her. "But you're right. You can be an opinionated, spoiled rotten little bitch."

She smirked. "I never said spoiled rotten," she said.

"Don't deny it," he kissed the top of her head. "You're spoiled and you know it."

"Maybe," she said. "But you like spoiling me."

"I do," he admitted. "And I'm going to spoil you some more when we get home."

"What kind of spoiling?" she asked.

"I was thinking about going across the hall and asking Danny and Linds to keep K over night. Making you some dinner, lighting some candles, drawing you a warm bath."

She smiled. "I like that kind of spoiling," she declared. "Do you think you could throw in tossing a couple loads of wash downstairs and doing the dishes?"

He sighed. "You're demanding. But I think I can manage. I was hoping for a little something something with the kid not in the house."

"Yeah?" she stepped onto the elevator as the doors opened. "You do the laundry and the dishes and I'll give you a whole lot of something something."

"Laundry and dishes, huh?" he hit the button for the lobby.

She nodded.

"Consider them done," he said.

* * *

Hawkes locked the door behind him and returned to the living room. Where the woman that he loved and cherished and adored, whom he had devoted the last six months of his life too, sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap and silent tears streaming down her cheeks, staring off into space. She looked lost and dejected. And most of all, rejected.

"Me and you are going to have a talk," he said, his deep voice resonating through the living room.

Angell looked up, turned her moist eyes up at him. "Sheldon," she sniffled. "I'm sorry."

"Just what are you sorry for?" he asked, pushing old magazines aside and taking a seat on the edge of the coffee table he had just cleared from himself. "Are you sorry for what you did? For nearly busting up a marriage? For losing two great friends in the process? For hurting me? Or at you just sorry that you got caught?"

She shook her head and stared down at her hands. "I never meant to hurt you," she whispered.

"You're only upset that you were busted," he said. "That Flack had the guts to risk his marriage by telling his wife the truth. Did you honestly think that he was going to give up his wife and his family for you? That he was just going to walk away from the love of his life? For you?"

"I honestly don't know what I thought," she admitted. "I just…I was never able to let him go. And being that close with him over Kieran's disappearance and being there for him in that way…when he kissed me…"

"You realize that he regretted that immediately, don't you?" Hawkes asked. "That he was at a weak moment in his life? That he just got caught up in needing someone, needing something so bad that he just reacted badly to what was in front of him?"

"It seemed so right," she responded. "It had felt so right. As if things had never changed between us. It felt as if he was as into it as I was…"

"His wife was in the hospital. He thought his son was dead," Hawkes told her. "He was distraught and looking for comfort. And that's not to excuse him of any wrong doing. Because giving the sensitivity of the situation, he could have handled things a lot better. He could have been the bigger person and just walked away. But I'll give Flack the benefit of the doubt and blame it on the enormity of what he was up against. But you…" he shook his head. "He's a friend of mine. A very, very good friend who I respect and trust inexplicably. And his wife, who I adore and cherish, and suppose to be your friend."

"She doesn't deserve him," Angell whispered. "The way she treats him. The way she talks to him…"

"Flack only takes exactly what he gives," Hawkes informed her. "No one is innocent in that relationship. But you know what, Jess? They love one another and work damn hard to keep things together. They have a beautiful little boy and more babies on the way. And you were so ready, willing and able to ruin their lives like that?"

"We never put things to rest," Angell told him. "Don and I. He just upped and walked away. Told me that he'd met someone and needed to take a chance on them. That he felt things for her that he'd never felt for anyone before. Do you know what that felt like?"

"It hurt like hell, I'm sure," Hawkes said. "But I also know that by the time Samantha came along, you had already slept with two other men. If you hadn't, there wouldn't have been a question of paternity with your child. So how can you sit here and say you weren't able to move on, that you weren't able to let him go, when you clearly didn't love him enough to not cheat on him."

Angell sighed heavily. "He was the best thing that ever happened to me," she admitted. "And he just walked away from me. He walked away from me to be with her! And I never got a second chance. I never even got the chance to tell him I was sorry for taking him for granted. For treating him like I did. Because he's a good man and deserved so much better than that."

"Jess, honestly, I don't think there are any words in the world that could have brought him back to you. He fell hard and fast for Samantha. And he married her and had a child with her. He's having more children with her. And trust me when I say this, they're going to be together forever. Come hell or high water, they will find a way to stick together."

"I want to be able to let go," she whispered. "I need to be able to let go. I don't know why I did it, Sheldon. I don't know why I reacted the way I did. Why I couldn't just walk away like I had promised myself I would. I just don't know why…"

He sighed and reached out and took her trembling hands in his.

"I'm sorry, Sheldon," she choked back a sob, her eyes riveted on their joined hands. "I never meant to hurt you. I don't even know why I did it like I said. And I don't blame you. For hating me. For walking out on me."

"I never said I hated you," he said. "Or that I'm going to walk out on you."

"I deserve both if…"

"Jessica," he dropped one of her hands and touched the side of her face gently. "Look at me."

She raised her head, her dark eyes meeting his.

"I'm not going anywhere," he informed her. "Not now, not ever. I love you. More than I've ever loved anyone in my life. We all make mistakes, Jessie. No one is perfect. And I know that you love me and I know you can't explain the way you are or why you do the things you do."

"I do love you, Sheldon," tears spilled down her cheeks once more. "I do. And I never meant to hurt you. I want to let go of him. I do! I just don't know how."

"I'm going to help you," he promised. "But you're going to have to listen to me and trust me. Okay?"

She nodded.

"There's one important step in getting over Flack and letting him go. So he can go on with his life as a husband and a father. And I want you to promise me that you'll take that step."

"Anything," she said. "Anything."

"You're going to go into work on Monday and ask for a transfer."

Angell blinked.

"You're going to get out of the twelve precinct. You're going to arrange to be placed in another precinct. Another borough, preferably. Because the sooner you're away from him, the sooner you'll be able to concentrate on us and forget about making his life hell."

"But I love working homicide, Sheldon. I love the people I come in contact with. The people that I work with."

"Do you want this to work, Jess? Do you want us to work?"

She nodded.

"This is the only way that that will happen," he said.

She sighed heavily and laid her hand over his. "I'll do it," she told him.

He smiled and kissed her softly.

She sobbed against his lips. At the tenderness and understanding in his chest. "I'm so sorry, Sheldon," she cried. "Please forgive me."

"I will," he told her. "In time."

* * *

Danny stood in the doorway of the spare room of his apartment. The room that would soon begin it's transformation into a nursery. Erica had signed papers just that afternoon with her lawyer stating that once the baby was born, she was signing over all legal rights to Danny and one Lindsay Monroe. She had requested that she not even hold the baby or see him or her upon their arrival. That they simply be whisked off to the nursery and given to their real family.

Danny guessed there was more to Erica's decision than just her sudden change of heart. She insisted that she was just doing it out of the goodness of her heart. That she hated to caused him any undo grief and suffering by keeping him away from his child. But Danny knew better than that. She was a mean, spiteful bitch and never did anything out of the goodness of her heart because she simply just didn't have one. She did it because the ex, with all his money and all his stature, had come back into the picture promising her and the world and didn't want any kids coming with her when she took him up on the offer.

Her loss, Danny had thought when his lawyer had called to deliver the news. She had chosen to walk away from the child they had created together. To simply hand it over like it was nothing more than a piece of paper. Some kind of easily discarded possession. The woman wasn't fit to be a mother if that's how she viewed her own child. And he hoped she lived a long and lonely and bitter and miserable life and that her conscience ate at her every second of every day.

That baby, his son or his daughter, was far better off with him. Their father. And their real mother. The one that would raise them and love them as if they were her own. That amazing, beautiful woman, the love of his life, who, by the soft light thrown on the room by a tri-light lamp in the corner, was currently leaning over the portable play pen in the soon to be nursery. Whispering soothingly to the restless, whining toddler in her care, rubbing his back and stroking his hair. Kieran had woken up a half an hour ago, screaming blue murder and begging for his mommy and daddy. Instead of going across the hall to grab Sam or Flack, Lindsay had insisted she try her hand at the comforting. She was going to have to get used to getting up in the middle of the night anyway, she reasoned, and pulled on her robe and padded into the bedroom next to them.

"How's he doing?" Danny asked, bleary eyed and clad in a pair of red and white and blue plaid pyjama bottoms and a wife beater.

"He's going to be okay," Lindsay replied, not taking her attention off of Kieran. "He must have had a bad dream. But he's calming down now."

"Does he need anything?" Danny inquired. "A bottle or anything?"

"He's fine, babe," she smiled over her shoulder at him. "But thank you.'

He returned her smile and winked at her. "You want anything? Something to eat? Cup of tea?"

"Cup of tea would be great," she said. "He's going to be out soon. Hopefully he won't have anymore nightmares. Maybe we should leave the hallway light on and the door open a bit. So he's not alone in the dark. Maybe it's the dark that's scaring him."

"Maybe," Danny said, although he feared it was something way worse than the dark that was causing his godson night terrors.

"You don't think that…" Lindsay couldn't even bring herself to think about it, let alone say it.

"I hope not, Montana," he sighed. "I really hope not. Let's just hope that it's something he's going through. Some kind of stage. Flack said it's been going on for a while. Hopefully he'll grow out of it and stop soon."

"I hope so," Lindsay said, smiling down at the beautiful little boy below her. His eyes slowly drifting closed, one hand gripping a finger on her free hand tightly. "He doesn't deserve to have those kinds of monsters haunt his dreams."

"Neither do his parents," Danny commented. "Of all people…"

"They're strong," Lindsay said with a small sniffle. "Sam and Flack will be okay. They'll cope and they'll heal and they'll get past this."

"If anyone can get past something like this, it's them," Danny said confidently. "And K's got both of them in him. So he's a tough kid."

"He's beautiful," Lindsay breathed and touched her nephew's face gently. "They're so lucky to have him. And more babies on the way."

"They did good," Danny agreed. "I envy them you know. Having such a nice little family. I just hope I do as good for my family as Flack does for his."

"You'll do amazing," Lindsay assured him, and extracting her finger from Kieran's grasp, covered him lightly with his blanket. "Good night, sweet prince," she whispered, and pressing two finger tips to her lips, leaned over the playpen and placed those fingers on Kieran's lips. "Auntie Linds and Uncle Danny will be right in the next room if you need us."

"Uncle Buddy," Danny corrected her, as she journeyed towards him.

"Uncle what?" she asked with a soft chuckle, as they stepped out into the hall and closed the door softly behind them.

"Uncle Buddy," he replied. "I started it today. I thought it would be cute."

"You did, did you?" she asked, standing on her tip toes and curling her arms around his neck.

Danny nodded. "Everyone's got nicknames. Sam's Brooklyn, you're Montana, Flack's Flack, Kieran's K. I was beginning to feel left out."

"Poor baby," Lindsay pouted dramatically.

"It was harsh," he said, his hands resting on her slender hips. "It was really starting to hurt my feelings."

"That's just a damn shame," she teased.

"It is. I think you should kiss my boo-boo better."

She grinned. "You're boo-boo? How old are you? Three?"

"I've been hanging around K way too much. Stuff like that sticks in my head. But seriously, I think you should kiss my boo-boo better."

"Okay.." she giggled. "And where's this boo-boo?"

"Right here," he said and pointed to the space between his eyes.

"Let me get that for you," she said, pressing a kiss to the spot as he bent down for her.

"Right here, too," he told her, pointing to his left cheek.

"I thought there was just one," she said.

"There's a few," he admitted. "I think you're more than capable of taking care of that for me, Montana."

She smiled and kissed his cheek softly. "Where else?" she asked.

He laid a finger on his right cheek.

She happily obliged.

"And here," he touched his chin.

She pressed her lips to it.

"And last, but certainly not least," he touched his lips.

She grinned and covered his lips with hers in a long, soft and promising kiss.

"Mmm…" he said, when the moment had ended. "That spot has been feeling mighty neglected," he told her.

"I have a certain spot that's feeling neglected to," she said.

"Yeah? Where's that?"

She smiled devilishly at him and released one arm from around his neck and grabbed a hold of one of his hands. Moving it from her hip to between her legs.

Danny grinned. "Why, Montana…are you hinting at something?"

"It's feeling very, very neglected," she informed him.

"Well in that case," he grabbed a hold of her by the waist and lifted her tiny body effortlessly off of the ground.

She laughed and wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck.

"Why don't I see what I can do about that," he said, pushing his way through their bedroom door.

* * *

Flack woke with a start. His head snapping up and his eyes bursting open. His heart pounded in his chest and sweat beaded on his forehead as his eyes took in his surroundings. Trying to orientate himself in the darkness of his apartment.

He was relieved to find himself on his couch. His legs stretched out, back against the arm of the sofa. His arms wrapped securely around his wife as she lay in between his legs, her back resting against his chest. The wool blanket tucked tightly around her.

His back ached from being in such an awkward position. He remembered that after attending to the chores his wife had so gently asked him to attend to, and making them a quick and relatively simple chicken and pasta primavera dinner, he'd poured her a long, hot bath. He'd knelt by the side of it and gently, and somewhat erotic, soaped and rinsed every inch of her body. The erotic acts had than spread to the bedroom when he'd simply picked her up and lifted her from the tub and carried her into their room and laid her, soaking wet, in the middle of their bed and proceeded to kiss and lick every inch of her before making love to her slowly and tenderly.

She'd announced afterwards that she was starving. Again. So they had gotten dressed in night clothes and headed out into the living room. She'd snacked on cheese and crackers while he finished some last minute paper work that needed to be handed in to his CO in the morning. After that, they snuggled up on the couch under the blanket and had started watching a re-run of Dog the Bounty Hunter. The moment they had both started nodding off, he'd wisely put the television on sleep mode.

He wondered now how long ago that had been. That, and what the hell had ever prompted the dream he had just experienced. Was it the weird dreams that his wife was always waking him up to tell him about? The incident with Angell? Or a bit of both?

Whatever it was, it had been damn frightening.

"Sammie…" he whispered into her ear and rubbed her stomach softly. "Sammie…wake up…wake up, Sammie."

She mumbled incoherently in her sleep and snuggled back into him even more.

"Samantha!" his voice was louder. More urgent. "Samantha! Wake up, babe."

Her eyes flickered open ever so slowly. She blinked several times before tilting her head back and smiling sleepily at him. "Hey…" she said, her voice groggy. "What's wrong?"

"I just had the most horrible, fucked up dream," he told her.

"A dream about the bombing?" she asked in concern.

He shook his head.

"A dream about what happened to Kieran?"

Flack shook his head once more. "It was majorly messed up, babe. It was one of those dreams where everything is jumbled together and you're not sure where it begins or ends. You know those types."

She nodded.

"I was walking down the street, and don't even ask me what one. It was just some ordinary, generic street. And my shirt was un-tucked and my hair was kinda messed up…"

"You don't have any hair," she reminded him.

"Well I did in this. Anyway, that's what I looked like. Like I'd just rolled out of bed. And I went into this walk up building and the next thing I knew, I was standing in front of this partially open apartment door and there's this brunette girl in there surrounding by a bunch of other people. And I'd never seen her before. But you know when you get that feeling in a dream that you know this person?"

Sam nodded. Listening intently.

"I knew that this was my sister. And I don't even have a sister. Anyway, she says my name is Samantha and I'm an alcoholic."

His wife's eyes widened.

"It gets better," Flack told her. "Or worse. Whichever way you want to look at it. So I go back outside. And it was raining but it looked like it had been and I walk over to Angell standing at the side of her squad. And I say something about how I said I'd need a ride but I really needed to walk this one out. Anyway, I start walking away and all of a sudden, I turn, say her name and walk back to her. And you're probably going to kill me for this next part…"

She sighed.

"And I put a hand on the side of her face and I kissed her. Nothing major. Just this closed mouth on closed mouth. No feeling, no emotion. Nothing. Than I just walked away. And that's when I woke up."

Sam yawned noisily and pressed a kiss to the underside of his chin. "That's the last time you watch any prime time television," she said. "And you scold me for watching too much."

"You need to stay away from those CBS shows, babe. 'Cause you're weird dreams are rubbing off onto me."

"I am a bad influence," she said, rubbing his arms. "Are you okay now? You've recuperated?"

"I think so," he said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Except for the fact that my back is killing me for falling asleep like this."

"I've got the perfect idea," she told him.

"Yeah?" he pecked her cheek and nuzzled her ear. "What's that?"

"I think you should take me to bed and I can give you one of my famous back rubs."

He grinned. "I love that idea."

"And than, and only than, I can help you forget about that scary, horrible dream."

"I love that idea even more," he said.

She pushed the blanket off of them and swung her legs over the side of the couch and stood slowly, a hand on her stomach. "Take me to bed, Donnie," she said, offering her hand. "Make an honest woman out of me."

"That's going to be a hell of a feat," he told her, standing as well. "Might take me more than once."

She shrugged. "Take as many tries as you need," she said.

He took her face in his hands and leaned down to kiss her.

"And don't even think about giving me some lame ass closed mouth kiss," she warned.

He chuckled. "I'd never dream of it," he said, and captured her mouth in a spine tingling, toe curling, deep and intense kiss. "Take that CBS," he laughed, than took her hand and led the way to their bedroom.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate the support of all of you! You guys are the reason I do this! So please, please, please R and R folks. Thanks!**

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	61. Behind Closed Doors

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN. **

**A/N: WELCOME TO ALL OF YOU WHO HAVE ADDED ME TO ALERTS AND FAVOURITES! MUCH APPRECIATED!**

**BIG THANKS TO HOPE4SALL FOR LENDING ME HER OC KARLY SHEDD**

**ALSO, HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO ALL MY AMERICAN READERS! GOD BLESS YOU ALL! ENJOY SOME TURKEY AND STUFFING AND PUMPKIN PIE FOR ME!**

**AND ANOTHER THANK YOU: TO ALL OF YOU FOR HELPING THIS STORY GET TO 700+ REVIEWS! I AM OVERWHELMED AND FEEL SO BLESSED TO HAVE SUCH GREAT AND LOYAL READERS AND FRIENDS!**

* * *

**Behind closed doors**

"I know she's not perfect but she tries so hard for me  
And I thank god that she isn't 'cause how boring would that be  
It's the little imperfections it's the sudden change in plans  
When she misreads the directions and we're lost but holdin' hands  
Yeah I live for little moments like that

When she's layin' on my shoulder on the sofa in the dark  
And about the time she falls asleep so does my right arm  
And I want so bad to move it 'cause it's tinglin' and it's numb  
But she looks so much like and angel that I don't wanna wake her up  
Yeah I live for little moments  
When she steals my heart again and doesn't even know it  
Yeah I live for little moments like that."  
-Little Moments, Brad Paisley

* * *

She woke from a late morning nap to the sound of raucous, hysterical giggling and the sound of tiny feet racing down the hallway and past the bedroom. Shortly followed by the pounding of much larger feet and her husband's loud and assertive voice.

"Kieran! No! Get back here right now!"

Samantha yawned noisily and carefully rolled from her left side to her back, staring up at the cove ceiling as she listened to the exchange taking place between father and son in the across the hall. Flack attempting, in vain, to explain to their son why throwing things in the toilet was not a good idea and why Kieran had to behave and get some clothes on because Papa Mac and his 'special friend' were coming to visit that afternoon and there were tons of things to do before than.

Sam groaned at the thought of spending a few hours with her boss and his mistress. Or was it his girlfriend? Significant other? She wasn't sure what to call this Karly and wasn't sure if she was ready to be chummy with someone that had simply walked into Mac's life and busted his family all to shit. Regardless of Stella's bitchy, cold and insensitive way of dealing with Kieran and his ordeal that morning at the hospital nearly two months ago, she hadn't deserved someone poaching her man off of her. Especially while she was pregnant. Sam wondered just what kind of woman this Karly was to even justify splitting up a marriage, especially with a child involved. Did she honestly think it was okay to be the other woman? Was she satisfied with that title or was she hoping that Mac would just up and divorce his wife and abandon his child to be with her on a permanent basis? Sam didn't know what the girl's deal was, and truth be told, she really didn't care. She had put the issues with Stella behind her and sincere apologies on Stella's behalf had been offered up when Sam had sucked up her own pride and went to visit her massively pregnant friend three weeks ago.

She had yet to meet Karly. That afternoon would be the first, and hopefully last, day that she was going to be spending with the woman. She hated feeling as if she had to make a choice over what side to be on. Team Taylor or Team Bonasera-Taylor. It was just goddamn ridiculous and she didn't have the time, with the fifty million other issues coursing through her mind, to indulge it such petty shit. She had vowed to stay neutral. She didn't talk about Mac and his girlfriend when she was in Stella's presence and avoided conversations surrounding Stella when she was in Mac's company. Deep down, despite the fact that Mac seemed happier and more relaxed and well rested than anyone had ever seen him, Sam hoped that this was just a passing thing in her boss' life. That he was going to get past whatever mid life crisis was afflicting with him and just get his shit back together and go home and kiss and make up with his wife and live happily ever after with her and his family.

Of course, now that things were going more smoothly in her own marriage, Samantha could afford the luxury of being so positive. It had been exactly a month since the altercation with Angell. The woman had asked for, and received rather quickly, a transfer from homicide to narcotics and was currently working out of a precinct in north Brooklyn. Samantha hadn't spoken to Angell since that night, nor had the other woman ever attempted to contact her. That friendship was beyond shattered, and Sam saw no hope of it ever being prepared. At that point in time, she couldn't have honestly cared if she never heard Angell's name ever again in her entire life. All she knew for sure was that she and Hawkes were living together and attempting to repair things. It was a day by day, slow and steady process and Hawkes wasn't one to share stories about his personal life. He seemed relatively happy and still excelled at his job. He hadn't let his girlfriend's attempted infidelity bother him that much apparently.

But that was his and Angell's business. Sam's main concern, or lack of concern, was her own marriage. Things had never seemed better. Her husband, despite his inconsistent, excruciatingly long and tiresome hours, had turned over a new leaf at home. He did chores without having to be nagged at over and over again. He took the initiative to cook dinner or give their son a bath and ready for bed. He took Kieran out every Saturday morning so the two of them could have breakfast at McDonald's, and now, with the snow all melted and replaced by relatively warm April temperatures, go for walks through Central Park and visit the zoo. Kieran's favourite Saturday morning activity was to stand on the banks of the main pond in the park and toss bread crumbs at the ducks and than either run away in sheer terror, or stand there laughing and screeching hysterically, when several of the birds made a break towards him.

Couples wise, things had drastically improved as well. They forgave more and fought less. They did small, meaningful things for each other and told one another they loved each other every spare chance they got. The trust was slowly and steadily building once again. Their marriage was strong and secure, growing more so every day as her pregnancy continued on.

Twenty weeks. Twelve more to go and she'd be admitted into the hospital and put under general anaesthetic and the triplets would be born via c-section. The tattoo on her lower back prevented an epidural, which in turn, prevented Flack from being allowed in the room when his children were born. No spectators when a patient was put right under. Hospital rules. Flack wasn't keen on the idea of not being allowed to witness his babies being delivered, yet at the same time, knew they'd be exceptionally tiny and need rapid medical attention and would be whisked off to the NICU and that he'd only get in the way and hinder the care his children would require.

The fifth month ultrasound had been the day before. And what had supposed to have been a routine appointment had turned into a day long ordeal when the radiologist assigned to looking at the sonogram, had noticed something that wasn't quite right with one of the babies. Sam and Flack had been half way to the parking garage of the hospital to head home when his cell phone had rang and the ultrasound tech who'd done all the work was telling him that the radiologist had noticed a couple of things and had made an immediate appointment with a fetal and maternal medicine specialist.

For an hour they had met with a geneticist and a the specialist. The two 'issues' in question being below normal measurements of the baby's femurs and a two vessel umbilical cord. Both signs of a chromosomal defect. Mixed in with the fact there'd been a less than stellar showing on the triple screen test, the fetal specialist was concerned, as they had been with Kieran, that the baby had one of three defects. Trisomies, they called them. Three copies of a chromosome instead of the usual two. In this case, the most likely cause being Down Syndrome. The less concerning of the three options. The other two were rare and unfortunately, catastrophic and incompatible with life. Both Sam and Flack were familiar with the more horrific of the two. Trisomy 13. That had been the diagnosis Devon and her fiance had received through an amniocentesis. Their child hadn't made it to term and Devon had miscarried just a week before at only twenty-seven weeks.

The news concerning their own child was unsettling, but not life ending for Sam and Flack. When confronted with the fact that the triple screen had also said that something was wrong with Kieran and he was born perfectly healthy, the specialist had admitted that there was extreme room for error with both the blood work and the things that had been found in the ultrasound. 'Normal' babies were born all the time with two vessel umbilical cords and with short femur bones.

"So the kid's short like his mother," Flack had commented, when the doctor had commented that Flack himself was of above average height. "One of them has to be like the mom, right?"

The geneticist had them piped up that there'd been nothing else found on the ultrasound that indicated a problem. Markers, as they were called. More noticeable, overwhelming features that easily identified Down Syndrome.

"So in your opinion, as the professional whose used to seeing this stuff," Flack had said. "Would you recommend us having an amnio or would you just say skip it?"

The geneticist had sighed, looked at the images in front of him and nodded slowly. "I don't think there's anything to be concerned about," he'd admitted. "There's nothing wrong with your baby. Go home and enjoy the rest of the pregnancy."

So they did. They pretended as if that appointment had never taken place. They didn't speak of it again and never mentioned it to their friends or family. Yet, silently, both wondered if maybe the doctors had been wrong. That there was something there to be concerned about. And no matter how far back in their minds they had tried to push the thought of something being wrong with their baby, the thought seemed to gnaw away at both of them. Yet neither told the other what they were feeling. Opting instead to adopt the policy that ignorance was bliss at times.

And right now, listening to father and son squabbling in the bathroom, that policy was a damn good one to have. She giggled softly at her husband's lame attempts at discipline and Kieran's insistent babbling and his even more insistent, angry "NO!" that seemed to reverberate throughout the entire apartment.

She lay in the stillness of her bedroom, eyes closed and her hands resting on her stomach, trying to shut out the noise from the next room. Thinking about all the packing that had to be down within the next month and a half now that they had finally found a house in Flushing, Queens, three blocks from his parents' that they had both liked and agreed on. A centuries old two storey red brick Victorian with new windows, roof and central air and three year old furnace. Three plus one bedrooms and two and a half baths and a fairly decent sized back yard.

The wooden porch that stretched from one side of the front of the home to the other needed to be repaired in spots and new stairs put in. Some of the rooms needed fresh coats of paint and the hardwood floors sanded and re-finished. But it was nothing that couldn't be done in a couple of weekends. They'd submitted their offer two weeks ago and had found out a day later that it had been accepted. Move in date was June 15th. The triplets were scheduled to be born July 3rd. It was going to be a hell of a feat fitting everything in, but not impossible.

* * *

In the meantime, life in the cramped two bedroom lower Manhattan apartment went on.

Sam's eyes snapped open at the sound of the toilet flushing, followed by the slamming of the lid.

"KIERAN!" Flack bellowed. "What the hell did you do?!"

No sooner did his father yell, which no doubt scared the piss out of the poor kid, Kieran burst into an ear piercing wail.

Sam pushed the covers off with a heavy sigh. God give me strength, she thought, as she slowly and carefully sat up in bed and swung her legs over the edge. The vertigo that had plagued her through the later stages of her pregnancy with Kieran had reared its ugly head once again. Along with an irregular, yet harmless, heart beat that caused palpitations every time she walked too fast or bent over. Not that she was doing much of both with her increasingly growing stomach in the way. It had been three weeks since she'd last seen her own feet. Something she was not too impressed about.

Kieran's wailing had subsided into pitiful sobs of " Daddeee, Daddeee" by the time she opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the hall. Taking the four steps to the small bathroom, she paused in the door way, eyes wide at the sight that greeted her.

Her husband on his knees in front of the toilet, up to his elbow in the water. A furious look on his face as their son, face bright red from screaming, tears spilling down his cheeks and his nose running profusely, yanking on his father's shirt asking for a drink. Kieran was as naked as the day he was born save for the hearing aid over his right ear.

His hearing loss had actually been caused by the tube -which the ENT had successfully plucked out with a pair of tweezers last appointment because the damn thing was falling out- leaving a rather large hole in the poor kid's ear drum. Such holes were common after the tubes shifted and began falling out, but most holes closed on their own and caused no prolonged damage.

Except for anyone the last name Flack it seemed. Because that last name was cursed. And any one either born to it or married to it was destined to have surreal, stupid or evil and dangerous shit happen to them.

"What the hell is going on?" Sam asked. "Why does the baby have no clothes on?"

"Because he's evil," Flack replied. "I was trying to put a diaper on him and he took off. Grabbed the remote control and came in here and tried to flush it."

"You're suppose to keep your eyes on him, Donnie," she scolded, as her son toddled over and curled his arms around her legs and buried his face in her thigh. "Not on eye on him and one eye on the television."

"Hey!" Flack snapped. "Don't insult my intelligence or my daddy skills. I happened to have both eyes on the television."

She frowned. "I can't pick you up, Kieran," she apologized to her son as she stroked his hair. Which thankfully, following the bleach job and subsequent brush cut, had begun to grow back as coal black as it was before. Sometimes peroxide caused irreversible follicle damage. Thankfully, it hadn't been the case with Kieran.

"Mommeee," he whimpered, holding his arms up.

"Kieran, I can't pick you up because it might hurt the babies," she explained delicately and calmly. She doubted he understood a damn word of what she was saying. Or that he had the slightest clue that he was going to be a big brother. But they still drilled it into him each chance they got.

He shook his head vigorously and continued to reach for her.

"Kieran Shaun Donald, listen to me…" she took his tiny face in her hands and bent down to his level, so golden eyes were locked on blue. "Mommy can't pick you up. Because of the babies. I know that makes you angry. But we don't want the babies to get hurt, do we?"

"Baby?" he asked, pointing to her stomach. His speech and comprehension of spoken words had improved remarkably since he had received his hearing aid. The difference in both his vocabulary and personality was startling.

"Three babies," she replied, holding up three fingers. "In mommy's tummy."

"Mommy?" he pointed at her stomach once more.

She nodded. "Right in there. We don't want them to get hurt do we?"

Kieran shook his head.

Sam opened the cupboard under the sink and snagged a Huggies diaper from the extra box kept inside. "Hold onto mommy," she said to her son, than to make it clearer what she wanted, crouched down in front of him and than took his tiny hand and laid it on her shoulder as she quickly and effortlessly, slipped the diaper on his bare ass while he was in a standing position. "Were you being bad?" she asked, showering his chubby face with kisses.

"No bad," he responded.

Flack snorted.

Sam spotted the remote control in question sitting on the sink ledge and frowned. "Babe," she said to her husband. "If the remote control is safe and sound, what are you trying to get out of there? What did he flush? A toy?"

"I wish," Flack mumbled.

"Please tell me it wasn't car keys or a cell phone."

"Worse," he told her.

"Not much can be worse than him flushing a department issued cell phone."

"He flushed your watch," Flack informed her. "Your Esquire watch that I bought you for Valentine's Day last year. The one I paid nearly three hundred bucks for."

Sam's eyes widened.

"You left it on the back of the toilet, babe. Along with your engagement ring and that diamond anniversary band thing I gave you on that carriage ride in Central Park. If he'd have flushed that engagement ring, trust me, he'd be right in that toilet along with it."

"Don't talk like that about our son," Sam scolded him.

"It's a ten grand ring!" Flack cried. "From Tiffany's! And why the hell did you leave your jewellery in here in the first place!"

"Because the engagement ring is way too tight and I had to take it off and I took my watch off when I washed my hands earlier and…"

"And you couldn't put your things in your jewellery box? You've only got three of the damn things," he growled.

"I never thought about it," she admitted meekly, standing up slowly, a hand on the small of her back. "Please don't be mad at me."

"I'm not…" he snapped, than took a deep breath to calm himself, closing his eyes briefly. "I'm not mad at you, babe," he assured her in a softer voice. "I'm mad that our son just flushed three hundred dollars down the toilet and.."

Kieran's tiny hand reached out for, and found, the handle on the toilet. And before Sam could bolt to grab him or Flack could issue a warning, the toddler proceeded to flush it.

Flack jerked his hand out of the toilet bowl, only to have the water, both from the pressure of the flush and his own motion, splash up in his face.

Sam gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth in both shock, and to hold back the bark of laughter that threatened to erupt at the look of her husband, face flushed with absolute fury and supreme agitation, sitting there on his heels staring at both her, and Kieran, as if he was just about to slaughter them both.

"Donnie…" she began, only to have him hold up his hand to silence her. She bit her lip to suppress the giggles and instead of speaking, went to her son and gently and silently, took him by the wrist and guided him towards the door.

"That is the last time you leave me alone with him," Flack informed her, using the front of his shirt to wipe his face before rising to his feet and slamming the lid of the toilet shut. He shook his head slowly and sighed and looked down at the toilet.

"Do you think we should call a plumber?" she asked.

"For what?"

"To get my watch the hell out of there," she said. "That was a beautiful watch."

"Your watch is halfway to the Hudson by now, babe," Flack informed her. "Calling a plumber will solve nothing other than costing a disgusting amount of money."

"Well I need a watch," she said. "I feel naked without one."

"My old watch is in the top drawer of my dresser," Flack told her. "Lots of women wearing guys watches these days. It's a perfectly good watch."

"Have you seen the size of my wrists?" she asked, holding up a hand. "Compared to the size of yours?"

"Take it to a jewellery store and get a band that fits you put on it," he reasoned.

"He's your devil child," she huffed. "Either hire a plumber or…"

"Plumber would cost me more than the damn watch!" he argued.

"…or buy me a new one," she finished. "My birthday is in two and a half weeks after all."

"I already have your birthday gift," he informed her.

"Well tough shit. Now you have a watch to replace. Thanks to Dennis the Menace, here."

"Let's just be thankful he didn't flush his hearing aid," Flack said. "I would have jumped off the balcony for sure had he done that."

"Daddy…" Kieran tugged at Flack's shirt. "Daddy?"

Flack sighed and looked down at his son. "You're a little shit, you know that?"

"Me!" he cried and giggled. "Wuv daddy."

He grinned and scooped his son up into his arms. "You're lucky daddy loves you as much as he does," he declared, pressing a kiss to his son's cheeks. "'Cause if not, you'd be swimming with the fishes right about now."

"Ishes!" Kieran exclaimed and sucked in his cheeks and puckered his lips. The perfect set of fish lips.

Both mother and father laughed.

"What do you say we got and get you dressed and me and you go and get the things we need at the store and find your mom a new watch?" Flack suggested to his son. "Go to McDonalds. Have some chicken nuggets and fries dipped in sweet and sour sauce."

Sam made a gagging noise.

"Bring your mom and Huey, Duey and Luey back one of them hot cherry pies they like so much."

Sam smiled sheepishly and held up three fingers.

"Are you kidding me?" Flack chuckled. "Three? You want three?"

"One," she pointed to the top of her stomach. "Two," she pointed to the right side. "And three," she pointed the left. "Three to feed honey. One each."

"You people are damn demanding," Flack said and kissed her softly. "I can't believe our first born actually did something like that," he sighed as he headed for the bathroom door. "He's suppose to be the angelic, innocent one."

Sam snorted.

"Instead he's a raging lunatic like the rest of the Ross family."

"Watch it wise butt," his wife said. "I have to admit, it was kinda funny seeing you down on your knees fishing around in toilet water. But not as funny as seeing it splashed all over your face."

"You just revel in other peoples misery, don't you," he teased.

"Hey!" she called as he stepped out the door.

He poked his head back into the room.

"Look at it this way, Donnie. At least you know the water was clean. It wasn't one of them times that someone in this house, who shall remain nameless, took a leak and didn't flush afterwards. Now had that happened…now that would have been a goddamn tragedy."

"You're a real comedienne," he said with a smirk as she burst into laughter.

"But you love me!" she exclaimed as he left the room.

"Most days!" he returned. "Only those that end in Y."

She grinned and shook her head. "Wise ass," she said.

* * *

The young woman that stood on the opposite side of her door was not what Samantha Flack had been expecting. Despite the rumours that had been swirling the crime lab about the 'other woman', Sam was a firm believer in always passing off what others said as complete bullshit. That she didn't believe a damn thing until she saw it with her own two eyes. She hadn't really formed an opinion of Karly Shedd in her mind. All she knew was that this girl was younger than she was and that she was most likely doing things for Mac that Stella would never dream of doing. In all aspects of their relationship. To each their own, as far as Sam was concerned, although she found it hard to hide her disgust that Mac, someone she trusted and respected and admired more than she did anyone else, would do something like that to Stella and bust up his family.

Frankly, she'd been expecting a walking, talking sex pot in a mini skirt and a top two sizes too big that didn't hide her wears and stiletto heels. Only because Flack had given that description when Sam had made the mistake of asking him what he thought this Karly girl was going to look like. He figured Mac, in the midst of his old age crisis, as Flack called at, had gone out and found himself some sweet, hot, young thing that was the complete opposite of the reserved and conservative Stella.

He wasn't far wrong. She **was**a hot young thing with long, dark hair that tumbled down her back and over her shoulders and framed a glowing, flawless face. Slight makeup graced her youthful features. A hint of smoky eyeliner and a dab of blush and peach coloured lip gloss that sparkled. Clad in a cream coloured peasant style dress with a sweetheart neckline and red and blue flowers embroidered along the edge of the skirt and the cap sleeves and a pair of strappy bronze kitten heel sandals. She carried a matching bronze hobo style purse and several chunky bracelets jangled on both wrists.

And Mac was nowhere to be seen.

"Samantha Flack?" the young woman asked nervously.

Sam nodded.

"I'm Karly," she offered a hand. "Karly Shedd. Mac's girlfriend?"

"Nice to meet you," Sam said and shook the younger woman's hand. Noticing the elaborately manicured peach coloured nails boasting sparkling crystals. "Where's Mac?"

"He's looking for a parking spot," Karly explained. "He dropped me off and told me to come up."

Sam's eyes widened. "By yourself?"

The other woman nodded. "Needless to say, I'm nearly wetting myself here."

Sam couldn't help but laugh. "I can't believe he'd do that," she huffed and held the door open and motioned for her guest to enter. "Goddamn men."

Karly smiled as she stepped into the apartment feeling a sense of relief at the other woman's obviously down to earth and warm personality.

"My husband isn't around either," Sam said, shutting the door. "I sent him out to get some pop and stuff an hour ago because he forgot it the first time around and I haven't heard from him since. See what happens? Let him loose, alone, in the city and he ups and disappears first chance he can get. I guess I needed to tighten that leash some more."

Karly laughed heartily. She had been 'warned' by Mac about the tiny Brooklyn girl's sense of humour. And had also been told that Samantha Flack didn't indulge in such humour with just anyone. That she saved it for the people that she was the most fond of. So it made Karly more at ease about Mac's decision to introduce her to two of his friends and most respected colleagues. Especially when they were just as close to Stella. She'd been worried about how she'd be treated and received. And so far, it seemed as if those worries were proving groundless.

"Ignore the mess," Sam implored, as she led the way into the living room. "We're in the process of starting to pack and things are a bit hectic and chaotic around here."

Karly glanced around the spacious living room with its high, cove ceiling and hardwood floor and a sliding glass door that led out onto a balcony. She wouldn't exactly call the place a mess. There didn't seem to be a speck of dust on the coffee or end tables or on the entertainment unit that took up nearly the entire wall across from the couch and boasted a large, flat screen HDTV, various video game systems and a stereo, along with numerous DVDs and books. More books and wrinkled magazines were neatly pilled on the coffee table, accompanied by a thick pad of drawing paper and washable Crayola markers. Ta-Doodles, the box read. Short, round markers that looked like a frog, a bear and a pig. The shape of the colouring devices meant to encourage a child's use of the palm grasp. Toys and a portable play pen were neatly arranged along the wall near the balcony door. The apartment was more lived in and cluttered than it was a mess.

"Mac was telling me on the way over that you and your husband and your little boy are moving into a house soon," Karly commented, as Sam motioned for her to take a seat on the couch.

"End of June," the other woman replied. "We can hardly wait. It's already crowded in here with the three of us so you can imagine what hell on earth it would be when three other babies arrive. Would you like something to drink? I've got milk, juice, cherry Kool-Aid, there's some pop still left. I'd offer beer or wine, but we don't keep alcohol in the house."

"Mac mentioned that your husband is a recovering alcoholic…"

"Well I wouldn't go as far as saying he was ever an alcoholic. Just that he was in danger of being one. Thankfully for me and our son, he decided that it was one demon in his life that he didn't leave. Drink?"

"I haven't had cherry Kool-Aid in years," Karly gushed. "I'd love some. Do you need help or…"

"I can still pour a glass of juice," Sam assured her with a smile as she headed for the kitchen. "I've got some finger food stuff in the oven and some veggies and fruit and dip we can either get into now or wait until the guys get here."

"I'm fine right now," the younger woman called to her. "We can wait."

"Well maybe you can," Sam laughed. "But I eat constantly."

Karly smiled in appreciation and offered a thank you when the other woman finally returned with two tall glasses of the deep red Kool-Aid and sat them on the counter. "So you're just about ready to go?" she asked, as Sam, a hand on the small of her back, sank slowly down onto the couch.

"Just about ready?" Sam chuckled as she rubbed her stomach. "I still have twelve more weeks."

"Sorry, I just…"

"It's okay. I'm as big as a house. Most people think I'm way into my third trimester. I'll be glad when it's over. And when it is, my husband is going to pay. Yes, he is. And he's going to pay dearly."

"You met at work?"

Sam nodded. "He's a homicide detective. He works in conjuncture with the crime lab. We actually met on my first day. Things happened pretty quickly after that. We met at the end of March, by the beginning of January we were both married, and had our son."

"Love works in mysterious ways," Karly reasoned.

Sam nodded. "How about you and Mac?" she asked. "How did the two of you meet?"

"I've been a regular down at Cozy's for a few months," Karly replied. "My best friend starting taking me there on Wednesday's to hear the live jazz. And well, there was Mac…"

"A few months?" Sam asked, attempting to hide her surprise.

"Well nothing officially happened until two months ago," Karly made air quotes around the word official.

The petite brunette beside her arched an eyebrow.

"I finally got up the nerve to talk to him," she explained. "For weeks and weeks I watched him and found him so incredibly attractive and my friends kept telling me to make a move and I could never get up the nerve."

"And…" Sam pressed gently.

"And we talked and had a few drinks and that was it."

"It didn't bother you that he was married?" Sam asked. "Did he even tell you he was married?"

"He was honest and upfront. I was leery at first about getting involved with a married man, but he assured me that things had been strained between him and his wife for a while and…"

"She's ready to give birth any day," Sam defended Stella. "Trust me, things have not been strained between them."

"No one knows what happens behind closed doors," Karly reasoned. "How well do you actually know Mac outside of work?"

Sam just sighed.

"I know it's not the easiest thing to accept…"

"You're right," Sam said. "It's not. But I'm a little sensitive about it because there was someone just recently in my life, someone who I thought was my friend, that was attempting to become the other woman in my husband's life."

Karly blinked. 'I'm sorry, I…"

"It's behind me," Sam assured her. "There's quite a few years between you and Mac."

"Seventeen," Karly confirmed. "I've never dated an older man before."

"Me either," Sam said. "Well, give or take a few years. And I'd never been with a younger guy until I met my husband."

"A May-December romance?" Karly asked.

"Not exactly. I'll be thirty-four and he's only thirty one. Acts thirteen sometimes, but that's another story all in itself. So you play violin in the Philharmonic?"

Karly nodded. "I brought some extra tickets for next month. Maybe you and your husband would like to come to a performance with Mac."

"I'd have to run it by him. He's more a Metallica and Kiss, classic rock kind of guy. You study at Julliard?"

"I'm in the process of getting my Phd in Orchestral Studies. I did my undergrad there as well."

"So what will Orchestral Studies get you in the long run?" Sam asked.

"It's really useless in real life," Karly laughed. "That's what my mom always says anyway. I prefer teaching over performing. I make extra cash by teaching kids violin lessons. My hope is that one day I can open a music school. I just love kids. You obviously have a post secondary education."

Sam nodded. "I have a masters in forensics from Dartmouth. And a BA in criminal profiling."

"Impressive."

She shrugged. "It's an eighty thousand dollar diploma that's in a fake leather folder somewhere in the back of the bedroom closet. My husband always laughs about it because he says he didn't just gain a wife when he married me, he also got the remains of a pesky student loan to pay off."

Karly laughed. "And he went to college, too?"

"He went straight on to the NYPD Academy after he graduated from high school," Sam told her. "Being a cop runs in his family so…"

The sound of keys rattling in the lock was soon replaced by the door opening and the apartment being filled with Flack, Mac and Kieran's voices.

"MOMMEEE!" Kieran bellowed from the foyer. "MOMMEEE!"

"I'm in here!" Sam called to him. "In the living room!"

His tiny head appeared from around the corner and his face lit up. "Mommy!" he cried happily and went tearing into the living room.

Karly smiled at the adorable little boy bounding towards them. He was a little unsteady on his feet, but bursting with confidence. He was a precious little thing. Tall and sturdy for his age with short black hair and big, sparkling blue eyes framed by impossibly long dark lashes, Wearing a pair of denim overalls with the words Phat Farm written on the back pocket and a white and green stripped long sleeve shirt. And Diego running shoes with soles that lit up with each step he took.

"So this is Mac's pride and joy," Karly said, running a hand over Kieran's hair.

"This is Kieran," Sam beamed with pride. "Kieran, this is Karly. Can you say hi?"

The toddler stood in front of the newcomer and placed his hands on her knees. He cocked his head to the side and gave a flirtatious, dimpled grin. "Hi…" he chirped.

Karly giggled. "Hi there, cutie. Are you a sweetheart?"

Kieran nodded energetically and continued to stare at her.

Sam tugged gently on one of the straps of his overalls to get him to look at her. "Kieran…why don't you go and play?" she used the sign for play. Thumbs and pinkies extended on both hands, other fingers tucked in as she shook her hands back and forth.

"Pay?" he repeated, using the sign himself before rushing off to his wide selection of toys.

"He's adorable," Karly gushed. "It must be difficult raising a deaf child when both you and your husband are hearing."

"Oh he's not deaf," Sam laughed. "He's just his father's son. They both have selective hearing."

"I heard that Sammie," Flack said as he and Mac journeyed into the living room.

"See what I mean?" Sam asked the younger woman. "He only hears certain things."

Karly got to her feet and offered a hand to the tall, strong looking young man before her. "You must be Don," she said.

"We just call him Flack," Mac told her, as he leaned over the couch in order to embrace Sam and kiss her cheek in greeting.

Karly arched an eyebrow. "You go by your last name?"

"Just something that started a long time ago and stuck," Flack told her shaking her hand.

"You're little boy is adorable. Just precious."

"He's a handful," Flack said. "But thanks. He's cute like daddy and smart like mommy."

Sam snorted. "You wish."

"Come on, we all know you're the brains of this operation," Flack told his wife as he sat down beside her and draped his arm across her shoulders and kissed her cheek. "And that I'm the one with the stunning good looks."

Mac pecked Karly on the top of the head as he joined her on the love seat. "I hate to break this to you, Flack…"

"What is this?" the detective asked. "Pick on Flack day? I nearly had my hand severed earlier when my son decided to flush the john on me."

"You were never in any danger," Sam informed him. "Kieran flushed my watch and Donnie attempted to save it until…"

"Until he nearly flushed me along with it," Flack finished.

"I doubt you would have gone very far," Sam said.

"What's that suppose to mean?" her husband asked. "Are you calling me fat?"

"You're not exactly the smallest guy, Donnie," she replied.

"So you are calling me fat."

"If the shoe fits," she teased and rubbed his stomach.

"It's called sympathy weight, babe."

"No," she giggled. "They're called love handles."

Mac and Karly both laughed at the playful, good natured teasing taking place in front of them. Noticing that even without words, the other couples emotions and feelings were laid bare in their eyes and the way they smiled at one another.

It was there and than, that Karly Shedd came to a decision.

She wanted a love like that.

And she wanted it with Mac Taylor.

* * *

Mac and Karly had stayed longer than what was originally planned, or expected. The two couples had spent the afternoon and into the evening laughing and talking. They ordered in Thai food and relaxed and enjoyed each other's company. Both Sam and Flack noticed how at ease Mac now seemed. Flack found it hard to fully accept Karly as part of Mac's life. It was a difficult pill to swallow knowing that he'd cheated on his pregnant wife and had been for a couple of months. Stella and him may have had their disagreements and fights, but Flack still considered her one of his closest friends. And she deserved so much better than being treated like that. His main bone of contention was the fact that this Karly was younger than Flack's own wife. He just couldn't seem to get over that little issue.

But he had his own issues to deal with and refused to get too caught up in Mac's personal life. What Mac did was his business. Plain and simple.

It was shortly before midnight when Flack wandered into the master bedroom, yawning noisily and rubbing at the back of his neck. He'd spent the last forty five minutes calming and comforting Kieran after the toddler had woke up from yet another night terror. Screaming so bad that he had hyperventilated and needed to be given two doses of an inhaler his pedeatrician had prescribed.

Sam was already in bed, sitting up with a pair of old fashioned ear phones placed on her stomach and a Discman resting on the bed beside her. The lamp on the nightstand on. In her hand, was the black velvet box that contained the new watch Flack had purchased earlier that day at Sack's Fifth Avenue. Another Esquire. This time with a white and yellow gold band and mother of pearl face.

"Is he finally asleep?" she asked, snapping the box shut and setting it on the nightstand.

Flack nodded and closed their bedroom door. "Finally," he said with a sigh. "I really hope these things end soon, Sammie. Because seeing him like that…"

"It's hard," she said sadly. "I just wish we could just turn back time. Change everything. Do things differently. So that it never happened."

"That sounds a lot like blame, babe," Flack commented.

She sighed and shrugged.

"Personally," he said, as he peeled off his Henley shirt and tossed it into the basket of dirty laundry in the corner and than unbuckled his belt. "I'd like to find a way to kill that sonofabitch Doyle. Getting rid of him permanently would make feel a hell of a better."

"You in jail wouldn't do me or your children any good," she said. "Even if I do wish you would slaughter the guy.

Flack undid the button and the zipper of his jeans before pulling them and his boxers off and tossing them into the laundry as well. He took a pair of pyjama bottoms and an old t-shirt from the bottom drawer of his dresser and slipped into them before heading over to the bed. Peeling the sheets back, he climbed in beside her and lay on his side, propped on his elbow as he placed his free hand on her stomach and rubbed it softly.

"What are you guys listening to?" he asked.

"A CD your mom gave me. Songs of Old Ireland. It's more lullabies than anything. I am hoping to lull the babies off to sleep."

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her tummy. "So you know, I told Mac. About what happened yesterday at the ultrasound. And about what the doctors said."

"And what did he say?"

"He just wanted us both to know that he's thinking about all of us and that no matter what happens, he'll always support us and love all of our kids no matter what."

Sam smiled. Tears sparkled in her eyes.

Flack reached out and stroked her face softly. "You want to talk about it, Sammie?" he asked gently.

She shook her head.

"What if I said I wanted to talk about it?"

She looked over at him.

"I'm scared, Samantha," his voice was a near whisper. "I'm really, really scared, baby."

"So am I," she admitted, and dissolved into tears.

Flack rolled over onto his back and gathered his wife into his arms, pulling her down almost fully on top of him as he stroked her back softly and buried his face in her hair.

"I don't want there to be anything wrong with the baby, Donnie," she cried. "And I can't help but think that the doctors are wrong. And I'm worried that you'll hate me because of it and take off and…"

"Why in the hell would I do that?" he asked. "You're my wife and I love you. And if there is something wrong with the one baby, especially what he originally suspected, we both know that that's something that just happens right at conception. It was no ones fault. Neither of us did anything wrong. Neither of us causes something like that."

"I don't think I can do it," she sobbed. "If there's something wrong I don't think I could take that, Donnie."

"So what do you want to do, babe? Keep just the two and put the third one up for adoption? That's our child, Sammie. Regardless. It's our baby."

She sniffled. "It's a boy," she said.

"How do you know that?"

"I just feel it. Like I did when I was pregnant with K before we found out he was a boy. Mother's intuition, I guess."

"And the other two?"

"Girls. I just know it. We already know they're identical. Two girls and one boy."

He smiled at the thought of having not one, but two baby girls. "We're going to have to break out that Irish baby names book soon and write down lots of ideas for both boys and girls," he told her.

She nodded and sat up. "I keep praying to God to make everything okay," she whispered.

He reached up to brush her tears away with gentle fingertips. "And if it's not, Sammie?"

"Than I keep praying that you'll love all of us no matter what."

He sat up and took her face in his hands and kissed her softly. "There's nothing in this world that could ever make me stop loving you."

She smiled and rested her forehead against his nose.

He closed his eyes and dropped a hand to her stomach. "We're going to be okay. All of us."

"Just promise me you'll take care of us," she pleaded.

"I promise. I'll always be here to take care of my family."

And he vowed that in this life and the next that he would stay true to his word.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! And those that are just reading yet adding me to alerts and favourites. Hell, thanks to anyone that is showing even the smallest flicker of interest in this or my other work! I appreciate each and every one of you! Please review! Much love, BEG75**

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**Soccer-bitch**


	62. Long time, no see

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN**

**A/N: THE LAST SECTION OF THIS IS DEDICATED TO LAURZZ, MUCHMADNESS AND TWINKEYROCKS. AND ANY AND ALL LINDSAY FANS.**

**AND THANKS TO ALL OF THOSE WHO HAVE VOTED IN MY POLL. SO FAR, TURKS AND CAICOS IS FAR AHEAD!**

* * *

**Long time, no see**

"I was blown away  
What could I say  
It all seemed to make sense  
You've taken away everything  
That I can't do without

I try to see the good in life  
but the good things in life are hard to find  
I'll blow it away, blow it away  
Can we make this something good?

(Well I'll try to do it right this time around)  
Let's start over, I'll try to do it right this time around  
It's not over  
Cause a part of me is dead and in the love is killing me  
But you're the only one  
It's not over

I've taken all I can take  
And I cannot wait  
We've wasted too much time  
Being strong and holding on  
Can't let it bring us down  
My life with you means everything  
So I won't give up that easily  
I'll blow it away, blow it away  
Can we make this something good?"  
-It's Not Over, Daughtry

* * *

It was a blissfully warm and sunny late April day. While Lindsay had taken Kieran for an afternoon out at the Central Park Zoo, which, along with her eight dollar admission and his free pass, also gained them access to the park's equally as popular and enjoyable Tisch Children's Zoo, Samantha had taken the subway uptown to Cedars Sinai Medical Centre. She had given up driven almost a month before. It had less to do with the infamous, nerve wracking New York City traffic and more to do with the fact that she didn't feel comfortable, at that stage and size of her pregnancy, being behind the wheel and restrained with a seat belt. Although her husband disagreed with her and preferred she took cabs everywhere or got someone to drive her, public transportation was definitely the way to go. She stuck to travelling at the less populated times so she'd be able to sit down instead of having to tolerate the hours of back pain and swollen ankles she'd suffer from long after her trip. And thankfully, if she did have to travel during busy periods, people were gracious enough to offer her a seat. Although there was the odd jerk that insisted keeping their back pack or briefcase on the empty seat beside them or the university students who pretended to be sleeping or so engrossed in their Ipods or school work that they 'didn't notice her'.

The trip from lower Manhattan had been a smooth one. The train was relatively quiet and she'd found a seat tucked away in the back of the last car. Far enough from the other riders that no one would take it upon themselves to head over and make mindless chit chat with the 'lonely looking little girl', as someone had so sweetly referred to as a week before when she'd taken the subway to her doctor's appointment and had ignored everyone the same way as she had with that day's trip. The earphones to her pink Ipod tucked into her ears and music blasting into her cranium, a pen in her hand as she busied herself with writing in her recently purchased pregnancy journal. She wasn't a sociable traveller. At least not with strangers. And she didn't understand why, when people saw her alone and immersed in something, why the hell they couldn't just leave her alone.

She got off at the East 78th station and walked the three blocks to the hospital. Thankful she had managed to convince her husband to go into their closet during some packing and unearth the neon green Crocs that she had purchased when she was six months pregnant with Kieran and sick to death of aching feet. Another expectant mom at the OB's office had been the one to suggest she give them a try. That they worked wonders for the feet. She could still remember the mortified look on Flack's face when, after a shopping spree on her part, she'd showed up at the precinct and dropped the bag down on his desk with a "Look what I bought myself, honey!"

Like most guys, he had had his hopes up that she'd gone out and bought herself something sexy to wear to bed at night. A little treat for him. The gift that keeps on giving. So it had been somewhat amusing -hell it had been damn hilarious- to watch his crest fallen face and horrified eyes when he pulled those Crocs from the bag. He'd looked at her, looked at the shoes, and than back at her again.

"Why?" he asked simply.

She'd explained that they were supposedly the best thing to wear for sore and tired feet and to help take pressure off of the small of her back. Something she so desperately craved. He hadn't been too impressed with how hideously ugly they were style wise, never mind the eye catching colour. Nor had he been too thrilled when he spied the receipt for a hundred and twenty bucks. However, the moment her back pain began dwindling and she was able to stay on her feet longer, he'd quickly accepted the Crocs as part of her.

But it hadn't stopped him from adopting the name Kermit for her.

It was quarter to one when she strode through the front doors of the medical center. She made a pit stop at the gift shop and spent fifteen minutes browsing for a Congratulations on Your New Baby card and a small, simple gift. She chose a Precious Moments card and a beautiful white knit sweater, booties and cap set with sunny yellow ribbons and buttons that had been lovingly knitted by a hospital volunteer. She had it wrapped in tissue and placed in a gift bag and paused at the register to sign her family's names to the card before sealing it in the envelope and dropping it into the bag with the gift.

She took the elevator to the fourth floor and followed the signs pointing to the labour and delivery department and the adjacent post-partum wards. The room number was scrawled on a piece of paper that she had folded and slipped into the pocket of her soft yellow hoodie. Ward 4B, room 403. A spacious private room located near the nurses station that allowed mother and baby to bunk in together.

The door was cracked open and Sam heard no movement beyond it. She knocked lightly, hoping she wasn't disturbing anyone.

"Come in," Stella's voice called out. Sounding tired and weary

Sam pushed the door open and stepped inside. "Hope you're up for some company," she said. The curtains on the window were pulled back, allowing sunshine to tumble into the room. Cards and flowers and balloons lined the window ledge and took up every available space on the nightstands on either side of the bed.

Stella smiled brightly at the sight of her friend as she sat in bed, reading glasses on her face, a copy of Time magazine in her hands. "How are you?" she asked, setting her magazine aside and removing her glasses and setting them on the nightstand as the younger woman entered the room.

Sam looked far more pregnant than only five and a bit months and was absolutely adorable in a pair of denim capris with blue and red and white flowers embroidered around the cuffs and a simple t-shirt under a yellow zip up sweater. Her hair pushed away from her face with a white macramé head band and those hideous Crocs on her feet.

"Well I'm as big as a house and I have to pee every ten minutes," Sam sighed. "But I'm surviving. Look at me, Stel. I look like I'm nine months."

"You're beautiful," Stella assured her. "When Flack stopped by this morning he was all proud papa when I asked about you guys. You know what he's like. That permanent. big, goofy, prouder than a pig in shit grin. He was the same way when you were having Kieran."

"He's an amazing husband," Sam said. "And an even better father."

"Never thought I'd see the day Don Flack was either," Stella laughed.

Sam held aloft the bag. "I come bearing gifts."

Stella patted her lap. "You didn't have to bring anything, Samantha. Flack just brought flowers from the two of you this morning on his way out of town. The arrangement of tiger and stargazer lilies on the window ledge. In the pink frosted vase."

Sam placed the gift bag on her friend's lap and glanced over at the flowers. "They're beautiful. He buys you nicer flowers than he does me."

"I doubt that," Stella said. She reached up and pulled the younger, tinier woman into a warm, tight hug. "It's so good to see you, Sammie."

She smiled and pecked Stella's cheek. "It's good to see you, too, Stella. You look great. Don called to say that you said everything went nice and smooth. Like an hour of pushing and that was that."

"By the grace of God," Stella said.

"And Mac?" Sam asked gently.

"I called him when my water broke. He came right over to my place and brought me here. He just left about an hour ago. He stayed for the whole thing and over night. Right here in the room. The nurse brought him one of those crappy fold out cots."

Sam nodded in recognition. "Don knows those very, very, very well. And I'm glad to see Mac wasn't a total ass about things."

Stella grinned.

"Sorry," Sam said sheepishly. "I'm one to talk. Some days, I'm married to the king of total asses. I'm just glad that you didn't have to go through that alone. I know how terrified I was having K and I had my husband there. I didn't want you to have to do it by yourself."

"He stepped up," Stella assured her friend. "But knowing Mac for as long as I have, I expected nothing less from him."

Sam just nodded. Than gave a bright smile. "So?" she asked excitedly, pushing some curls behind Stella's ear. "Congratulations! How do you feel, mommy?"

"Tired," Stella responded with a sigh. And a loving, peaceful smile. She laid a hand on her stomach and rubbed it softly. "And empty. How weird is that? To feel empty?"

"It's normal," Sam assured her. "It's been a long nine months of carrying another human being inside of you. Having your body go through these crazy ass changes. I'd be worried if you didn't feel empty." She cast a glance over her shoulder at the barely day old infant, wrapped securely in a soft pink chenille blanket in the cot behind her. "How's she doing?" she asked Stella.

"Wonderful so far," the older woman replied, a wide, proud smile gracing her face. "She's eating good, sleeping even better, rarely crying. She reminds me a lot of how Kieran was when he was a baby."

"Well let's hope as she gets older, she's less like him" Sam laughed, as she turned and moved towards the infant. "She's beautiful, Stel," she breathed, reaching out to run a gentle hand over the baby's soft, medium brown curls and her chubby, rosy cheeks.

"Thanks. She's momma's pride and joy. Tiana Marie Taylor."

"Seven pounds, eighteen inches," Sam read off the card taped to the side of the bassinet. "She's a good size. And a great birthday gift too."

Stella slapped a palm to her forehead. "Jesus, I knew there was something I forgot. It's the twenty-seventh today. You're birthday was three days ago. And I didn't even get you a card let alone a present."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Sam told her. "You had more pressing things on your mind. Who knew you'd go into labour two days after my birthday? She's the perfect gift. Just small enough for me to wrap up and hide in my purse."

"I don't think Flack would appreciate that," Stella laughed. "You've already got three of your own on the way. Mind you, for a moment this morning, I thought he might run off with her. He's incredible with babies, Sam. The way he holds them and talks to them and touches them. He's just so, I don't know. Gentle. Very un-Flack like."

"He's got a gift," Sam agreed. "He was amazing with Kieran right from the get go. Some guys just have it. That special way about them. I lucked out and found one like that. Still makes me melt when I think about how he looked holding Kieran when he was so small. This big, strong, tough guy cuddling this tiny baby. Took my breath away every time I saw them together."

Stella smiled. "You're very lucky, you know. To have that. Someone so hands on and attentive."

"He's a blessing," Sam agreed. "May I?" she asked, nodding down at the infant.

"Of course. I'd be offended if you didn't want to hold her."

Sam smiled and reached into the bassinet and peeled off the chenille blanket and gently scooped up the tightly swaddled baby. Holding her so effortlessly and protectively in the crook of her left arm as she took a few steps to the bedside chair and slowly and carefully sat down.

"She's absolutely stunning, Stel," Sam told her friend, running a fingertip over the baby's nose and lips. "You must be so proud."

"I am," the other woman said. "She's the light of my life."

"She's just a doll," Sam said, gently touching Tiana's forehead.

* * *

"How have things been with you?" Stella asked, reaching for a Styrofoam cup of ice water on the nightstand and taking a long sip through the straw. "Pregnancy wise?"

"Okay," Sam replied, shrugging and sighing. "I'm only twenty three weeks but I feel forty-three. If I could have these kids now I would. It's been the longest five months of my life. I hope I get through the next nineteen weeks with my sanity still in check."

"Flack said you're going into the hospital early?"

Sam nodded. "Last five weeks I'm too spend in the hospital. My blood pressure's been climbing slowly but steadily and I've been having some cramping and pre-term contractions. They want to me to be where they can control things a lot easier if things start happening too soon. And my goddamn cervix is showing signs of thinning. Again. I was hoping we'd avoid that this time around. The first half of this pregnancy went so well."

"Well once you're in the hospital, you'll feel more at ease. Lots of doctors and nurses around to keep an eye on you. Whose going to watch Kieran?"

"Lindsay will be splitting the time with Don's mom. Linds would have been able to handle it full time, but Erica is due within the next six weeks so there's no way Linds would be able to take care of a newborn and a hellion like Kieran."

"And you guys are moving."

Sam sighed. "And we're moving," she concurred. "Only I'll be in the hospital when the move actually comes. Donnie says not to worry so much. That with Adam and Gus and everyone else that has volunteered to pitch in, he's not short on help. That things will go nice and smooth."

Stella smirked. "When a guy says things are going to go nice and smooth…"

"Is when you have cause for concern," Sam finished with a laugh. "I'm sure he's right. He's a big boy. More than capable of taking care of things. He's got my brother and his dad and Hawkes and Scagnetti and Chester offered their services, too. And Mac and Karly have been…" Sam bit her lip, horrified with herself for even mentioning the 'other woman's' name in Stella's presence.

"You don't have to hide it like she doesn't exist," Stella told her. "I know who she is and her name and what she looks like."

"It's just not the place or the time for me to bring up stuff like that," Sam said quietly, smiling down at the infant in her arms.

"There's never a place or a time for stuff like that," Stella sighed.

Sam gave a nod in agreement. "Did you hear?" she asked. "About Angell?"

"Bits and pieces," Stella replied. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that."

"She's been transferred so it's all good," Sam said. "We've tried to talk a couple of times, but…." she shrugged. "It's not the same."

"And Carmen and Speed?"

"Tim and Don don't talk. Tim avoids Donnie like the plague. And Donnie doesn't give a rats ass. He says that with friends like that, who needs enemies. Carmen and I talk and all that, but it's hard for her to stay neutral. I get where she's coming from. I mean, I'd defend my husband to death."

"I think most of us would," Stella said, shifting in the bed. She laid her head back against her pillow and watched the interaction between her friend and her daughter. The way Sam touched Tiana's face and head so gently and spoke to her in a soft, soothing voice. "You make a good mommy, Sam," she said.

The petite brunette smiled. "I'm still learning. Honestly, I'm scared to death about having three at once to look after at once. I'll have lots of help from Donnie's mother and his sister in law, but I'm freaking out about all the diapers and all the feedings and so on and so on. I am so glad I said to hell with the breast feeding after K and I'm just doing formula this time around. 'Cause honestly, I could not feed three of them any other way. That's just an insane thought. And Donnie's going to take some time off. Gerrard's letting him take his three weeks plus a month of vacation he has stored up. So I guess, in the long run, never taking holidays and living a relatively boring existence is going to pay off for us."

"You guys will do great," Stella promised her. "You've got each other. That's all you need."

"We've been through hell and back," Sam sighed. "Several times. But here we are. Still married. Raising a family. Despite the way people doubted us and questioned the way we handled things."

"You and Flack will probably be the ones that do make it to forever," Stella said. "I always thought that the longer you knew someone, whether it be as lovers right away or friends first and than whatever afterwards, that it meant you had a better shot at making things work. Apparently, I was wrong."

"You don't know that things are permanently shattered with you and Mac," Sam said gently. "I mean, this could be just some stupid phase he's going through. Like a midlife crisis. Next thing you know, he'll be driving a Ferrari to go along with the younger girlfriend. And than when he smartens the hell up, he'll realize how bad he screwed up and come back to his family."

"You watch too many primetime television shows," Stella snorted.

Sam couldn't help but laugh. "Donnie says the same thing. Because of these crazy ass dreams I've been having about him lately. About him having this sister named Samantha."

Stella frowned. "So he's married to a Sam and has a sister who's a Sam?"

"That's the funny thing. I'm not actually in the dream. It's just him. I think she's the only Sam."

"Sounds like some of that crap they've had on CBS lately," Stella said. "You know the kind where the main female character is always going through some kind of trauma? Every boyfriend she has is a stalker and she even killed one to save herself or some shit like that. Something bad is always happening to her and you start thinking, If one more goddamn thing happens to her or I see any more of her, I'm tossing the tv out the window."

Sam laughed. "There's a web site I visit. It's fan fiction. There's all kinds of stories like that and I just want to puke."

"You actually read stuff like that?"

"Hey, I'd write it if I had the time," Sam admitted. "Don thinks I'm nuts. But it's harmless fun and I…how did we ever get onto this topic?"

"It all started with Mac and his mid life crisis and his Ferrari," Stella said.

"Right…like I was saying, you don't know that things are over for good, Stel. I'll give it a few months and he'll come wandering back. I mean, things just don't fall apart that quickly. No one dumps their wife out of the blue for someone."

"It wasn't out of the blue, Samantha," Stella told her. "It's not like he just met her one night and broke up our marriage the next."

"It was a couple months," Sam said. "I know that much but I…"

"Five months," Stella admitted. "Almost six."

Sam blinked. "But Karly said she met Mac two months ago and…"

"Mac and I have been living under separate roofs for almost six months," Stella told her.

Surprise registered on Sam's face. "And no one knew?" she asked.

"We agreed to keep up appearances at work," Stella replied. "Mac moved out but he kept his mailing address where I was and we agreed to keep our rings on and be civil at work. So no one would suspect anything and ask questions. Because once the questions start, so does the gossip. You know what that place is like."

Sam nodded. "But what happened, Stel?" she asked. "You and Mac loved each other for so long? You guys waited so long to finally be together? If there was ever a couple I'd put money on, it was you and Mac. What happened?"

"Sometimes people can love each other to death but can't stand being together," Stella said. "I think we wanted so bad to make things work that we'd forgotten how to be friends and have fun together. Things changed between Mac and I when we got married. We didn't have that same working relationship anymore. And that was something we valued. And once we lost that…"

"Not always easy working with your husband day in and day out," Sam sighed. "Seeing him on the job and than having to go home and see him there too? Honestly, there's days I want to phone in sick just so I don't have to work with Donnie. Because when we get home, it's hard to leave work behind and we get caught up in talking about cases when we should be talking about each other and K."

"Do you ever think of doing anything else, Sam?" Stella asked. "I mean, you're amazing at your job and you've been an asset to the lab. But to preserve your marriage, have you ever thought about going into another field?"

"I've thought about it a few times," she admitted. "I've never gone more than the thinking mind you. There's something else I've always wanted to do. Even before I met Donnie and we started a family and got married."

"What's that?" Stella inquired.

"I'd like to go back to school. Get my masters in profiling."

"So why don't you?" Stella asked.

Sam glanced down at her stomach.

"I mean after you have the babies. Maybe when all your kids are in school full time. Why don't you go back and further your education?"

Sam shrugged. "Like I said, it's just a thought. And it's really expensive and Donnie and I couldn't afford that."

"There's bursaries," Stella told her. "Student loans."

The brunette just nodded.

"You don't think Flack would go for that idea?"

"I know that he'd support me no matter what," Sam said. "He's just that type of person. He has my back no matter what I choose to do. It's just…I don't know. It's a lot of time I'd have to put into it and I'm worried what it might to do our family. What it might do to us."

"A strong marriage can overcome anything," Stella reminded her.

"So what's yours and Mac's excuse?" Sam asked.

The older woman grinned. "You just have this uncanny way of turning things around on people, you know that?"

Sam grinned. "It's a gift," she said. "But seriously,Stella. I know, in my heart, that this thing with Mac? It's temporary. And he'll smarten the hell up and come home. Where he belongs. You just need to have faith."

Stella just nodded.

"Unless…" Sam's eyes narrowed. "You either don't have faith or you don't want it to work."

The other woman didn't respond.

"Wow…" Sam said. "I guess in this case silence says everything. I'm sorry, Stella, I didn't know…"

"I don't know either, Sam," she admitted, her voice a near whisper. "I just don't know."

Sam glanced up and over at her friend. Slightly startled by the tears now trailing down Stella's face. Stella was always the strong one. The rock. The one that took control and did the comforting if need be.

"What am I going to do?" Stella cried. "My husband is gone…he's with another woman and now I have her…" she nodded in Tiana's direction. "What am I going to do?"

"Just be a mommy," Sam told her. "That's what she needs you to be. Her mommy. And you know that whatever you need, big or small, Donnie and I are always around, right?"

Stella nodded. "Thanks, Samantha. I…I appreciate it. I just…feel so lost, you know?"

Sam nodded and looked down at the baby sleeping so peacefully on her arm. "She's so beautiful, Stel," she said. "And I know it might not seem like it right now, but you can do this. On your own. You're the strongest person I know."

"Sometimes I hate being the strong one," Stella sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Can we talk about something else now?" she pleaded.

"Of course," Sam said with a smile. "Whatever you want to talk about is fine with me."

"Let's talk about normal, every day things," Stella said. "Like what you're doing after you leave here today. What kind of wild and crazy plans do you have?"

"Actually," Sam told her. "I'm taking a trip into Brooklyn. Crown Heights."

Stella's eyes widened. "Alone? Are you nuts? Pregnant and alone?"

"I have some business I need to take care of," Sam reasoned.

"You're insane. Why in the hell would you go alone?"

"It's something I need to deal with by myself," the younger woman said.

"What can be so important that…"

"His name is Lincoln Scott," Sam told her. "He's someone from my mother's past. Someone that my step father thinks I should get in contact with."

"Because…"

Sam sighed. "Because apparently this Lincoln Scott could be my real father."

Stella blinked. "Excuse me? I thought that…"

"That my real scumbag of a father was dead? So did I. So you can imagine how it felt to have that bombshell dumped on my head."

"Are you okay?" Stella asked. "Hearing something like that?"

She shrugged. "It's shocking. But I've come to expect just about anything with my wackjob of a mother."

Stella couldn't help but laugh. "You sounded so much like your husband just than."

"Isn't he such a bad influence?" Sam grinned.

"Does this Lincoln Scott even know that you're coming to see him?" Stella asked. "Or that he even has a daughter? Or might have a daughter?"

"He doesn't know I'm coming," Sam admitted. "But he knows who I am. Whether or not he ever suspected I was his," she shrugged. "Who knows."

Stella sighed heavily. "Be careful, Sammie. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Physically or emotionally?" Sam asked.

"Both," Stella replied.

Sam didn't respond. She just hoped and prayed she came out of the ordeal with one thing.

Peace of mind.

* * *

They had lunch at the McDonald's a block from the north west entrance of Central Park. Lindsay dined on a Big Mac with extra large fries and a humongous Coke while Kieran made short work of his Chicken McNugget Happy Meal. Apple slices and caramel dipping sauce in place of the fries. Daddy's orders. But what daddy didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and Linds split her fries with her 'nephew'. Getting one of those massive Flack smiles that dimpled Kieran's cheeks and made those big blue eyes dance and sparkle. That smile was all the thanks Lindsay Monroe would ever need.

They had walked the short distance of the park. Enjoying the mild temperatures and the bright sunshine and the soft breeze that rustled the tree tops. She'd used the tether she'd packed earlier in Kieran's knapsack to attach one end to the stroller and the other to the toddler's wrist. So that he could walk alongside of her instead of whining and moaning about being closed in in his buggy. To Kieran, nothing was greater than being able to walk and see things up close and personal.

His little legs had rebelled on him the moment they'd met the park and she'd had to buckle him in his stroller and push the rest of the way. And now, as they stood, in front of the tiger enclosure, watching as the three beautiful, majestic orange and white cats basked in the sun while on lookers chattered noisily and snapped pictures, Lindsay thought back to her first crime scene five years ago. When she arrived at the same enclosure where a man had apparently been mauled to death by a tiger. How she had met Danny for the very first time and he'd proceeded to allow her to make an ass out of herself by telling her that Mac like to be called 'sir'.

In the end, the victim, whose name had long ago escaped her, had already been dead. But she'd come out of that case with a little more edge to her. Some street smarts.

And one hell of a crush on Danny Messer.

Things had never been easy for them. She'd pushed him away when personal problems overwhelmed her and became almost to much for her to bear. He'd chased her down to Montana and supported her and held her hand in that court room when the verdict came down on Daniel Cadence, the man who had so viciously gunned down her three friends ten years earlier. And when that forewoman announced "Guilty" in that clear, confidant voice, Lindsay had felt the way Danny had squeezed her hand and had felt the way her own body seemed to relax against his.

And that kiss. Or the near kiss, as they had dubbed it afterwards. Her heart had honestly stopped beating for a moment. And had never returned to normal even five years later.

She felt a tug on the bottom of her soft blue hoodie. It broke her out of her reverie and she looked down and into the huge blue eyes and bright smile of Kieran Flack.

"Hey, buddy," she said cheerily and crouched down beside the stroller. "Do you see the tigers?" she took his tiny hand and pointed it in the direction of the animals. "Aren't they beautiful? Did you know that Auntie Linds and Uncle Danny met for the very first time because of a tiger? And you're daddy was there, too. Sneezing away. This was long before he ever met your mommy. So you weren't even a twinkle in her eye than. Mind you, Auntie Linds sure wishes your mommy was around back than. Having her around to talk to and give me a shoulder to cry on sure would have done me a world of good. But than again, so would have your mom and I being more civil to each other when we did meet."

"Mommeee?" Kieran asked, leaning forward in his stroller and looking right and left.

"No, mommy's not here," Lindsay told him. "Do you miss mommy?"

He shook his head.

Lindsay laughed.

Kieran beamed and reached out and grabbed her nose.

"Honk, honk," Lindsay grinned at the giggle that erupted from the toddler. "Honk, honk."

"Car," Kieran said. "Car."

"That's right!" Lindsay cried happily. "That is the noise a car makes? How about this noise? Meow..meow..meow…"

"Cat," Kieran chirped.

"Awesome, buddy!" she praised. "And how about this? Woof, woof. Woof, woof."

"Dog!" Kieran squealed.

"You're amazing, K!" she gushed and held out her hand. "Give me a high five!"

Kieran happily obliged, smacking his tiny hand against hers.

"You're such a good boy," Lindsay told him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before standing up. "You want to go and see the elephants next?"

"Ucks!" Kieran exclaimed. "Ucks!"

"You and your ducks," Lindsay laughed.

"Daddy ucks," Kieran cried, rocking back and forth excitedly in his stroller, encouraging her to push him. "Ucks! Daddy ucks!"

"Daddy always takes you to see the ducks doesn't he," Lindsay commented, using the toe of her Keds to pop open the brakes on the stroller's back wheels. "You and daddy come and see the ducks every Sunday morning."

"Daddy ucks!" Kieran repeated.

"Well than that's what we'll go and do," she told him, backing the buggy up and turning it left. "You and I will go and see the ducks and give them some bread. I think I packed some in your bag. Are you hungry, K? Do you need something to drink?"

"Dwink!" he agreed whole heartily. "Dwink!"

"Okay," she laughed. "Hold your horses and I'll get you your drink and…" her eyes widened as she realized the Bob the Builder knapsack wasn't dangling from the handles of the stroller. She had put it down on the rock next to where they'd stopped to look at the tigers. "Shit!" she cried, than clasped a hand over her mouth.

"Shit!" Kieran exclaimed. "Shit!"

"No!" Lindsay cried. "Auntie Linds didn't say shit! She didn't! She said sit!"

"Shit!" Kieran insisted. "Shit, shit, shit, shit."

"Why do you have to be so smart?" Lindsay asked, whipping the stroller back in the direction of the tiger exhibit. "Why do you have to be so much like your mother sometimes?"

Kieran shrugged nonchalantly and stretched out in his stroller and plopped his feet up into the tray.

Smart ass little bugger, she thought. You're a Flack through and through.

* * *

The Bob the Builder knapsack was thankfully on the rock where she had left it. Lindsay breathed a sigh of relief and scooped it up and unzipped it and pulled out the sippy cup of apple juice. "Here you go, K," she carried it around the front of the stroller. "Here's your drink. You can…" she frowned at the sight before her. Two tiny feet. One with the Diego running shoe still on, the other one covered by a blue and red stripped sock. "Where's your shoe?" she asked.

"Sue!" he answered, pointing to the one on his foot.

"I know you have that one. Where's your other one?"

He touched his other foot. "No sue," he told her.

"You're going to be the death of me, Kieran Flack," Lindsay informed him. "You are way too much like you're father," she sighed and stood up and went back around to the rear of the stroller and swung it around. "Now we're going to have to…."

"Is this what you're looking for?" a soft female voice asked. The missing Diego shoe in her hands.

Lindsay blinked. Not at the sight of that shoe in that hand. But who that hand and that voice belonged to. A voice she hadn't heard in more than two years. A voice and a face she had hoped to never encounter again.

"Rikki," she said simply.

"Hi, Lindsay," the other woman greeted. "Long time no see."

Not long enough, Lindsay thought, but put on a brave smile. "It has been," she agreed, and took the shoe from Rikki's hand. "Thank you," she said, and went around to the front of the buggy to put that shoe back where it belonged. "He's got a habit of pulling off his shoes and socks," she sighed. "He loves to go barefoot. And run naked around the house for that matter."

Rikki gave a small laugh. "Typical. My son does that all the time," she gestured to the stroller alongside of her.

"Your son?" Lindsay asked, glancing over her shoulder at the babbling, happy toddler in the red and white buggy. He had tousled dirty blond hair and creamy white skin. And big blue eyes. Lindsay's heart began to pound furiously in her chest. Her stomach knotted up. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead. She felt physically sick.

"Patrick," Rikki said. "He's almost eighteen months."

"He's adorable," Lindsay hoped she sounded more convincing to Rikki than she did to her own ears.

"He's mine and my husband's whole world," Rikki gushed.

Lindsay blinked. "Husband?"

The other woman nodded and pointed in the direction of tall, well built man by a bank of benches several yards away. Attached to his chest was a Snugli. In which was a tiny infant clad in pink, a wide brimmed sunhat on her head and little white socks with lace trim on her impossibly small feet. The husband had tousled blond hair. And when he caught his wife looking at him and beamed, the exact same smile as his son.

Lindsay felt relief wash over her entire body.

Rikki noticed the expression on the other woman's face. "Oh my God…you didn't think that…" she nodded down at her son. "That my son was Danny's did you?"

Lindsay nodded.

"I assure you, he's not," Rikki told her. "I have the paternity test at home to show that my son's DNA matches his father's. My husband's."

"Did Danny know that…"

Rikki shook her head. "I never told him. I didn't see a reason to unless there was a question to who Patrick's dad was. That's Eric," she smiled over at her husband. "And that's our new daughter, Lily."

"You have a beautiful family, Rikki," Lindsay told her.

"I'm surprised to see you. Last I heard you had left New York City."

"I came back not too long ago," Lindsay said.

"And you and Danny?"

"Engaged," Lindsay said, and held out her hand.

"It's beautiful," Rikki gushed, admiring the ring. She smiled down at Kieran. "And who is this handsome little fellow?"

"This is Kieran," Lindsay told her.

"That's a beautiful name. Unusual."

"Means small and dark," the other woman said. "At least the dark part fits."

Rikki laughed and crouched down beside the buggy. "Hi, cutie!" she jiggled Kieran's foot. "You're just a sweetheart. Look at those huge blue eyes! Such expression in them. Are you a cutie?"

Kieran smiled. A smile that clearly meant Damn right, I'm cute. I'm the cutest thing going. Buy me some ice cream right now woman, kind of cute.

"Where does he get the dark hair from?" Rikki asked Lindsay as she stood up.

"From his father," the other woman replied.

Rikki's eyes narrowed. "I thought that you and Danny…"

"This isn't my son," Lindsay laughed. "This is my nephew. Danny's godson. He belongs to my best friend. I work as her nanny. Kieran looks just like his father."

"Father must be a hell of a looker than," Rikki said. "He's a friend of Danny's?"

"Don Flack," Lindsay told her. "The detective that booked you after you stole Danny's gun? He's Kieran's father."

Rikki nodded in recognition. She sighed heavily. "That seems like a lifetime ago," she said.

Lindsay didn't respond.

"I was just in so much pain over Ruben that I…" Rikki paused and took a deep breath. "I was grieving and I made stupid decisions I wish I could take back."

Lindsay reached out and laid a comforting hand on the other woman's arm. "We all make mistakes, Rikki. It's letting go of them and getting on with our lives that matter the most."

Rikki nodded. "I never thought I'd have a chance at happiness at Ruben died. Than Eric came along and now look. An amazing husband. Two beautiful kids."

"And you deserve that Rikki," Lindsay told her. "That kind of love and happiness. You deserve that and Ruben would want that for you."

"I miss him so much…" Rikki breathed, fighting tears.

Lindsay gave a small, reassuring smile. "Day by day," she said. "Just take it day by day."

"I will," Rikki told her. "And I am. I'm coping and moving on. Slowly but surely."

"That's what's important," Lindsay assured her.

"Honey!" Eric called to her over the noise of the crowd. "Lily needs her feeding!"

"I should go," Rikki said, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her t-shirt. "It was nice seeing you again, Lindsay. I wish you and Danny the best of luck and all the love and the happiness in the world."

"Thank you," she responded. "And it was nice seeing you, too. Seeing you so happy and with your family. Good luck. With anything and everything."

"Bye, Lindsay," she offered her hand.

Lindsay ignored and drew the woman into a tight, warm hug. "Goodbye, Rikki," she said, and than released the other woman.

Rikki gave a smile and offered Kieran a wave and than turned to rejoin her family.

As Lindsay watched the other woman head off, it was than that she realized, with that simple embrace and goodbye, that she had finally let Rikki Sandoval go.

For good.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing and adding me to alerts and favourites! I appreciate each and every one of you! So please review folks! Makes my day! Much love, BEG75**

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	63. The truth shall set you free

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK, BABY K AND THE SOON TO BE TRIPPIES.**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS! MUCH LOVE TO ALL OF YOU!**

**LINCOLN SCOTT IS BASED ON ACTOR VIGGO MORTENSEN. ME LOVES HIM. BUT I AM THINKING MORE VIGGO AS ARAGORN IN THE LOTR MOVIES. AND I GAVE HIM GOLDEN EYES FOR THE SAKE OF VFB.**

* * *

**The truth shall set you free**

"Forgive, sounds good  
Forget, I'm not sure I could  
They say time heals everything  
But I'm still waiting  
I'm through with doubt  
There's nothing left for me to figure out  
I've paid a price  
And I'll keep paying  
I'm not ready to make nice  
I'm not ready to back down  
I'm still mad as hell and  
I don't have time to go round and round and round  
It's too late to make it right  
I probably wouldn't if I could'  
Cause I'm mad as hell  
Can't bring myself to do what it is you think I should

I know you said  
Can't you just get over it  
It turned my whole world around  
And I kind of like it."  
-Not Ready to Make Nice, The Dixie Chicks

* * *

She stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the grey brick four storey walk up building before her. Old newspapers and fliers were scattered along the ground and up the small flight of stairs that led to the front entrance. Trash cans and recycling bins were over turned, spewing contents out onto the sidewalk and onto the road, pop cans and shattered beer bottles and rotting pieces of food collecting in the gutters and clinging to the storm drains. The building itself had seen better days. There was a small hole in the front door, obviously made from a bullet fired from the street, the glass splintering and spider webbing around it and across the entire pane. Several of the building's open windows were missing screens, and with the strong breeze assaulting the city, curtains and blinds were fluttering in the wind and slapping against the bricks.

Crown Heights, Brooklyn. Certainly not her first choice for a leisurely day trip. Despite her better judgement, she had opted to go alone and deal with the ghosts and demons of her past by herself. There was no sense getting her husband or her brother involved in something that she could handle on her own. They'd only want to follow her around like bodyguards. Protect her as if she was some piece of china that would shatter if someone so much as bumped into her. She wasn't an invalid and she wasn't some helpless little girl that needed protection. It wasn't her first time in the neighbourhood and it wouldn't be the last. She'd hung out with kids, most with gang affiliations and their name in high regards on the street, who'd lived in that same building seventeen years ago. Even back then there was garbage on the steps and broken windows and the sounds of arguing and glass and other items shattering as tenants fought in their apartments. Crack heads that slept in the stairwells and begged money off of residents and resorted to muggings if need be. Prostitutes that did their duty in the whatever dark crevice and corner they could find.

No, getting Flack and Adam involved would have only caused her a world of grief. Her husband would have had a conniption had she even brought up the idea of going to Crown Heights on her own. He was regular there, answering more homicide calls in that neighbourhood than any other in all the boroughs. He would have just flat out forbidden here to go and that would have been the end of that. No amount of arguing or pleading would have changed his mind. And she certainly wasn't about to tell him that she was running off to meet the man that was possibly her birth father. Especially when there was no proof that this man from her mother's past was anything more than that. Keeping that information to herself was the best thing to do at this point in time. Until she had something concrete to back the suspicion up, she was keeping her mouth shut.

Especially to her brother. After everything they had been through together over the years, both the psychological and the physical abuse and torment, the one thing that had always held them together and kept them ground was the bond that they shared as brother and sister. And if she was to go ahead and tell him that she suspected they didn't have the same blood flowing through them and another man may be her father…that would destroy Adam. And if, in the end, it proved that Lincoln Scott had no bearing on their lives whatsoever, that the suspicion was proved groundless, she feared that her relationship with her brother would never be fully repaired.

That was not a risk she was willing to take. Which was why, despite the logical side of her brain telling her she was insane to be in that neighbourhood alone, Samantha found herself slowly mounting the steps of that unkempt, nearly condemned walk up apartment by herself.

She stepped inside the small vestibule. It reeked of urine and human feces and she coughed noisily to kept back the bile that rose in her throat. The lock on the door leading into the lobby was busted, allowing anyone off the street to wander in and gain access to the apartments.

Finding Lincoln Scott had been relatively easy. No dipping into the NYPD data base of CODIS. She'd simply opened up a phone book at a pay phone at work her first day back at work following the Arizona trip and looked up the name. There were three L Scott's in Crown Heights and she'd placed a call to each. Pretending to be an alumni of her mother's graduating class who was hunting down old classmates in hopes of them attending a reunion. Only one of the those Lincoln Scott's had called her back saying her remembered a Lynne Ross.

Sam had her man in less than two hours. But it had taken her over a month to get up both the time, and the courage, to do anything about it.

But she was there now. Her heart pounding in her chest and her stomach feeling sick as she paused, her hand in a fist, before knocking on the door to apartment 202. From inside she could hear classical music playing and the shuffling of feet. The thought that that may be her real father, just mere metres away from her was both exhilarating and frightening as hell.

There's no turning back now, she thought. You've come too far to not go through with this. You've risked a lot just by coming here. You have no choice but to do this.

To find out the truth.

* * *

Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly before steeling herself and knocking on the heavy wooden door. It took several tries, each one louder than the one before, before the music was finally turned down and she heard footsteps growing closer and closer to the door. There was a soft scraping noise as the cover for the peep hole was drawn back. Followed by the sound of a chain being pulled across and a dead bolt snapping open.

The door swung open. Bringing her face to face with who could be her true biological father for the first time. Lincoln Scott was no taller than six feet and no heavier than 180 pounds. He had dark hair that tumbled to his shoulders and a couple days worth of stubble on his face. And golden eyes. Eyes that he shared with the young woman standing on his door step. He wore a simple black t-shirt and pair of faded and tattered blue jeans, both items of clothing bearing various coloured streaks of paint. The scent of both pain and paint thinner hanging thick in the air.

"Can I help you?" he asked. His voice deep and smooth.

"Are you Lincoln Scott?" Sam inquired nervously.

He looked her up and down. "Do I know you?" he asked.

"No…maybe…I don't know…my name is Samantha Flack…I'm with the NYPD. I'm a crime scene investigator and…"

"Is this about the shooting that took place downstairs three nights ago? I already told some colleagues of yours everything I knew."

"This isn't about any crime. I'm not here on business. I'm here to…my maiden name was Ross. Lynne Ross is my mother."

He blinked in recognition of the name.

"Someone told me that you and her knew each other in high school," Sam continued. "They gave me your name and…"

"Is something wrong with your mother? Has something happened to her?"

"No. It's just…" she took a deep breath and struggled with emotion. "Someone told me that they thought you could be my father. And I needed to come here and see you with my own two eyes and talk to you and…" she sighed heavily. "And now I feel really stupid for ever coming here. I'm sorry, I never should have come here."

She turned and walked away. Anxious to just get the hell out of there. To just go home and try and convince herself that that day had never happened.

"Your mother told me about you," Scott called from behind her, standing in the hallway outside of his apartment. "When she was pregnant with you. She told me that there was a chance you could be mine."

Sam stopped and turned. "You knew about me?" she asked, approaching him slowly and cautiously.

"Your mother called me when you were born. To tell me your name, how much you weighed. What hospital she was in. In case I wanted to go and see you."

"Did you?" Sam asked. "Go to the hospital and see you?"

"I stood at the nursery window and looked at you. I saw the name written on a card attached to one of the bassinets. That's how I knew which baby was you. You were tiny. No bigger than a minute. Head full of dark hair and a hell of a set of lungs. The nurses were trying their damndest to look after you and you were screaming loud enough to wake the dead."

She gave a small smile. "You just saw me that one time?"

"There were a few more times. Your mother and I…" he raked his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily. "This isn't really the place to be talking about this. Out in the hallway like this. Why don't you come inside and sit down. You've come here to see me so obviously doing this was important to you. Did you have far to come?"

"Midtown Manhattan," she said. "I live in lower Manhattan but I was visiting a friend who just had a baby and I…"

"Why don't you come inside," he suggested, laying a gentle hand on her elbow. "I can make you something to drink? Tea? Do you like tea?"

"De-caf," she said. "I have to drink de-caf."

"How far along are you?" he asked curiously, leading her into the apartment.

"Almost six months. I know. I look like I'm ready to pop. There's three in there though, so…"

"Three?" Scott's eyes widened.

She nodded, rubbing her stomach softly. "Surreal, huh?"

"No more surreal than someone who could be your daughter showing up on your door step thirty-four years later," he reasoned.

"You can say that again," she said.

* * *

Lindsay checked her watch for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past hour alone. She and Kieran had arrived back home at quarter to four. Helium and mylar balloons in the shapes of various zoo animals attached to the handles of the stroller as the toddler inside slept soundly. Exhausted from his busy, productive day.

Samantha had said she would be home no later than four o'clock from spending the afternoon visiting Stella. And while Lindsay didn't mind sticking around later -she didn't really have anything better to do with Danny working and spending time with her nephew was her favourite past time and hardly seemed like a job- she grew more and more worried with each passing minute. And when she hadn't heard from her best friend and Sam hadn't come walking in the door by four thirty, Lindsay decided it was time to start being proactive instead of sitting around stewing and tying herself into knots out of worry. She grabbed the cordless phone and called Sam's cell phone. Frowning when the first three calls rang several times before going to voice mail, and the fourth going straight to the answering service. Most likely because the phone had been turned off after the first string of unanswered calls. She got the number for the hospital and had herself patched through to Stella's room. The older woman telling her, worry in her own voice at the prospect of their friend not yet returning home, that Sam had left shortly after two thirty. That she had said she had some errands to run.

Lindsay didn't like the sounds of that. A pregnant woman out running errands in New York City by herself? Sam was completely mental if she thought that that was okay. Maybe it was because Flack was out of town and she knew she could get away with more. One of those, when the cat's away the mouse will play scenarios.

Whatever the hell it was or whatever was going through her best friends head, Lindsay Monroe was not impressed. She left a nasty message on Sam's voice mail and than went in search of the address book she knew the other woman jotted down all the names and numbers of anyone in the city she knew. Someone had to have at least heard from her. Someone had to know whether or not she was okay.

She searched the master bedroom first. Rummaging through the drawers on the night stands and on the dressers. Coming up completely empty handed. She scoured through the piles of magazines on the coffee table in the living room and looked through the books that inhabited the entertainment unit. Still nothing. She went into the kitchen and looked through cupboards and drawers. Growing more frustrated and impatient each time her search proved fruitless.

She checked the table last. Thumbing through case folders that had been tossed there. Leafing through opened and unopened mail and flyers. Moving things out of the way until she finally spotted it. A Hello Kitty address book.

Only Sam, she thought with a grin and scooped it up. She flipped it open, prepared to start at A and just call whatever name she came across, when a piece of folded paper fluttered to the floor. She sighed and bent down to pick it up. Curious, she opened it and studied the black writing before her.

_**Lincoln Scott. 2312 Jackson Apt 202 Crown Heights. April 26/10. YOU MUST DO THIS!**_

"What in the hell, Samantha…" Lindsay said aloud, and tossing the address book on the table, hurried for the cordless phone sitting on top of the fridge. She pressed talk and dialled the familiar number. "Danny…" she said before he got the chance to get the words Detective Messer out of his mouth. "I need you to do me a really big favour."

"Depends what kind of favour you need," he teased. "A 'can you pick something up for me at the store kind of favour?' or a 'Can you take an hour dinner break and come home and ravish me right now' kind of favour?"

Lindsay managed a small smile. "I wish it was something so simple as picking up milk on the way home or stopping by to get your rocks off," she sighed.

"Hey! Not just my rocks, babe. Your's too. It would be all about you."

"Unfortunately, this is something a little more serious."

A pregnant pause. "What's going on?" Danny's voice sounded concerned.

"It's Samantha," Lindsay told him. "I need you to…"

"What about to her? She sick? Having pain or something? Is something wrong with the babies? I tell ya, Flack goes out of town one day and all hell breaks loose. He's going to seriously rip my head off and shit down my throat if something happens to either Sam or them babies."

"She's fine. The babies are fine. Or at least I'm hoping they are…"

"Montana…what's going on?"

"Sam told me she was going to be home from visiting Stella at four. It's five to five now Danny. She hasn't called to touch base with me and let me know where she is and her cell phone is turned off. I called Stella at the hospital and she said Sam left more than two and a half hours ago."

"Well maybe she's running some errands," Danny reasoned. "Her cell could have died on her. She probably forgot to charge it. Brooklyn would forget her head if it wasn't attached."

"I went through her address book, to get some numbers to call other people she knew to see if she had stopped by one of their places. And this piece of paper fell out of it. There's a name and an address and today's date and the words 'you must do this written on it'."

"What's the address?" Danny asked. Sounding completely unimpressed.

"It's an apartment building in Crown Heights."

"Crown Heights?!" Danny nearly shouted. "What the fuck is she doing in Crown Heights?!"

"I don't know. Sam would never do anything to put her or those babies in jeopardy. I just hope nothing's happened to her or them for being stupid enough to go somewhere like that."

"Give me that goddamn address," Danny said angrily. "I'll go and drag her out of there if I have to."

Lindsay rattled off the name and the address. "What do you think she's doing there?"

"I have a couple of ideas and none of them are good. And if I go there and find out she's been messing around behind Flack's back with this guy…"

"I hardly doubt that's what it is, Danny," Lindsay said. "She loves Flack. She loves her life with him. She's pregnant with his children."

"Maybe they're not his children," he reasoned. "Maybe she's wondering who they belong to. Flack or this Lincoln Scott character."

Lindsay frowned. "Now that's overreacting."

"Yeah…well anything is possible, right? Shit like this happens all the time."

"Not with two people that love each other as much as they do," Lindsay argued. "Just find her, Danny. Getting pissed at her isn't going to solve anything."

"It would scare her a bit. Put the fear of God into her. Make her fuss up to Flack about whatever it is she's up to."

"I'm sure it's nothing as scandalous as you're imagining. Sam would never, ever cheat on Flack. And she wouldn't go somewhere like Crown Heights if she didn't have a damn good reason. She'd never do anything to put those babies at risk and you know it. There's got to be some kind of explanation."

"She better goddamn have a really, really good one," Danny declared. "I'll go and get her. Bring her home. But I'm telling you right now, she's messing around on Flack and I'll…"

"That's not what it is," Lindsay insisted. "She loves him too much."

"We don't know what goes on behind closed doors, Montana."

"She would never do something like that," Lindsay remained firm. "She's got a reason to be there. You going ape shit on her? Won't solve a damn thing."

"She'll be lucky that's all I do," Danny said. "I'm on my way there now."

"Thank you, baby. I love you."

"Love ya," he said and hung up.

I'm going to kick your ass, Samantha Flack, Lindsay thought as she hung up the phone and began pacing the small kitchen.

* * *

Samantha took in her surroundings. The living room was small and sparsely furnished. A ragged looking cream coloured wing back chair sat diagonally from a futon style couch with a burgundy cover over the mattress. Along one wall was floor to ceiling book shelf . Filled with a wide variety of hard and soft cover novels. Everything from Stephen King to Nitzche to poetry by Yates and Robert Frost. A eclectic mix to say the least. Revealing someone with an open mind and a wide variety of tastes and interest in different cultures. There was no television in the room. Only an small stereo that had obviously seen better days. What captured her eye, and her fascination, was the numerous wooden art easels displaying various sized water colour paintings. There were some portraits and still life, but most were landscapes of various places in New York City. Exceptional work that belonged hanging on a gallery wall as opposed to a cramped apartment in Crown Heights, Brooklyn.

Sitting on the cluttered coffee table were stacks of coloured photographs. Of the same scenes that had been so expertly painted. On the floor by the window, a paint splattered drop cloth covered the hard wood. Brushes and paints of various colours and a bucket of water sat below an unfinished piece. The Brooklyn Bridge, standing below and to the side of it, while looking into Manhattan at twilight.

"Your work is beautiful," Sam praised, admiring the finished paintings a little closure. "Have you always been an artist?"

"It's a passion of mine," Scott told her from where he prepared tea in the galley kitchen. "I've been picking up a brush since I was in my early teens. But I'm more of a starving artist. I've never been able to quite get my foot in the door of the New York City art scene."

"Any scene in New York City is a bitch to get into unfortunately," Sam sighed. "What do you do job wise?"

"I'm a freelance photographer. Wedding photos, engagement pictures. You name it, I take it. I also take photos around the city for my own personal use. For my painting. My full time job is with the department of transportation. I've been there for nearly thirty three years. Started with the maintenance crew fresh out of high school. I take care of mechanical issues with the tracks or the trains themselves. Fix things that need to be fixed. Things like that."

"There has to be some way of getting your name and your work out there," Sam said, ignoring her cell phone as it rang, for the third time in less than fifteen minutes, inside of her purse. "Because these are just too amazing not to be seen and appreciated by people. Do you ever sell them?"

"Painting is mostly for my own enjoyment. But I have given some away, sold a couple here and there…"

"Well they're exquisite. This one here, of Tavern on the Green at night? It has special meaning to me."

"How so?"

"My husband took me to Tavern on the Green and for a carriage ride. When he proposed the second time."

Scott carried two mugs of tea into the living room. "A second time?" he asked curiously, setting the drinks down on the coffee table. "Did you break up after the first time?"

"No. Just his first proposal wasn't entirely how he had imagined it would go. So he decided to give it another try. It was very romantic and sweet. Which for him, is very rare. So it was extra special to me. I'll never forget that night as long as I live."

"Have you been married long?" he asked, motioning for her to sit down on the futon, than laying a hand on her elbow, the other on the small of her back and assisting her in sitting down.

"Not very long," Sam replied Reaching into her purse, she turned her cell phone off. "A year just this past Christmas Eve."

"And these are your first children?"

Sam shook her head and picked up her mug. "Second, third and fourth. We have a son. Kieran. He's fifteen months old. The light of our lives."

"Kieran…Kieran Flack…that name sounds very familiar…"

"We were in the paper quite a bit a couple of months ago. Our son was kidnapped from our apartment. By our neighbour across the hall who took him because…"

"Someone had an axe to grind with your husband. I read the story that was printed after your son had been returned. I'm very sorry you had to go through all of that. It must have been an utter nightmare."

"It wasn't pleasant," she sighed. "But we're starting to cope and deal with things."

"And you and your husband both work for the NYPD?"

She nodded and sipped her tea. "I work through the crime lab and he's a homicide detective. A sergeant, actually. He's in Connecticut today. Dealing with some weasel congressman he a case against about four years back."

"Works a lot of hours?"

"Too many sometimes. But he loves his job and is damn good at it. I like to think this city is a little bit of a better place because of him. God knows he's given enough to this place. Blood, sweat and tears. More blood than anything, mind you. But that's a whole other story all in itself."

"He's been injured in the line of duty?"

"He almost died. Before he met me. He was caught in a bomb explosion. A bomb set by the same creep that got our neighbour to take our son. Surreal, huh? And people think this stuff only happens on television or in story books."

"Sometimes reality is stranger than fiction," Scott reasoned.

"Very true," she agreed. "And thank you for the tea. You didn't have to be so nice to some strange pregnant woman showing up on your doorstep claiming that she could be your daughter."

"You hardly feel like a stranger," he said with a smile. "Like I said, I saw you shortly after you were born. And your mother kept me updated on your progress once you were out of the hospital."

Sam's eyes widened. "She did?"

He nodded. "I knew there was a strong possibility that you were my daughter. But there was no proof and neither of us had the money that it took to find out for sure. And your mother's boyfriend was in the picture complicating things somewhat. It wasn't a cut and dry situation."

"Life never is," Sam sighed. "You were a friend of my mother's or…"

"Your mother was my first love. She was young and beautiful and somewhat of a wild child. She was sixteen and I was seventeen. I was the shy, quiet, introverted type. She seemed more into the jocks and the bad boys. So you can imagine my surprise when she asked me out."

"She asked you?" Sam asked in surprise.

He nodded. "We were quite the odd couple. People made fun of us because of how different we were. But it didn't matter to us. We were in love and that's all that mattered. Until she decided that the lifestyle I could give her wasn't the one she wanted at that time. She met your father and broke up with me. And than she came up pregnant."

"How far into the relationship with him?"

"A couple of weeks. But she'd been seeing him while she was with me so you can see why there was a question as to paternity."

"Mom's made a lot of mistakes unfortunately," Sam sighed.

"We all have. My greatest one was never pushing to find out whether you were mine or not."

"If you had have known, would you have wanted me?" she asked in a small voice.

"I wasn't in any position in my younger years to take care of a child," he replied honestly. "After high school, I fell into the wrong crowd myself. Drugs, alcohol. I've done time, went to AA. The list is endless. A life with me…that wouldn't have been the best thing for you. You were better off with your mother and your father."

Sam snorted. "My father used to beat me and my brother to a pulp and lock us in the basement when we were bad. With no food or water for days. He put my brother's leg in a tub of scalding water because Adam was bad. He fed us rancid meat and stale bread and wouldn't get us medical attention when we needed it. He drank and he did drugs and he used to come into my room and…" she cleared her throat noisily. "He wasn't a nice man. So please don't tell me that I was better off with him."

Scott sighed heavily and stared into the murky depths of his mug. "I'm sorry that you had to experience that as a child. But believe me, I wouldn't have been your answer to a wonderful childhood or a happily ever after."

"Didn't you ever wonder how I was doing?" Sam asked. "Didn't you ever wonder if I was okay?"

"Your mother kept in contact with me. She always let on that everything was fine. I know that when you were six you had your tonsils removed. When you were ten you got the lead in the school Christmas pageant as the Virgin Mary. I know that you played soccer and volleyball during grade seven and eight and into your early high school years. I know that your first boyfriend's name was Chester Lake."

Sam's eyes were wide and brimming with tears. "You know all of that yet you never thought of coming around to check on me? To make sure that I was alright? And what about when I got older? Why didn't you come around when I was old enough to comprehend things and tell me you thought I was your daughter?"

"Your mother asked me not to come around or speak directly to you. She said she didn't want to confuse you and complicate your life anymore than it already was. That you were happy and healthy and had a brother that you adored and would never dream of ever leaving him."

"Well she was right about one part," Sam huffed. "I never would have left my brother in that goddamn hell hole all by himself."

"If I had have know what you were really going through…"

"Well you didn't. I can't fault you for that. But other people did and they never did a damn thing about it. But I can't imagine knowing that you may have a daughter and listening to a nut job like my mother dictate how things are going to go."

"Despite everything, your mother loved you. I'm sure she loves still. And your life, in the long run, obviously didn't turn out too bad."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, a thirty four year old mother and wife with intimacy and trust issues. No, I didn't turn out so bad. Other than being completely goddamn mental."

"Just know that I did care about you. That I did wonder about you and that I thought about you all the time and prayed for you. And hoped that one day you'd find out about me."

"Well here I am," she gave a small laugh. "Surprise! The daughter you're not sure is yours or not."

"It's a very complicated situation," he agreed.

"That's a nice way of putting it. Complicated. I was thinking of a few words. None of them pleasant or polite either."

"I admit, it's not an easy thing to find out after thirty-three years. Thirty four I should say. It was your birthday two days ago."

She smiled. "You actually remember that?"

"I remember a lot of things," Scott told her and stood up. He went to the book shelf and pulled out a hard cover copy of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Opening it the front cover, he took out a medium sized manila envelope and returned to the futon. "I've keep this in this book," he held up the heavy novel before setting it on the coffee table. "My favourite book, for a long time."

"That's my favourite series of books, too," she said. "And I loved the movies. Especially Return of the King. I make my husband watch it with me all the time. He laughs because he says the only reason I watch them is because I'm crushing on Viggo Mortensen. The guy who played Aragorn? I'll neither deny or admit it of course. Has anyone ever told you that you kind of look like him?"

"A few people," Scott told her. "I've been told he was popular among the ladies."

"What's this?" Sam asked, as he held out the manila envelope to her.

"Something I think you should look at. So you know that my concern for you was genuine."

She sat her mug on the coffee table and took the envelope and opened it. Eyes widening as she pulled out items. Starting with a wrinkled and yellowing birth announcment from the local newspaper. Her birth announcement from thirty four years ago. The envelope was a treasure trove of memories. A tiny pink and white beaded bracelet that had graced her ankle after her birth. Stacks of photographs. Starting with one of a tiny, dark haired toddler sitting on her mother's lap attempting to blow out the single candle on her first birthday cake. The rest were school pictures. Kindergarten right on up to what Sam knew was her grade eleven photograph. When she was into her goth stage. Raven black hair and heavy black eye liner and blood red lipstick.

It was surreal. Knowing that the man sitting beside her had had these items for years but had never gone any further in his quest for the girl that appeared in all the pictures.

"I lost track of you once you moved to Arizona," Scott told her.

"Had I know you ever existed I never would have went there," she said, her voice a near whisper. "Had I know I had someone in the city I never would have left. And than Zack never would have happened and things would have been so different. I would have been happy and found my own true love sooner and not gone through what I had."

"There's no guarantee of that," he told her. "At all. You could have stayed and never met your husband before two years ago. There's no saying that you would have met any sooner. Had you stayed, your path would have been completely different. You may not have made the choices you did with schooling. You may have chosen another career and you would have never met him. And you would had never had your son or the babies you're carrying right now."

"You don't know that."

"No, I don't. But what I do know is that I'm sure you'd much rather have met him and be with him the way things are, than to never have met him at all. That's why it's a good thing sometimes that we can't go back and change the hands of time."

"All this time you knew about me but I didn't know about you," she said with a sigh and tucked the photos and other items back into the envelope.

"You know about me now."

"Thanks to my step dad," she told him. "Because he felt I had a right to know."

"You did have that right. But it wasn't up to me to tell you. Your mother should have…"

"My mother should have done a lot of things," Sam said. "Her whole life has been nothing but a lot of mistakes and missed chances."

"We all have regrets, Samantha. Life is made up out of mistakes and missed chances."

"Was I a mistake?" she asked in a small voice. "Is that how you saw me? Because that's how my mother sees me."

"Your mother would never see you that way."

She gave a small laugh. "Boy, you have no idea what she became over the years. She's a mean, spiteful, bitter old woman. And that's being nice."

"To me you weren't a mistake. The mistake was in not taking the chance on having a relationship with you."

"I need to know," Sam said, using her fingertips to brush away tears that slipped down her cheeks. "I need to know if you really are my father. Maybe you could give me something for a DNA test and I can…"

"Does it really matter now?" he asked. "It's been thirty four years. Does it really matter?"

"To me it does," she replied. "I need some kind of peace of mind. Some closure. Maybe once I know this I can close the book on other things too."

"It's something that I'd need to think about," Scott told her.

"What's there to think about?" she asked with a dry laugh. "You already suspect I'm yours? Don't you want to know?"

"I want you to think about what finding something like that out would do to you. To your relationship with your brother."

"Adam's a big boy. He'd accept it and deal with it. We're still brother and sister regardless of whether we have the same father or not."

"How do you know he'd see it that way?"

"Because he's my baby brother and I love him no matter what. I took care of him and protected him when my mother and father were too shit faced and stoned to do it. I know Adam. And he'd get over something like this and deal with it."

"I think it's something that you really need to think about," Scott told her and stood up. He picked up their empty tea mugs and headed for the kitchen.

Sam sighed heavily and looked out the window at the grey and dreary skies. The weather had started out warm and beautiful and had drastically morphed into something completely different.

Just like her entire day.

* * *

He waited at the curb. Leaning against the front passenger door of the department issues Avalanche. A take out cup clutched tightly in his hands and his eyes riveted on the front doors of the dumpy walk up apartment building. He'd been there for over an hour. Biding his time by nursing a now lukewarm black coffee and thinking of all the things he was going to say when he ripped into her.

And he was going to do it. Rip into her. Because putting herself and those babies in harms way was inexcusable.

As was cheating on his best friend.

He said nothing when she finally emerged from the building. Her head down and her dark hair falling over her face. Hands stuffed in her pockets as she slowly made her way down the stairs.

He made his move as one of her feet hit the ground. He sat the coffee cup on the roof of the Avalanche and stepped up onto sidewalk. Catching her by the top of her left arm as she headed in the direction of the subway station, and turning her around to face him.

"Going somewhere, Brooklyn?" he asked. "Like say maybe home to your husband and your kid?"

She blinked. Clearly shocked and taken back by his presence. "Danny? What are you doing here?"

"Thought you'd get away with your little excursion, huh? That no one would find out about you being here? Back to your old stomping grounds. I gotta admit, hiding that name and address in an address book you stuffed under mounds of other shit? Pretty damn smart. Bet you didn't think anyone would ever look for it."

"What are you talking about? I…"

"And using Stella and her new baby as a ruse? Letting us all think you were visiting all day and instead you're out here? In Crown Heights? Running around?"

"What? Running around? Are you kidding me?"

"Lindsay found the address book, Brooklyn. She was worried when you didn't come home when you said you would. And she got even more worried, near frantic, when she tried calling you and you never answered. She thought something had happened to you and those babies. She came across his name. His address. The little note you wrote beside it."

"You have no goddamn idea what you're talking about, Danny," she huffed and attempted to yank her arm away.

"I know that while Lindsay, my future wife and you're best friend is at home watching your kid, you're our gallivanting around Brooklyn. That while your husband, my best friend, is out in Connecticut, working triple OT to take care of you and his son and his unborn children, you're out screwing around behind his back."

"What!" Sam snapped. "You think I'm fucking around on my husband?!"

"No other reason for you to be running around on your own. You'd only be doing that if you had something to hide."

"Look at me, Danny! Look at how pregnant I am! I'm not out cheating on Don! How the hell could you even think that?"

"Lincoln Scott. That's his name. So who is he, Brooklyn? Someone you met on the job? Someone you may have met while out and about? Boyfriend? Lover?"

"Give me a break," she snorted and finally managed to free herself. "Screw you, Danny! You have no right coming here! You have no right following me and accusing me of something like that?"

"Tell me who he is to you," Danny insisted. "Is he a boyfriend, Samantha? Someone you've been seeing on the side? Someone maybe you're planning on leaving Flack for? He's my best friend and if you're fucking around behind his back…"

She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "I can't believe you! That you'd ever think that about me! I love Don! He's my husband! The father of my children!"

"Is he? Is he the father of those babies? Or is it this Lincoln Scott character? Is he the real baby daddy?"

Her first reaction to the accusation was a shocking one. A loud, hard, stinging slap across Danny Messer's face.

"Fuck you, Danny!" she cried, tears streaming down her face. "Fuck you! Don't you ever talk to me like that ever again! I'd never, ever cheat on my husband! None of this is any of your goddamn business."

He touched the red welt left on his cheek. "Why are you hear, Brooklyn?" he asked calmly.

"None of your business!" she repeated. "You had no right coming here and accusing me of things! Now get the hell away from me and leave me alone."

Danny watched as she stomped off down the sidewalk. Sighing heavily, he used the remote lock on his key chain to secure the doors on the Avalanche and went after her. "Brooklyn…" he grabbed her by the hand.

"Leave me alone!" she cried, yanking her hand away.

"What are you doing here? Whose this Lincoln Scott guy?"

"It doesn't matter to you, Danny!"

"It does matter," he insisted. "It matters a lot. Because you're my friend and Flack's my best friend and you' running around a place like Crown Heights is putting yourself, and those babies at risk. And I'd never forgive myself, and he'd never forgive me, if anything happened to any of you or all of you."

"Please just go away," she pleaded. "Please."

"I want to believe you, Brooklyn. I do. I want to believe that you wouldn't do anything to hurt Flack."

"I wouldn't," she said. "I love him. More than you could ever know. So just back off."

Danny caught her hand once again. "Who is this guy to you, Sam? Who is he to you that is so important you'd put yourself and your babies in danger?"

She ignored him and pulled her hand away once more.

Danny stopped walking and decided to use the last ace up his sleeve. He pulled out his cell phone and held it to his ear. Pretending to make a call. "Fine, Brooklyn. You want to play hard ball? Let's call Flack right now and see how he feels about you being out here. Alone. Pregnant with his kids. Let's see if he knows this Lincoln Scott."

She halted immediately and turned to face him. Sheer panic registering on her face.

"You want to tell him or do you want me to do it?" Danny asked. "Your choice."

Sam hurried back to her friend and ripped his cell phone from his grasp. "This has nothing to do with you!" she cried. "Or with Don!"

"He's your husband! You're his wife! Those are his babies you're carrying! It has everything to do with him!" Danny argued.

She shook her head. Tears spilling down her cheeks.

"You know it does, Brooklyn," Danny's voice was quiet and gentle. "You know that everything you do has something to do with Flack. He loves you. You're the love of his life. His everything. And if something is going on with you and this Scott guy."

"Nothing is going on," she cried. "I wouldn't do that to Don!"

"Than what is it?" Danny laid a hand on the side of her face. "What's going on? Why'd you come here? Alone? Why didn't you want anyone to know about this?"

"You don't understand," she whispered.

"No. I don't. But maybe if you tell me.."

"Lincoln Scott…he's someone from my mother's past…"

"And?" Danny pressed.

"And he thinks, and I think…we think that he's my father."

Danny's eyes widened in shock.

"I think he's my father," she choked out, than proceeded to rest her head against her friend's chest and break down into heart wrenching sobs.

Unable to form any words or rational thought, Danny Messer did what he thought was best.

Standing there, in the middle of that garbage strewn, dirty sidewalk in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, a light, misty rain falling onto them, he wrapped his arms around his best friend's wife and held onto her as tightly as he possibly could.

Under the watchful and concerned eyes of an unseen and unknown and extremely suspicious observer across the street.

* * *

**A little bit of a cliffie there? Who do you guys think it is? Let me know in your reviews!**

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	64. Tell me your secrets, tell me no lies

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN. **

**A/N: SO WE HAVE A WINNER! LOOKS LIKE IT'S A TURKS AND CAICOS WEDDING FOR SAM AND FLACK IN THE NEW STORY! THANKS TO ALL OF THOSE WHO VOTED! **

**HUGE THANKS TO ALL OF THOSE ADDING ME AND MY STORIES TO ALERTS AND FAVS!**

* * *

**Tell me your secrets, tell me no lies**

"Don't cry, it'll get better  
In time you'll soon forget it  
You'll be fine right now it hurts some  
But the healing hasn't happened yet  
The pain won't always be there  
And someday after the fall, your scrapes and scratches will remind you  
Of the hurt you left behind you and you'll see  
That scars are beautiful  
Each scar is living proof and they tell the truth  
About places that you've been  
They're all roadmaps to life's lessons made  
By sacrifice and sin  
And you can let them bring you down  
Or you can hold your head up high  
Don't let the chance you took to fall  
Keep you from the chance you take to try."  
-Scars are Beautiful, Paul Brandt

* * *

Danny rubbed her back comfortingly with one hand and softly stroked her hair with the other. His chin rested lightly on the top of her head, allowing the delicate scent of her perfume to permeate his senses. Her tiny hands clung to his jacket as she buried her face in his chest. To on lookers, the moment between them, beginning with a passionate argument and her storming down the sidewalk and culminating in him tenderly touching her face before she broke down and he took her in his arms, no doubt appeared intensely intimate.

Maybe in another place and another time, if their hearts hadn't belonged to others right from the get go, there could have been something there. Attraction was a hard thing to deny. But while both had, despite Sam laughing off his pitiful attempts at flirting, felt a little something that first day they met, neither had gone that extra step. Not relationship wise, anyway. Danny had still been pining after Lindsay and out of fear of being alone for the rest of his life, entered into what he thought was forever with Erica. And Sam had fallen hard and fast for Flack. What had transpired between her and Danny after one night had been a tight knit bond. A big brother, little sister thing that neither of them were willing to sacrifice.

"It's okay, Brooklyn," he whispered, running his hand down her silky hair. 'Don't cry…shhh…there's no reason to cry."

"Why would she keep something like that from me?" Sam sobbed. "Why would my mother not tell me about this? About him?"

"Sometimes we keep things back so we don't hurt people we love the most," Danny told her. "Maybe she felt it was better for you not to know."

"All my life I grew up wondering how in the hell my father could have done what he did. How any man could do that to their own daughter. And then I find out he wasn't even my father. And he probably knew it too! That's probably why he did what he did. To punish me."

"Your father, who you thought was your father? He was a sick bastard and neither you, or Adam, deserved what happened to you guys."

She shook her head. "You don't understand. It wasn't just that, Danny. That wasn't the only thing he did to me."

He felt his body tense up and could taste the bile that rose in his throat. "Your father did other things to you?" he asked, unable to get the words out. Afraid that just saying them would either make him sick to his stomach or send him into an uncontrollable rage. Child molesters were the lowest of the low. And as far as Danny was concerned, they all deserved to be lined up and shot and pissed on. After being slowly and painfully tortured for hours on end.

She nodded.

"Does anyone else know?" Danny asked.

"I told Don right after Kieran was born. He'd come home talking about a case and one thing led to another and I ended up just coming out with it. Adam always knew. He just never said anything to me about it. And my mom…" she sniffled noisily. "I'm pretty sure that she knew it was going on at the time."

Danny sighed heavily and closed his eyes briefly. "I am so sorry, Brooklyn," he whispered. "You didn't deserve that. And you didn't deserve the things that I said to you. About you being out here to cheat on Flack and how this Lincoln Scott is the real baby daddy."

"I'd never cheat on him," Sam said, drawing away from her friend and releasing her tight grip on his jacket. "I love him too much. He's my everything. I don't know what I'd ever do without him."

"Guy would curl up and die without you," Danny told her, reaching out to use the pads of both thumbs to clear tears off of her cheeks. "You know that, right? You're his world. You and K and those babies in there."

"I know," she said with a smile, rubbing her stomach.

"And you and K and those babies mean the world to me and Linds. And when she called me and told me you'd come here all my yourself…"

"Wasn't one of my best moments," Sam sighed. "I just…I wanted to deal with this on my own. I needed to deal with this on my own."

"But you're not on your own, Brooklyn. You've got them babies in you twenty-four seven. And you putting them at risk like that…"

"Dumb," she declared. "Very dumb."

"And Flack's my best friend. I'm disgustingly protective of the guy and you know that. So hearing you'd come here to visit some guy? That kinda hit me the wrong way. I never should have jumped to conclusions. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she assured him. "I can see where you'd think there was something suspicious and scandalous going on. I never should have come here on my own."

"Promise me that the next time you want to take a road trip, you'll ask one of us to go along."

"I promise."

"A'right," he said, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek before laying a hand on the small of her back, intending to lead her back to his Avalanche. "Let's get you the hell out of here and get you home where you belong. If you're a good girl, I might stop off at a Mickey D's and get you one of them Oreo flurries you like so much."

She giggled and wrapped an arm around his waist. "You're a man after my own heart, Daniel Messer."

"You realize that you and Montana are the only two people in the free world that call me Daniel and get away with it? My own mother knows I don't tolerate that crap."

"It's because you love me and Linds more than life itself," Sam teased.

"You two are something else," Danny laughed. "Gonna put me and Flack in early graves. I think that you two live to…"

"Hope I'm not interrupting something," a familiar voice said in way of greeting.

Both Sam and Danny stopped dead in their tracks. Eyes widening in surprise at the sight of their boss leaning against the side of Danny's Avalanche with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Mac? What are you doing here?" Sam asked.

"I was in the neighbourhood checking on a case," he replied. He turned his eyes on Danny. "Thought you were on the clock," he said.

"I was. But I got a call that Sammie was in Crown Heights and might be in trouble so I acted on my instinct and drove here to pick her up. I didn't want anything happening to her and the babies. And with Flack out of town…"

"You have a load of cases waiting for your attention back at the lab," Mac told him. "You don't have time to be driving all over New York City acting a bodyguard and chauffeur."

"I wasn't going to leave her in Crown Heights," Danny argued. "And I doubt you would have either."

"If she had have called me and asked me to come and pick her up, I would have been here in a heartbeat," Mac said. "But obviously she called you and from what I witnessed, I think I can take a guess at why she chose you."

Danny's eyes narrowed. "What's that suppose to mean?" he asked.

"The two of you out here where it's highly unlikely anyone you know will see you. You're suppose to be on the clock, Samantha's husband is out of town. It's a perfect time for something like this. You're best friends with Flack, she's best friends with Lindsay. You two have been extremely close since Samantha started working here. Neither Flack or Lindsay probably suspect there's anything more to the two of you than a tight friendship."

Sam frowned. "What? You actually think that Danny and I…?"

"It's quite obvious from what I saw that…"

Danny's bark of laughter cut Mac's sentence off. "From what you saw? What did you see?"

"I saw the two of you in front of the Avalanche, right where you're standing now, having a passionately intense argument. Samantha slapped you and attempted to take off and you chased after her. I saw you touch her face and than her break down and you embrace her. Very intimate happenings between two people that are just friends."

"We are just friends," Danny informed the older man. "There's nothing intimate between us. Maybe a long time ago before things between her and Flack really got off the ground, but once Flack was in the picture and Sam made it clear she was in love with him, that was that. We're tight. She's like a little sister to me. And there was nothing intimate in the way that I touched her face or held her when she broke down. I was comforting her. That's it."

"It looked like a lot more than that," Mac said.

"I don't give a rat's ass what it looked like," Danny snapped. "Sam and I know what kind of relationship we have. We don't have to defend ourselves to you or anyone else."

"Danny…" Sam's voice was quiet as she laid a soothing hand on his arm. "It's okay. Don't…."

"No it's not okay," he argued. "It's not okay. Mac only saw what was happening between us. He didn't hear what was going down. And for him to just assume something like that…."

"I think you should go back to the lab now, Danny," Mac instructed him. "You're still on the clock. And when you're on the clock, I expect you to be doing actual work. And there's tons of it waiting back for you at the lab."

"I just want to take Samantha home," Danny told him. "I just want to get and the babies home safe and sound."

"I'll take Samantha home," Mac said. "You and Samantha have spent enough time together today."

Danny snorted. "Just because you make infidelity a common practice, Mac, doesn't mean Sam and I are jumping on that band wagon."

"Danny!" Sam gasped, horrified that he'd talk that way to their boss.

"Call me when you get in," Danny told her, rubbing her back softly. "Or get Linds to call me. Just so I know you and the trippies got there in one piece."

"I will," she promised.

"You need anything between now and when Flack gets home, you just give me a call. A'right?"

She nodded. "Thanks, Danny."

"No problem," he kissed her cheek. "Be good, Brooklyn," he said, laying a hand on the top of her head and running it down her hair to the small of her back. "No more road trips, okay?"

"Okay," she said with a small laugh, and watched as her friend stepped past their boss without even so much as a single word or glance as he went around to the driver's side of the Avalanche. She and Mac stood on the sidewalk in silence as they watched Danny climb in behind the wheel, slam the door and turn on the ignition.

Sam sighed heavily as the Avalanche peeled away from the curb and then glanced back at the small apartment building behind her.

* * *

"You're okay?" Mac asked in a soft, concerned voice.

Sam nodded. "I had some personal things to take care of. Danny just…."

"A lot of people stand to get hurt from this, Samantha," Mac told her. "Flack and Lindsay for starters. Kieran. The babies you're carrying. Do you really want to lose your marriage and your family for…"

"For what?" she challenged. "For Danny Messer? Anything Danny and I had stopped at one night long before Don and I decided that we wanted a serious commitment with each other. Don and I were seeing each other," she made air quotes around the word seeing. "When he decided he'd had enough of having more than one woman in his life and wanted to give something permanent a go with me, both of us made a decision, together, to be with each other. And only each other."

"And now?" Mac asked.

"And now Danny and I are friends. He's like a brother to me. He's Kieran's godfather. He's Don's best friend. There's no feelings between the two of us. He's crazily in love with Lindsay. They're finally back together and happy. And they deserve that. I'd certainly never do anything to hurt her."

"And Flack? Does he know? About you and Danny?"

"No. And there's no reason he has to. It happened before he got his head out of ass about what he wanted from me and him. He did his thing and I did mine. And once we got together seriously, that all stopped."

"Don't you think he'd like to know that his best friend once had an intimate relationship with his wife?"

"It wasn't a relationship, Mac! It was one night. A twelve hour span we spent together. That's it. And I really don't see why you're asking me all of this. You never get involved in any of the team's personal lives. So why now?"

"When I have to worry about something causing friction between you and Flack or Danny and Flack, that's when I get involved," Mac informed her. "Because if there's that kind of friction, the integrity of the entire lab could be comprised. I'd rather stop the problem before it even arises."

"There is nothing going on between Danny and I," Sam remained adamant. "I'd never do that to my husband."

"And you're here in Crown Heights because…?"

"That's personal, Mac. So with all due respect, I'd rather not talk about that."

Mac sighed heavily. "And Danny came all this way to help you out?"

"Lindsay got worried when I didn't come home when I said I would. She tried calling me and I ignored her. She freaked and by chance found out where I was and she asked Danny to come and get me. There's nothing scandalous or inappropriate about it."

Mac raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"I don't have to defend myself to you, Mac. I love you like a father and you know that. But what went on here today, what brought me here? It's nothing for you to be concerned about. So please, just walk away and let me go on my merry way."

"I'm not walking away. I'm not leaving you here in the middle of Crown Heights to fend for yourself. You don't want to tell me what you were here for? That's fine. But if you consider me like a father, than let me hand out some tough love. Which is something you've obviously needed to be handed for a long time only no one had the guts to give it to you."

"I don't have to listen to this," Sam huffed, and attempted to walk away.

Mac caught her by the wrist and pulled her back to him. "The truth hurts to hear it, but you are going to stand here and you are going to hear it. Because you need to. You may be a wife and a mother, but you have a hell of a lot of growing up to do."

She gave a small, dry laugh and shook her head and looked away from him.

"You coming out here? Alone and pregnant? Getting yourself caught in what could easily be construed as an intimate moment between you and your husband's best friend? Not only was that a stupid position to put yourself in, but a damn dangerous one for you and your unborn children. You know what this neighbourhood is like! I get this desire to hold onto some of your independence. But you don't just have yourself to worry about. Not only to you have three babies to worry about, you have a son at home! And a husband that would go crazy with grief if anything ever happened to you! It's not just you anymore, Samantha! And you need to stop acting like you don't care about anyone but yourself!"

"I'm Don's wife, Mac! I'm not some possession that he can keep under lock and key!"

"You are his wife! And the day that you took his name was the day he was given the right to worry about you and protect you and do his damndest to stop you from doing stupid, immature, selfish things like you did today!"

"And what went wrong with you and Stella, Mac?" Sam countered. "How come nothing stopped you from doing some stupid and immature and selfish?"

Mac's eyes narrowed. "We're done talking about this," he said dismissively. "Let's go," he firmly tugged her in the direction of the street. "I'll take you home."

"I am more than capable of finding my own way home," she argued, trying to pull her wrist out of his strong, firm grasp.

"You want to act like a spoiled, immature and selfish brat?" Mac asked, leading the way off the curb. "You have some kind of little girl versus possessive, controlling daddy complex? Then that's how I'll act."

"This is fucking ridiculous," Sam huffed.

"What's ridiculous is that you've been behaving like this for so long," Mac told her, pulling her behind him as he hurriedly crossed the street. He tossed open the passenger door to his Avalanche. "Get in," he ordered.

"Excuse me?"

"Get. In," he repeated.

"If you're getting like this because Don opened his big mouth about me liking it when you go all Marine on someone…"

"Get in the goddamn truck!" Mac bellowed.

She blinked at the anger in his voice. And realizing it was a no win situation fighting with Mac Taylor, relented to the firm hand on the back of her neck pushing her towards the open door and climbed into the truck.

Mac slammed the door closed and went around to the driver's side and slipped in behind the wheel. "I hope that some kind of good comes out of you doing such a stupid thing," he said, digging the keys out of his jacket pocket before angrily jamming them into the ignition and starting the engine.

"I did what I thought was best," she said, voice quiet. "For me and my family."

"The best thing for you and your family is not putting yourself in danger," Mac informed her as he pulled away from the curb.

"It was something I needed to do on my own, Mac," she argued. "I know what it probably looked like to you. To see me and Danny like that. But he only came here as a friend because he was worried about me. I didn't do anything wrong."

Mac didn't respond.

"I couldn't tell Don or Adam because I don't know really know if it's the truth or not myself," she said.

"You're talking in riddles, Samantha. What's that suppose to mean?"

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I came here today because my step father told me that there was this guy, someone from my mother's past, that he thought I should talk to."

"Because?"

"Because my step father thinks that this guy, Lincoln Scott, is my real father."

Mac arched and eyebrow and glanced over at her. "I thought your real father…"

"He's dead. The man that I thought was my real father is dead. There's no doubt about that. Trust me."

"So then this Lincoln Scott…"

"He had a thing with my mother and she dumped him but found out shortly after that she was pregnant with me. So my mom was never sure who my father actually was."

Mac contemplated the news she'd just shared with him. "And what do you think, Samantha?" he asked, his voice gentle. "What's your gut telling you?"

"It's telling me that this Lincoln Scott is my father. We look alike to some extent. He saw me in the hospital just after I was born. My mom kept in contact with him. He knows things about me, Mac. Things I did when I was in school. Sports I played. He knew Chester Lake was my first real boyfriend. He has pictures of me. From the time I was a baby all the way until grade eleven. After that I left for Arizona and he said all contact with my mother stopped."

"And why didn't he make an effort as you got older, while you were still here, to become a part of your life?" Mac asked. "Why didn't he, when he thought he was your father, find out for sure?"

"He said that he was messed up. That he was in no position to take care of a kid. And that he had no idea what kind of hell I was living in. And to be completely honest, even if he had have come around, I never would have left Adam there to deal with our father on his own. Adam's my baby brother. I never would have abandoned him."

"Are you going to tell him about this Lincoln Scott?" Mac asked.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I don't know what I'm going to do or who I'm going to tell what to."

"First thing you should do is get a DNA test."

"I asked him for something of his that I could take back to the lab. He said he'd have to think about it."

"What's there to think about?"

Sam shrugged.

"If you manage to get something of his, or convince him to let you come back and swab him, I can run the test personally," Mac told her. "So that no one outside of myself and you know what the result is."

She looked over at her boss. "You'd do that for me?" she asked.

He nodded. "There's no sense getting Adam worked up for no reason. If the test comes back this Lincoln Scott isn't your father, then there was no harm, no foul. If it comes back that it is, then it's up to you to decided when, and how to tell your brother."

"Thank you, Mac."

"Let me know when, and if, you have anything to test and I'll get right on it."

"I really appreciate it," she said. "I don't want to get Adam all freaked out. You know what he gets like when he gets worked up about something."

Mac grinned. "A distracted, flustered Adam Ross is not a pretty picture. As if he isn't scattered enough. And when he does that rambling thing…"

"It's a Ross thing apparently. In case you haven't noticed, I do it all the time."

"I've noticed," Mac said with a smile. "It's actually quite appealing and charming at times. Only coming from you, of course."

"Well I'm glad someone thinks so," Sam said. "Because it drives Don insane. He says my rambling gets on his nerves. That it's like nails on a chalkboard."

"I'm sure there's things that he does that get on your nerves."

"Tons," Sam laughed. "Leaves the toilet seat up no matter how many times I remind him not to do it. I'm constantly picking underwear and socks up off of the floor and finding empty bags of milk in the fridge and dirty, grungy dishes in the sink. But you know what? All the amazing things he does with Kieran and watching him be a father and seeing him try so hard to be a good dad and a good husband? All of that stuff makes up for the million and one things he does that annoy the shit out of me."

"That's the amazing thing about love," Mac said. "You're able to overlook the bad and concentrate on the good. Even during the hardest of times. Claire used to grind her teeth. In her sleep. Drove me absolutely insane. To the point where I had to put ear plugs in just to get a decent night's rest. But not once did I ever leave the bedroom and sleep somewhere without her. Because feeling her against me and breathing in her scent? That was worth putting up with her bad habit."

Sam smiled. "You still miss her, don't you," it was more of a statement than a question.

"Every day," Mac admitted. "I've gone on with my life, but I've never completely closed those chapters that consisted of me and Claire."

"Do you ever think that maybe that's why you can't really truly be happy?" Sam asked. "That that's why it seems to be a constant struggle to be with someone? Because the only time you were truly happy was when you were with Claire?"

Mac gave a small laugh. "Now I can appreciate the running joke that you're the lab's reigning Doctor Phil. Asking me something like that."

"I prefer Oprah," Sam said. "And I'm only this way because I TiVO talk shows all the time. I was up until three am yesterday watching Jerry Springer and Maury Povich."

"You are NOT the father," Mac declared, and chuckled heartily.

Sam beamed. "You watch Maury?"

"It's my guilty pleasure," Mac admitted. "No one knows that but you."

Sam made a zippering motioning across her lips with her thumb and forefinger. "Your secret is safe with me, Mac Taylor."

"And what about you?" he asked. "I shared something personal. Now it's your turn."

"You know everything there is to know about what happened today," she said.

"I mean something else. Something funny. Or maybe something that isn't funny. Just something that no one else knows about you. Not even Don."

A slow grin spread across her face. "That could get a little racy, Mac," she said. "I don't think your heart could take hearing something like that."

"I am not THAT old," he informed her.

"Anything that is even remotely dirty I prefer to keep to myself," Sam laughed. "But there is one thing that no one knows. Except for Adam, my mother, and Don."

"You don't have to tell me, Samantha. I was just teasing you."

"No…it's okay. It was a long time ago and I've dealt with it and put it behind me."

"Samantha, you don't…"

"You know that Chester Lake was my first boyfriend, right?"

Mac nodded.

"Things were a lot more, how should I say this? Intense then I let on. At first, I told Donnie that Chester and I had never slept together. Only because my husband has this issue with insane jealously and I didn't see a reason for him to freak out over something that happened when I was fifteen and he would have been twelve. Then I decided that what kind of marriage did we have if we couldn't talk about past mistakes and what not."

"It's good that the two of you can be so honest."

"Donnie can be very understanding and compassionate when he gets over his initial shock and stops being pissed off. When I was young, I got pregnant. I had just turned fifteen. Chester was my first for everything. I seriously thought he was going to be my forever. And we weren't as careful as we should have been and I ended up pregnant."

"And the baby?"

"We both knew that we weren't ready to have a child. I mean, he was seventeen and I was fifteen. We were both babies ourselves. We had no money, no stable homes to even raise a baby in. So I decided to carry to term and then give the baby up."

Mac's eyes widened.

"It was a little girl," Sam told him. "Chester was in the deliver room and he got to hold her before she was handed over to her new family."

"You didn't want to hold her?"

Sam shook her head as she stared out the window. "I wouldn't have been able to let her go if I had have. And she needed more then what I could give her. I saw her briefly. She had all this dark hair and she was healthy. Chester named her Maliha. Strong and beautiful in Mohawk. Her new family ended up calling her something more simple. Sara."

"Do you know where she is?" Mac asked.

"I wanted nothing to do with her. It was just too painful to deal with. But Chester told me that she found him about two years ago."

"And?"

"And I guess she keeps in contact with him now."

"Has he told her about you?"

Sam shook her head. "I asked him to tell her that he didn't know where her mother was. Because I can't cope with that Mac. I can't deal with having a nineteen year old. I have a husband and a fifteen month old son and babies on the way. Having her in the mix too…" she sighed. "I know this sounds awful, but there's no room for her in my life."

"Has she ever asked to meet you?"

"Apparently she's told him that she wants to find me. That she has my name from the agency we placed her with. But she's been too afraid to do it because she thinks, if I didn't want her then, why would I want her now?"

"That seems like a reasonable thing to be frightened about."

"I know she'll find me eventually," Sam sighed. "But I just can't…I don't know…I can't do that to Donnie…expect him to just welcome her with open arms. We have a family together. Children of our own. And asking him to take on something like that? That's not fair to him."

"She's your daughter, Samantha," Mac told her. "And I know Flack. I've worked with him for a long time. And despite the way he comes across on the job, I know that he's a very sensitive, open minded young man. That he has a lot of compassion and love inside of him and that he'd welcome her, as part of you, into his family."

"It's not his child, Mac. He doesn't have to take care of her and accept her into anything."

"She may not be his, by blood, but you're her mother. And you're his wife and the mother of his children. And those children are your daughter's siblings."

Sam sighed heavily. "I know…I know…I just…do you think we could talk about something else now? My brain feels like it's going to explode from all of this. And you never answered my question."

"What question?" he asked.

"About Claire. About that being the only time you were truly happy."

"I loved Claire with every fibre of my being," Mac responded. "And I miss her every day. And while I love Stella and I hope things one day can work out, I'm not entirely optimistic."

"And are you in love with Karly?" Sam asked.

"I wouldn't know if I'd call it love…" he admitted.

"I hope that you decide what you really want, Mac. That you find out what, or who, makes you happy. Because you're too nice of a person and too handsome of a man to just have to settle."

He smiled. "There was a woman that I met, that came into my life, that I was very interested in," he admitted.

"And what happened? She wasn't into you? Her loss if you ask me. "

"I never told her. It was just something that I felt from afar. And even if I had have told her, I think it would have been completely unrequited."

"Why?"

"She was a quite a bit younger than me. I was in a position of authority and nothing good could have ever come from us being together even if she did feel the same way."

"Hmmm…did she ever give you any kind of sign she might have been into you?"

"Honestly? I don't know. What could have been just innocent flirting could have actually been a lot more."

"And where's this girl now?" Sam asked.

"Far out of reach."

The tiny brunette nodded slowly. "I think I know who you're talking about," she said.

Mac blinked. "You do?"

Sam nodded once more. "The girl that died shortly before Donnie got injured in the bombing. The one you had to fire because she almost tampered with evidence. The Brooklyn girl. Aiden."

Mac just smiled. Neither confirming it or denying it. "You know what I feel like?" he asked, anxious to change the subject.

"What's that?" Sam asked.

"Ice cream. I know for a fact that you love ice cream given all the times I run into you in one day and you're eating the damn stuff."

"I love ice cream," Sam declared. "Especially mint chocolate chip."

At those words, and the memories said flavour of ice cream invoked, she burst into giggles and her face and ears went scarlet red from the sheer embarrassment of thinking of such things while in the company of her boss.

"What's so funny?" Mac asked, a broad smile on his face.

"Nothing…I'm sorry…I just…mint chocolate chip ice cream holds a special place in my heart…a special, dirty place, actually…ignore me…I'm fine."

The more she laughed, the more red her face became. And the more that musical sound filled the truck, the broader Mac Taylor's smile became. And when she began hiccupping, her entire body quaking as she was seized by the dreaded things, his laughter became entwined with hers.

It was the first time in a long time, that he'd been truly happy.

* * *

It was well after midnight by the time Flack finally arrived home. It had been a long, tedious day of dealing with clueless detectives and a crime lab that was completely and utterly useless and incompetent. It was no wonder they had to call in 'experts' from New York City to straighten out the mess, both case wise and public relations wise, that was Congressman Eric Garth. It had been three years since the dead drag Queen in the men's washroom at a mid-town hotel. Garth hadn't been the one responsible in the end, but the DNA off the baby rattle that Flack had snagged, had been enough to prove that Garth was the one responsible for raping the victim's sister decades ago. Garth had gotten off thanks to someone strong arming the poor girl into recanting the statement she'd given to police. But Flack had known, standing there with Stella three years ago, that that man was not only guilty as all shit, but probably the biggest dick to ever walk the face of the earth.

The DA in Connecticut was dragging their heels big time. A young girl with only two years experiencing handling big trials and probably scared right shitless that someone would come after her for 'fucking over' the Congressman. Flack was pretty sure she was feeling heat from all sides, and that the Connecticut crime lab was being crapped all over as well. But there was no way in hell that he wasn't going to go in there and try to get that sonofabitch tossed in jail where he belonged.

Despite the lab boss and Connecticut PD's Chief of Detectives both telling him that his services would no longer be required, that he'd done enough to secure a conviction, Flack knew damn well he'd be making that drive in the near future. Whether it be to hold their damn hands through a preliminary trial or to testify himself, it was only a matter of time.

For now, he was just glad to be home.

He quietly unlocked and opened the door and slipped inside the apartment. Sam had left the light above the kitchen sink on, along with one of the side table lamps in the living room. He locked up the dead bolt and slid the chain across the door before toeing off his shoes and setting them on the rubber mat next to the door. Alongside of Kieran' s Diego running shoes. Flack chuckled to himself at the massive size difference between his dress shoes and those impossibly tiny runners. It was hard to believe that anything could be that small. Yet compared to what K's feet had looked like when he was an infant, those Diego shoes were monstrous. And that light hearted feeling Flack had had suddenly turned into a heavy, sad one. At the thought that his first born, his baby, was growing up so damn fast.

Pretty soon it would be potty training and pre-school. Than it would be kindergarten. Soon after he'd be wanting to take the school bus on his own and not wanting mommy and daddy to hold his hand while walking down the street or crossing the road. The time would come for the loss of his first tooth. And before his parents could ask where all the time had gone, he'd be going off to high school and bringing home a girlfriend, or two, and suffering his first broken heart. Or breaking one. Or two. And after that it would be time to learn to drive and time to think about college. Followed by marriage and kids. Hopefully in that order.

I am just not ready to think about all of this, Flack thought with a sigh, squeezing his eyes shut to rid the tears that threatened to take over him. It's way too early in my life to be contemplating things like this. I just want him to be little. Let him be little. Forever.

Gathering himself, Flack moved to the hall closet and shrugged out of his trench coat and suit jacket and hung both on the same hanger. It wasn't until he closed the doors back up, that he noticed the small post it note attached to them. At his eye level so there was no way he could miss it.

_Wake me up when you get in. Love, me_

He smiled at the simple, yet loving words and went into the kitchen. Depositing his keys and wallet on the microwave before heading out into the living room and flicking off the lamp before journeying down the darkened hallway. He went into Kieran's room first. No night was complete without a visit to his boy's bedside. First thing he always did when he arrived home from a late shift and Sam and the baby were already in bed was creep into K's room to check on him. It had been that way since Kieran was a tiny infant. And Flack felt no need, or desire, to give up that practice any time soon.

Kieran was out like a light. Lying on his back with his arms splayed wide and his legs, as usually, sticking out of the bars of the crib. Right to his knees. One wrong move or a the simple act of rolling over in his sleep would clearly sprain, or even bust the kid's legs.

"Time for a big boy bed soon, K," Flack whispered, tucking his son's legs back in and moving the toddler further up his crib.

Of course, a big boy bed in this case was actually a toddler bed that was already being stored at Flack's parents' place. A Diego themed bed that could fit Kieran's present crib mattress and go perfectly in his own bedroom once they were in their house.

Kieran sighed contently and rolled over onto his side and shoved his thumb in his mouth. Flack grabbed the blanket laying in a heap in the far corner of the crib and covered his son to the shoulders with it before running a hand over Kieran's hair and leaning over, and into, the crib to press a soft kiss to his son's head.

"I love you, buddy," he said in the dark. "Daddy will always love you. No matter what. Don't you ever forget that okay?"

Another sigh. Some mumbled garbled around the thumb stuck firmly in the tiny mouth.

Flack stood for several more minutes, just watching his son sleep. Never wanting Kieran to grow up and have to face the injustices and horror of the world. He had been through so much at such a tender age that his father wanted nothing more than to keep him a baby forever.

It was impossible and Flack knew that. Not to mention it was totally unhealthy to even entertain such thoughts. And he kissed his son one more time before stepping away from that crib and slipping out of that quiet, peaceful room.

Sam had fallen asleep while reading in bed. The bedside lamp was still on and a bottle of vitamin water was resting alongside of it. She was on her side, a pillow tucked between her legs to take the pressure off of her pregnant stomach, her glasses still on her face and a Tom Clancy novel -Clear and Present Danger, which Flack swore she'd read at least a dozen times since he'd known her- dangling from her fingertips.

He smiled at the sight of her so comfortable and peaceful and reached out to gently removed the book from her loose grasp. There was a bookmark sitting on the night stand. A brightly coloured macramé thing she'd bought for fifty cents at some garage sale she'd forced him to stop at when they'd made their most recent trip to their new house to talk to an electrician about all the things that needed to be upgraded or replaced. Sam was a garage sale junkie. She had never met a garage sale she didn't like. Much to Flack's dismay.

He shoved the bookmark into place and dropped the novel onto the night table. Crouching down next to the bed, he reached out with a gentle hand and trailed two fingers softly down her face. Starting at the centre of her forehead and moving down her nose and across her lips.

She murmured and brought a hand up to brush away the offending object that had so rudely tickled her in the midst of a pleasant sleep.

"Sammie?" he spoke quietly and placed a kiss to her hips. "Sammie? Wake up, baby."

"Hmmm?" she mumbled, not opening her eyes.

He kissed her once again. This time longer. Grinning against her lips when he felt her hand come up to rest on the back of his neck and her mouth opening as she kissed him eagerly in return.

"You just wanted me to kiss you awake," he said, when they finally broke apart.

"Like sleeping beauty," she giggled.

"Only much more beautiful," he told her.

She beamed. "You are so damn sappy, Donald."

"I reserve my sappiness just for you," he said.

"You just got in?" Sam asked.

"About half an hour ago," he replied, taking off his glasses and setting them on the nightstand. He closed his eyes briefly and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"How did it go?"

"It went," he told her with a sigh. "The lab and the detectives there are hopeless. And the DA?" he snorted.

"Do you have to go back?"

"Probably not until a pre-lim," he said. "How have you been? Okay?"

She nodded.

"And the babies?" he asked, laying a hand on her stomach and pressing a kiss to it.

"They've behaved themselves admirably. Lots of movement but nothing too insane."

"That's good," he said. "So you've been able to relax a bit? Get some decent sleep?"

"A bit. I tried to wait up for you, but Kieran wore me out with his antics."

Flack frowned. "He was that bad?"

"No…he was just Kieran. Lots and lots of playing. I'm getting worn out, Donnie."

"You have to start taking it easy now, Sammie. I don't want you getting carried away and having him knee you in the stomach or something. Promise me you'll take it easy."

"I promise," she said, and kissed him softly. "Come to bed, Donnie. I want to talk to you about something."

"We can't talk about it right now?"

"Come to bed, Donnie," she repeated, reaching out to loosen his tie and undo the top two buttons on his shirt.

"Is talk a code word for something else?" he teased.

She smiled. "Depending on how the real talking goes, if you're a good boy, I may treat you to a little something."

He grinned and kissed her. Long and intense and passionate. "Is it something I need to worry about?" he asked, standing up and taking off his tie and un-tucking his shirt.

She shook her head. "It's just something I need to tell you."

"Is it bad?"

"Please just come to bed, Donnie."

He nodded in response and finished undressing.

Hoping to God that whatever it was his wife had to tell him, they would get through it.

Intact.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you and look forward to hearing from you guys! So please, please, please review. Your feedback is what keeps me going!**

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	65. Quick to jump

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND KIERAN FLACK.**

* * *

**Quick to jump**

"You've got all that I need  
Looking at all or nothing  
Babe it's you and I  
With you I know that  
I am good for something  
So lets go give it a try  
We got our backs against the ocean  
It's just us against the world  
Looking at all or nothing  
Babe it's you and I  
Looking at all or nothing  
Babe it's you and I."  
-All of Nothing, Theory of a Deadman

* * *

Flack wasn't sure how long they sat there in the rumbled queen sized bed. Not movement, no conversation. No sound in that bedroom save for their steady breathing and the soft ticking from the watch gracing his right wrist. He sat, in a pair of green, white and plaid pyjama bottoms and a tattered and faded NYPD t-shirt, leaning back against the headboard while anxiously waiting for her to drop whatever bomb she had stored away on him. His arm was wrapped tightly around her, his hand resting on her hip as she snuggled in close, her head on his chest and her hand on his stomach. Her other hand sitting on the side of her own tummy, rubbing it in slow, gentle circles.

"There's something I need to tell you," she said, breaking the silence.

She sounded nervous. Maybe even slightly afraid. Flack had never given her a reason to be physical frightened of him. While he yelled a lot in the course of their many arguments, and there had been times when maybe he'd grabbed her by the arm a bit too hard or he slammed a few doors or broke a few things tossing them across the room out of anger, or even, in the early stages of their relationship, busted his hand putting his fist through a wall, he had never, and would never, raise a hand to her. So to hear that tremble and hesitation in her voice meant that whatever she had to say, wasn't particularly pleasant.

"Okay…" he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "How bad is it?"

"It's not bad, baby," she assured him. "It's just…I don't know. Slightly unsettling and more than a little surprising."

Flack sighed heavily.

"I took a little road trip today," she said.

"I know. You told me last night you were going to see Stella and the baby today. So if you're about to tell me that you took the subway instead of a cab there and back home like I asked, you can save your breath, babe. That's no surprise to me. I know what you're like."

"You do?" she asked, golden eyes twinkling as she raised her head to look at him. "And what am I like?"

"Stubborn," Flack replied, kissing her softly. "Disgustingly stubborn in fact. And it just gets even worse when you're pregnant. You and your 'I'm big girl, Miss Independent. I can take care of myself' speech you've given me time and time again."

"I'm not an invalid, Donnie," she reminded him. "I'm pregnant."

"Exactly. You're pregnant. With my babies. Three of them. You know what kind of wack jobs hang out down in the subways. And you also know, that being pregnant, you'd never be able to defend yourself. So please, I am begging you. Listen to me for a change. I don't want anything happening to you or the babies. Okay?"

"Okay," she relegated herself to the fact he was right. As usual. "I'm sorry. You know how I hate giving up every shred of my independence."

"I know," he pecked her forehead. "That's all you had to tell me? The way you sounded, I thought it was something life or death."

"There's more," she sighed. "That wasn't the road trip I was talking about. I went to Brooklyn today. Crown Heights."

"Alone?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm and even.

She nodded.

Flack sighed heavily. "What the hell did you go there for? What was so important that you felt the need to go there?"

"His name is Lincoln Scott," she answered.

His jaw clenched and his body went rigid. Slowly removing his arm from around her body, he moved away from her. Turning his back on her as he sat on the edge of the bed.

She stared at his back, perplexed by his behaviour. "Donnie?" she reached out and rubbed his back softly. Startled when he jerked at her touch as if he'd been scalded. "What…"

"You're having an affair?"

"What?" she asked, unable to control the laugh that erupted out of her at such an absurd question. "Are you kidding me?"

"Is that who this Lincoln Scott is? Some guy you've been having a thing with?"

"Oh my God, Don. You honestly can't be serious," she said, snaking an arm around his waist.

"I'm dead serious, Samantha," he snapped, jumping to his feet and turning around to glare down at her. His blue eyes filled with both anger and hurt. "How long has it been going on for?"

"I'm not having an affair," she informed him. "How could you even think that?"

"Has it been going on for a long time? Or is it something that just started?"

She closed her eyes briefly and drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. "Don," she said sternly. "I am not having an affair. I can't believe you would even think something like that. You know how much I love you. That you and Kieran are my entire existence. I'd never do that to you."

"Don't give me that bullshit," he snarled. "You wouldn't have gone all the way to a place like Crown Heights for no reason. And the only reason that I can think of that would make you put yourself and our babies in danger, is because you've got some secret life going on there or something."

"Are you insane?" she exclaimed. "Honestly. Are you mental?"

"Are you going to answer me or not?" he bellowed.

She blinked. "Donnie, I'm not…"

"I can't fucking believe this," he muttered, then went to the dresser and began tossing open drawers.

"What are you doing?" she asked, startled by his behaviour.

"What the hell does it look like I'm doing?" he responded, yanking on some socks and a pair of jeans. "I'm leaving."

"What?" she shrieked. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You actually think I'm going to stick around after you told me this?"

"Told you what? I didn't say a goddamn thing!"

"Sometimes silence speaks louder then words. Or in your case, refusing to answer says it all."

"You're not giving me the chance to answer!" she cried. "You're just going off on me! You're not even listening to me!"

"Maybe because you're not saying anything."

"I am trying to tell you, Don! But you're not giving me a chance!"

"I'll probably just crash over at Danny and Lindsay's for the night. In case something happens to Kieran or the babies and you need me. Tomorrow we can decide a more permanent solution."

"I don't want a permanent solution! I want my husband to listen to me instead of jumping to conclusions and thinking he knows everything!" she yelled. "For fuck sakes, Donald!" she beat her fists on the and fought the urge to scream. "You're acting so goddamn immature!"

"How do you want me to act? You want me to say it's okay that you're fucking around behind my back? You want me to give you permission to continue?"

"I want you to shut the fuck up and listen to me!" she screamed.

"Don't you fucking talk to me like that, Samantha!"

"And don't you fucking accuse me of cheating on you!" she retorted. "Now sit your ass down and hear me out instead of acting like you're thirteen instead of thirty-two!"

He blinked at the fury and aggression in her voice. Holding his hands up in surrender, he leaned back against the dresser, his arms crossed over his chest. "I'm listening," he said.

"Don't be such a condescending sonofabitch," she huffed.

"You want to explain? Explain."

"I can't honestly believe you would ever, ever think I would cheat on you."

"I'm waiting, Samantha," he snapped.

"Lincoln Scott is my birth father!" she yelled. "Okay? He's my father. My real father."

"I thought your real father was dead."

"The man that I thought was my real father, wasn't. This guy is."

"And this guy just happened to show up out of nowhere announcing this or…"

She sighed heavily and raked her hand through her hair. "Sarge told me when we were in Phoenix that he thought there was someone from my mother's past that I needed to talk to. That my mother always wondered if this guy, Lincoln Scott, was my real father."

"So you've known this guy for almost two months now?" Flack asked, looking and sounding sceptical.

"No. It took me that long to get up the nerve to approach him."

"How'd you find him?"

"I looked him up in the phone book. I can read, you know."

"And how'd you know he didn't have a record or…"

"Are you forgetting what I do for a living? I do know how to log into CODIS and the NYPD data base. He came up completely clean and I found his address and I went to see him. To let him know that he had a daughter out there in the city."

"And what happened? He just open the door and hug you and kiss you and claim you as his own?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Don't be like that," she said.

"I'm not being like anything. I'm just asking the questions. The hard questions. Excuse me if this all sounds a little too screwed up to be true. If it sounds like you're trying to bullshit me just a little bit."

"I am not trying to bullshit you," Sam said. "I'm telling you the truth. When have I ever lied to you?"

He smirked and shook his head. "You don't want me answering that."

"What the hell is that suppose to mean?"

"Oh I don't know, Samantha. I guess it means that since we met, you've lied about a lot."

"Like what?" she asked angrily. "Enlighten me."

"Where do you want me to start? From the very beginning? When you looked me dead in the eye and told me that you were never involved with Zack? That he was just some guy from Phoenix that was harassing you 'cause he couldn't take no for an answer. Or how about not telling me that your brother Adam's name wasn't even Adam Ross? That it was something completely different because you had your mother's maiden name and Adam just changed it to Ross sometime before college 'cause he didn't want anything to do with your dad tied to him."

"I told you that about Zack because I didn't think you needed to know about my personal life just yet. I had just met you and…"

"I knew you for all of what? Five hours when you called me asking for my help with that asshole? Remember that? When I came to your brother's apartment? Willingly? To help you out? Or did you forget about that?"

"I never…"

"Did you forget about me kissing you in the kitchen? And that you kissed me back? You forget that too?"

"Of course I didn't forget any of that."

"There was something between us, Sammie. Even then. We were attracted to each other. You trusted me enough to call me and ask for help. But you didn't think I needed to know the truth about you and Zack?"

"Donnie, we've been through this a million times. And as far as my brother changing his name and the whole sordid mess with my parents, I didn't lie. I just never told you."

"And that just makes it totally excusable," he snorted and shook his head. "How about Chester Lake? How you swore to me that nothing sexual ever happened between the two of you?"

"Donnie, I told you that so you wouldn't freak out."

"And what?" he laughed. "Didn't I freak out in the end anyway when you finally did admit it? How do you think that felt, Sammie? To hear my wife tell me that she'd gotten pregnant at fifteen and gave the baby up for adoption. That the father is someone that works for me who still has contact with this now nineteen year old girl. To hear that somewhere out there I have a step-daughter! Who was born when I was only twelve!"

"Donnie, I…"

"You know what it felt like to have you tell me that my son wasn't your first baby? You let on the whole time that you were pregnant with K that it was the first time you were experiencing all of that!"

"I never said that it was my first time," she said in a quiet voice, eyes downcast.

"And you never said it wasn't either." he told her.

"What do you want me to say, Don?" she asked, tears sparkling in her eyes as she lifted her head to look at him. "You told me that you accepted the reasons why I kept things from you. That you accepted me and my past."

"And I meant it, Sammie. But how, after all of that, am I just suppose to believe this crazy ass story that this Lincoln Scott is your father when all this time you thought your deceased dad, who abused you and molested you as a kid, was your real father."

"I'm telling you the truth," she said. "Lincoln Scott was involved with my mother in high school. Shortly after they broke up she found out she was pregnant with me. But she had been with him and my dad…" she made air quotes around the word dad. "…and she didn't know who my father was."

"So she kept that from you for thirty-four years?"

Sam nodded.

Flack shook his head. "Guess I know where you get your propensity for hiding things from people."

She frowned. "That's not fair, Don. Please don't be like that."

"What do you want me to be like, Samantha? Tell me what you want me to be like. What you want me to say?"

"I want you to listen to me and believe me," she said.

"That last part isn't that easy, babe. This is pretty screwed up shit."

"I know," she sighed. "Trust me, I know. But Donnie, I had to go there and see for myself."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked. "Why didn't you say anything to me?"

"Because it was something I needed to do by myself. I didn't want you getting involved. You've got a monster case load and you're working massive overtime and I didn't think that…"

"You didn't think what? That I'd have the time to be here for you?"

"You're busy," she said. "And I understand that sometimes I have to come second. That I…"

"You never come second," he informed her angrily. "Ever. You are my wife. You're the mother of my son. Of my unborn children. You have come first and foremost in my life since the moment I fell in love with you. So don't sit there and tell me that I wouldn't have put everything else on the back burner to be here for you."

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "I just…I didn't want you involved with everything you're dealing with right now."

"What's one more thing to deal with?" he asked. "So this Lincoln Scott guy. You think he's your father?"

She nodded. "And he's pretty sure that he's my dad, too. He has my birth announcement. Donnie. He's got pictures of me from the time I was a newborn up until grade eleven. He knows about school plays I was in and the kind of grades I got and what sports I was involved in. My mom kept in touch with me until we moved to Arizona and then he lost track of me."

"Does Adam know about this?"

Sam shook her head. "I'm not telling Adam a thing until I know for sure. I don't want to tell him and get him all worked up and then in the end find out there was nothing to all of this."

"So what are you going to do? This guy give you anything to test for DNA or…"

"He said he wants to think about it."

"What the hell is there to think about? For thirty-four years he thought he had a daughter and when it comes time to find out he chickens out?"

"He just said that a lot of time has passed and he needs to think about it."

Flack shook his head and sighed heavily and ran his hands over his face.

"I know how surreal this must seem to you, Donnie."

"In my line of work, Sammie, after the years I've been on the job, I am used to surreal. It's just…you should have told me. You should have told me about all of this and I would have went with you. You never should have went there alone."

"I know. And you never should have reacted the way you did and accused me of having an affair."

He nodded in agreement. "Guess sometimes I have a bad habit of being a bit irrational."

She arched an eyebrow. "A bit?" she asked with a laugh. "Now there's an understatement if I've ever heard one."

* * *

He gave a small smirk and pushed himself away from the dresser. "I'm sorry, baby," he said, climbing onto the bed and crawling across it until he was lying next to her. "It's all those old insecurities and shit I have. Every so often that jealous, possessive side of me comes back."

"I would never, ever cheat on you," she said. "I love you. You know that."

"I love you, too," he told her and pressed a kiss to her stomach. "I'm sorry I reacted the way I did. I shouldn't have gone off like that."

"No," she said. "You shouldn't have."

He frowned. "I'm trying to be a nice guy here."

She smiled and leaned over to kiss him softly.

"What do you want to do now, Sammie?" he asked, rubbing her stomach. "You want to try and get a court order to get this guy to cough up some DNA? 'Cause I have a judge on my shit list that would be willing to do that for me. The dirt I got on him would make him say yes in a heartbeat."

"Between your CI's and your shit list, a lot of people are at your beck and call," she said with a grin, as she slowly lowered herself onto her side, facing him.

"Just people that would be fucked if I ever opened my mouth," Flack told her. "Do you want me to make a call?"

She shook her head and brought a hand up to his face, stroking his cheek with her knuckles. Tenderness and affection in her eyes and her touch. "He was gracious and welcoming for someone who had his thirty-four year old maybe daughter just show up on his doorstep. I think I should give him some time."

"Did he say he'd call you with a decision or…"

"I said I'd give him a few days and I'd call him," Sam said, combing her fingers through his hair. Her touch soft and soothing. Their faces mere inches apart. "He asked me if I'd come back to see him. So he could get to know me better. I said that I'd come back there and see him face to face."

"I want to go with you," Flack said. "Not just because I want to keep you and the babies safe. But because I want to be there for you. You know, for support."

She smiled and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "I find it so sexy when you go all Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard on me."

He grinned and laid his hand on her hip. "You got a lot of little kinks there, Mrs Flack. Lots of strange things that turn you on."

"Nah," she said and moved closer to him, her hand trailing over his hair and down to the back of his neck. "It's you that turns me on the most."

"Handcuffs or no handcuffs?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Just you," she replied, running her hand down his shoulder and along his arm. "It's always been just you."

He smiled and kissed her. Long and soft. His mouth yielding to the feel of her tongue pushing against his teeth. Opening to her aggressive, demanding lips. Their tongues sliding against each other and their hands roaming each other's bodies. "Okay.." he said breathlessly as he reluctantly pulled away. "Let's stop this while we still can."

She pouted dramatically.

"Blame your doctor, Samantha. He's the one that put the no sex rule in place."

"Blame them!" she cried, pointing to her stomach. "They're the ones that have forced us to abstain!"

He laid a hand on her stomach and stared down at it. Wonderment in his eyes. "Still hard to believe there's three of them in there.

"Well trust me, there is," she laughed. "I'm the size of a house. I look eight months already."

"I think you look beautiful," he said in a soft, loving voice, looking deep into her eyes.

She smiled and kissed him. "It's going to be hard," she said. "Being in the hospital for so long."

"It's for the best," Flack told her. "For you and the babies. I'm still not thrilled about not being allowed in the room when they're born."

"Sheldon tried his best to pull some strings," she said. "But you'll be right outside and you'll get to see them before anyone. Even before me. I'll probably be out for a while. You'll be there when I wake up, right?"

"Where else would I be, Sammie? What kind of question is that? I'm going to be the last person you see before they knock you out and the first person you see when you wake up. Okay?"

She nodded. "Donnie…if anything happens to me…"

"Don't talk like that, Samantha," he scolded her. "I don't want to hear this."

"Please. Just listen. If anything happens to me in that OR, if anything goes wrong and I don't make it…"

He closed his eyes tightly. "Sammie…please…"

"I need to say this," she told him. "Open your eyes and look at me."

Sighing heavily he opened his eyes.

"If something happens to me, Donnie, I want you to know that I love you and Kieran and the babies so much. That you were my entire world. That you came into my life when I needed someone the most and you accepted me and all my baggage and you never judge me."

Tears threatened in his eyes. "Sam…don't do this…."

"These are things I need to say to you," she told him. "I'd rather do it now then never find the time to do it. Alright?"

He nodded.

"You were the only person that never thought less of me because of mistakes I made and all the bad choices hanging over my head. You just dealt with them and with me. And no one has ever done that before."

"I love you, Samantha. I loved you the moment I saw you. Why wouldn't I accept you?"

"You came to me at a time when I didn't think I'd ever fall in love with someone again. And you taught me that I was worthy of having someone love me. That I deserved to be loved. And that I was capable of loving someone more than anything else in the entire world. And then you gave me Kieran and I…" tears dripped down her face. "I never thought I could love someone as much as I love him. He's my baby. And these are my babies and I…just thank you. Thank you for him and for them. And for you. For loving me and giving me everything I've ever wanted."

He fought back tears as he kissed her softly. He cleared his throat noisily. "There's so much more I want to give you, babe."

"I don't need anything other then you and all of our babies. That's all I need."

He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her tightly against him. "I love you so much," he whispered into her hair. "You're my entire existence, Sammie. I don't care how weak or pathetic that sounds. It's true. Because without you, I never would have the life I have now. As a husband or a father. I wouldn't have K and there'd be no triplets. And my kids…" he closed his eyes. "…you know how I feel about my kids."

She nodded and tucked her head under his chin. "We're a bunch of emotional saps, lately," she sniffled.

"You're hormonal," he said. "I don't know what my problem is."

"Maybe you're just a sappy bastard," she giggled.

"Maybe," he said with a grin. "You seem to bring it all out of me."

"Personally," she said and kissed his throat. "I find it incredibly sexy when a man isn't afraid to show emotion."

"Yeah? Well get me a box of Kleenex and I'll bawl all you what."

She laughed. "I love you just the way you are, Donnie. I wouldn't change a thing about you."

"No?"

"No…well…"

"Well?" he laughed. "So there is something you'd change about me?"

"Maybe a couple of things," she admitted.

"A couple?" he laughed even harder and released her from his embrace and rolled over onto his back. "You wound me, babe," he said, clutching his chest.

"Don't you want to know what those couple of things are?" she asked, laying an arm across him and her chin on his chest.

"I don't know. Do I?"

"They're nothing major," she assured him.

"I hope not," he said. "So fill me in. What would you change?"

"I would wave my magic want and stop you from leaving the toilet seat up all the time. And I'd get you to remember to pick your socks and underwear up off the floor and remember to take the empty bag of milk out of the container and put a new one in. And I'd…"

"You said a couple of things! You're giving me a novel here!"

"And I'd get rid of your potty mouth."

"My potty mouth?" he laughed at that. "I'll have you know little Brooklyn that you have a worse trucker mouth then I do."

"I most certainly do not," she snorted.

"You most certainly do too. I bet you ninety percent of that money in that swear jar is from you."

"Ninety percent? You're mental. Maybe fifty percent."

"Now you're mental. Come on. It's closer to maybe seventy-five. You, my dear, have a filthy mouth."

She grinned devilishly. "To go with my even filthier mind," she said.

"Which you can't do with anything with," he sighed dramatically. "Now that's a goddamn Greek tragedy."

"Use your hand," she said.

He snorted. "Use your hand. The doctor just said no intercourse. He didn't say no everything else."

"I never knew you were such a fan of a good old fashioned hand job," she giggled.

He just smiled.

"You're so easy to please," she said, and pressing her lips to his throat, ran her hand over his shoulder and down his chest to his stomach. Pushing up his t-shirt, her fingers snapped open the button on his jeans and slid the zipper down. A satisfied smile on her face as his body tense when she drifted her hand across the front of his boxers. "You like that, Don?" she whispered against the sensitive spot just below his ear.

He nodded.

"I'm glad," she said and licked her way around the outer edge of his ear. "But there's a change in plans."

"What do you mean? You get me all worked up and bail on me?"

"I am not bailing on you," she said. "I am just taking a different route."

"Which is?" he asked.

She winked at him and using his shoulder as leverage, pushing herself into a sitting position. "I know something else that you'll like even more," she said, grabbing both his boxers and jeans and yanking them over his hips and down his legs.

"Yeah? And what's that?" he asked, watching as she moved down the bed even more.

"How about I show you?" she responded, trailing the tip of her tongue up his thigh, bypassing his erection and licking his navel. Wetting it and then blowing on it.

He bit back a moan as his back arched off the bed.

"Very, very easy to please," she said, and kissed her way around his navel before moving lower. "I know how to take care of you, Don," she breathed, before closing her hand around his shaft and licking the tip of his cock.

"You always have," he croaked out, twisting his fingers in her hair before relaxing under the feel of her hands and the sensation of her lips and her tongue.

Handing himself over to her.

And not wanting even the smallest piece of himself back.

* * *

"Kieran, you have to eat your breakfast," Sam said calmly the next morning , a hand on her aching back as she bent down to retrieve the sippy cup of apple juice and the piece of toast from the floor for what seemed like the hundredth time in half an hour.

"No!" he bellowed, swiping at her hands as she tried to lay the items down on the high chair tray.

"Yes," she insisted, grabbing him the wrists with one hand and holding his arms above his head as she sat the cup and toast down in front of him. "Eat it," she demanded, letting his hands go and backing away from him.

"NO!!!!" he screamed and knocked the cup back onto the floor and tossed the toast across the room.

"Kieran! Bad!" she scolded. "You're a bad boy!"

"Mommy bad!" he informed her.

"I swear to God child," she mumbled as she snatched the cup up and grabbed the toast. The latter she tossed in the garbage. The cup she slammed down on the counter. "If you don't knock this crap off I'm going ship you off somewhere else to live. Like with grandma and grandpa."

"Papa!" Keiran exclaimed. Obviously liking the idea.

San snorted and set to making her son something else to eat. Settling for a bowl of Shreddies with sliced banana in it and half of a banana muffin. And instead of letting him feed himself and giving him the opportunity to dump the bowl over his head and chuck the muffin all over the kitchen, she pulled up a chair and sat down in front of him.

"You are going to eat, Mister Flack," she informed the toddler.

Kieran clamped his mouth shut and shook his head.

"Yes, you are," Sam said, chopping a slice of banana in half with the spoon and scooping up some cereal and milk. "Open up."

He shook his head adamantly.

"Don't be like this Kieran. You always eat. You're always hungry. Now open your mouth."

"No!" he exclaimed.

"Yes!" she argued.

"No!" he insisted.

"Kieran, eat your breakfast."

"NO!!!!!" he screamed.

Sam lunged forward and grabbed Kieran's chin, holding his jaw open and depositing the spoon in his mouth. And then clamped his jaw closed. "Chew," she demanded.

He shook his head and opened his mouth and let all his food tumble from his mouth and down his chest.

"Kieran!" she yelled. "BAD!!!!"

"MOMMY BAD!" he retaliated and leaned forward and attempted to snatch the bowl from her hands.

"Stop it!" she ordered, finding herself in a fierce tug of war with a screaming, spawn of Satan.

"WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE!" Flack bellowed as he appeared in the doorway. Bleary eyed in his t-shirt and pyjama bottoms and bare feet.

"Do something with your son!" Sam demanded and jumped up, tears coursing down her face as she shoved the bowl in his hands. "I can't take him when he's like this!"

"What's going on K?" he asked, sitting down in the abandoned chair. "You being a bad boy?"

The toddler shook his head.

"Don't lie to daddy. Lying is bad. You've got mommy all upset. She's crying. You don't want mommy to be sad, do you?"

"No sad mommy," Kieran said, watching his mother pace the kitchen.

"He won't eat his breakfast?" Flack asked his wife.

"He's being a shit," Sam declared.

"That's not what I asked you, babe. Calm down. What's wrong? Why are you so upset?"

"I can't deal with him when he gets like…when he gets like…when he gets like you!"

"I'll take care of him," Flack said. "Is there a cloth or something I can clean him up with?"

The damp dish rag collided with the side of his head.

"Sorry," Sam said sheepishly, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her pyjamas. "I've got bad aim."

"Remind me never to be within a block radius either direction when you're shooting at someone," he snorted. "Think you could be nice to me and make me a coffee?"

"Wasn't I nice enough to you last night?" she asked, snatching the kettle from the stove and carrying it to the sink where she filled it with cold water.

"You were amazing to me last night," he told her. "Didn't I thank you more then once in the privacy of our bedroom?"

She blushed and plugged the kettle in.

"Be a good boy, K," Flack said to his son, scooping up some banana and Shreddies and offering it to the toddler. "Eat for daddy."

"Yeah," Sam grumbled. "Eat for the boss."

"O'tay," Kieran chirped and happily accepted his breakfast.

Sam stared at her son in disbelief and then slowly shook her head. "That's fine," she said, scooping instant coffee into a mug. "I only carried you for nearly nine whole months. You want to like daddy better, that's fine. Traitor."

"Say get a grip, mommy," Flack said to his son. "I still love you more than anyone else in the entire world."

She snorted and poured boiling water into the mug and stirred the mixture noisily. Carrying the mug to the table, she sat it down and then stood behind her husband's chair. Placing her hands on his shoulder, she kissed his rough, unshaven cheek softly. "Good morning, baby," she said.

"Good morning. You calmed down now?"

She nodded. "I'm so hormonal, Donnie. I don't know how much more I can take before I go insane."

"Half way there, Sammie. You're halfway there."

"I know," she sighed. Then grinned as she placed a kiss to the side of his neck. "I gave you one hell of a hickey last night."

"That is not a hickey, babe. That's a goddamn bite mark. Do you not see the impressions from your teeth?"

"I thought you liked a little pain and suffering," she said with a grin and kissed the top of his head. "Do you want something to eat?"

"I'll make something in a while. My stomach's all weird this morning."

"Weird as in sore or weird as in sick?"

"Weird as in it feels like someone is twisting my insides. Hurts like a bastard."

She frowned and rubbed his shoulders. "Where is this pain?" she asked, fearing the answer. Because in her heart she just knew what was going to come out of his mouth next.

"Same place my stomach was blown open," he told her.

She sighed and closed her eyes briefly. "How long have you had this pain?" she asked.

He sighed. "Off and on for a few months now."

"A few months?!" she shrieked. "What in the hell, Donnie?!"

"I didn't want you getting worried. It was a passing thing. The pain would suddenly come and then go just as fast. Started out being a couple times a day, then moved up to a few times. Lately it's been almost constant."

"You're going to call the doctor, right?" tears threatened in her eyes. This time out of sheer concern and fright then hormones.

He didn't respond.

"Don't do this to me, Donnie," she sniffled and ran her fingers through the hair at the back of his head before kissing his cheek a final time and walking over to the kitchen table. A hand on the small of her back, she lowered herself into one of the chairs. "Don't shrug it off like it's nothing."

"I'm not, babe. I know it's something. I just didn't want to worry you with it. What with the trippies and worrying about you being high risk and all that."

"Don, you're my husband. I love you. I worry about you. You should have told me."

"I know," he said with a sigh. "And I'll call the doctor when I'm finished here."

She put her head in his hands and tried to compose herself. "What do you think it could be?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I have no clue, Sammie."

"It can't be related to the bombing could it? I mean, it's been four years now. There's no way they could have missed something inside of you could they? Shrapnel or something?"

"I doubt it."

"And it can't be internal bleeding because you wouldn't have lived four years with that."

"I don't know what it could be, Sammie," he told her. "And I won't know until I see the doctor. So please, hon. Try not to get stressed and worried. Okay?"

She snorted.

"Let's focus on you and Huey, Duey and Louie. Did you all sleep good last night?"

She nodded. "Those multiple orgasms nearly put me in a coma," she said.

He grinned. "Glad to have been of some service," he chided, glancing over at her and winking. "Seriously though. You slept good?"

"Probably the best sleep I've had in a long time," she told him. "And now you drop this on me."

"It's probably nothing, Sammie," he said, hoping he sounded more convincing to her ears then he did to his own. "Maybe I pulled a muscle or something," he said. "If I did that it probably hasn't healed properly."

"Please call the doctor when you're done with Kieran."

"Sam, I just said I was going to call him, didn't I? Please, baby. Stop worrying. I'm fine."

* * *

She frowned and glared at the back of his head and turned her attention to the Macy's catalogue -a Christmas one, wrinkled and tattered from a lot of views- sitting off to the side. She grabbed it and flipped through it absentmindedly, trying to come up with the perfect words to use to approach a subject that had been plaguing her since her talk with Mac the day before.

"Donnie?" she asked after several minutes.

"Yeah? What's up, baby?"

"I've been thinking…"

"About?"

"I think I'm ready to meet Sara."

He didn't respond. His eyes riveted on the bowl of cereal in his hands.

"Donnie?" she asked meekly.

"I heard you," he said.

"Well aren't you going to say anything?"

"What do you want me to say?" he inquired.

"I don't know. Something. Anything."

He cleared his throat noisily. "What made you decide that? How long have you been thinking about it?"

"A little while," she said. "I guess being pregnant again and adding to our family has made me think about her a lot more. And how I'm a grown woman with an amazing husband and a beautiful son and more babies on the way and how I'm mature enough now to face the mistakes I've made. And make amends if that makes any sense."

"You did the right thing, Samantha. By giving her up. You were fifteen years old. There's no way you could have taken care of a baby. And from what Lake has said, she's had a great life. Parents that love her, some step brothers and sisters. They're middle income, have a decent house in a nice neighbourhood in Staten Island. Ask me, you giving her up worked in her favour. It's not like she went into foster care or ended up with parents like yours."

"Thank God for that," Sam snorted. "But I can't help but think that we're technically her family too."

"No,Sam," he said. "We're not. She stopped being part of you when you gave her up."

"I gave birth to her," Sam reminded him defensively.

"And you chose to give her a better life," he told her. "And the second you chose that was when you stepped out of her life."

Sam sighed. "She wants to meet me, Donnie. She's wanted to meet me for a while."

"And you said you didn't want to meet her. So what's changed?"

"I just told you. I'm more mature now. I can cope with seeing her and getting to know her."

"And what does getting to know her involve Sammie? Meeting her over a cup of coffee a few times? Talking about her life? Or does it include inviting her here for dinner and welcoming her with open arms into our family? Because K and I are your family. The babies you're having are your family."

"I know. But I think it would be good for both of us."

"Both of us as in you and her? Or both of us as in me and you?"

"I just think that we could be part of her family and he could be part of ours," Sam reasoned.

"We have a family, Samantha. Do we really need to add on to it?"

She sighed and flipped the catalogue closed and tossed it aside. "You told me you accepted me having a child before I met you. A long time before I met you."

"And I do. But I'm not too sure I'm okay with just welcoming her into my family."

"Well can you give me some kind of reason, hon?" Sam asked.

"I'm thirty-two, Samantha."

"And…"

"Sara is nineteen. Which means I was barely thirteen when she was born. That's kind of…I don't know…weird. Being a step father to someone that age."

"Well, technically babe, you are her stepfather. And Kieran and these babies are her step siblings. They're actually her half siblings because they share one parent. But that's besides the point. You don't think you could welcome her?"

"It's not that, babe. I'm not a total asshole. I wouldn't treat her like shit or anything."

"Okay. So what is it…"

Flack sighed heavily and spooned the last of the cereal into Kieran's mouth before standing up. Carrying the bowl to the sink, he turned the water on to rinse the container and the spoon before setting them in the sink. He turned to face her, leaning back against the counter, hands on the ledge.

"I'm worried about what will happen to us when you meet her," he told her.

"What do you mean what will happen to us?"

"I mean what's going to happen when you decided to spend all your time with her and forget about us. As in me and Kieran and the triplets."

She snorted. "That's ridiculous."

"Don't just shove aside my feelings and my concerns, Samantha."

"I'm not, Donnie. I respect your feelings and your concerns. I just think they're unfounded. You're my husband. My love. Kieran and these babies…" she ran her hands over her stomach. "They're my children. She's not going to take anyone's place."

He sighed and shook his head and stared down at his feet.

Sam pushed her chair away from the table and stood up slowly. Crossing the kitchen, she stood in front of him and laid her hands on his sides. "Baby, please look at me," she said.

He raised his head and looked into her golden eyes.

"Donnie, you are my life. You and my children. No one is ever going to come before you. I love you and I respect your feelings and your concerns. But I need you to respect mine, too. And I really think it would be beneficial, to all of us, if we at least met her. Even if it is just once. Can you give me that? Just a single opportunity and then trust me enough to take things from there."

He nodded. "Honestly Sammie, I'm scared. About meeting her."

"Why?"

"She's a stranger to me. A nineteen year old stranger. I know guys my age that date girls that young. It's just…weird thinking about being a father to someone that age. I mean, we could be brother and sister never mind father and daughter."

"I know it's hard for you, babe. To accept her."

"It's not that it's hard," he said. "It's just…it's complicated and awkward. That's all."

"You don't have to meet her. You could just let me meet her…"

"She's a part of you, Sammie. I want to meet her. I just worry about how I'll come across to her."

"Just be warm and welcoming," she told him. "Just be accepting. That's all I ask."

"I can do that," he said in a quiet voice.

She smiled up at him. "Thank you."

He leaned down to press a soft kiss to her lips before drawing her into his arms. Burying his face in her hair, he held on to her tightly.

And prayed to God that she knew exactly what she was doing.

For the sake of their family.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you and thank you all for your support and kind words! So please, please review folks! Cheers, BEG75**

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	66. What might have been, what could be

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK, KIERAN FLACK AND THE FLACK TRIPLETS.**

**THANKS TO THOSE READING AND REVIEWING AND ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!**

* * *

**What might have been, what could be**

"Don't think I don't think about it  
Don't think I don't have regrets  
Don't think it don't get to me  
Between the work and the hurt and the whiskey  
Don't think I don't wonder 'bout  
Could've been, should'a been all worked out  
I know what I felt and I know what I said but  
Don't think I don't think about it  
When we make choices we gotta live with them  
Heard you found a real good man and you married him  
I wonder if sometimes I cross your mind  
Where would we be today if I never drove that car away."  
-Don't Think I Don't Think About It, Darius Rucker

* * *

The family owned Italian bistro was located two blocks from the New York City Crime Lab. It was an unassuming place with hardwood floors that were scuffed and worn and tables covered white carnation and a sprig of greenery. Murals of the Italian countryside were painted on the cream coloured stucco walls and chalkboards advertising the daily specials and the dessert menus dangled from thick chains attached to the ceiling. Soft elevator music was piped through the restaurant's overhead sound system and floated through the air along with the quiet chatter of patrons and the workers in the back kitchen.

It was a quarter to one on bright and unseasonably warm late April afternoon when Chester Lake stepped through the front door of the bistro. A small bell chiming above his head, announcing his arrival. A waitress - a young, tall and slender pretty girl with shoulder length black hair and olive skin and beautiful brown eyes- rushed over, a menu in hand and her waitress apron around her waist as his eyes scanned the restaurant for his lunch companion.

"Good afternoon," the waitress greeted him a soft Italian accent. "Just yourself today, sir?"

"Actually, I am looking for…"

He spotted her at the rear of the small bistro. Her back was towards him as she sat at a quaint table to two. Her waist length dark hair pulled back and held together with a large tortoiseshell clip. Several loose tendrils tumbling down along the sides of her face and wisps dangling at the back of her neck. Simple white gold hoops taking up the three holes in each ear and the two in the cartilage at the top of the right. Dressed conservatively in a pair of wide legged black dress pants and black ballet flats and a silk emerald green capped sleeve blouse that tied at the small of her back. A black leather Guess satchel style purse resting at her feet.

"I'm meeting her," Lake told the waitress, nodding in the direction of the rear of the establishment.

"Would you like me to show you to the table? Or would…"

"I'm fine, thank you," he said, and plucked the menu from her hands as he headed through the restaurant.

The hardwood floor creaked under his feet as he journeyed towards the pretty brunette checking text messages on her cell phone while sipping an iced tea. Her elbow on the table and the side of her head resting in her upturned hand.

"Samantha," he greeted, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.

She looked up at him with those amazing golden eyes and gave a small smile. "Hey," she said simply. "Thanks for coming."

"No problem," he told her, setting his menu down on the table before pulling out the chair across from her and sitting down. "Sorry I'm a little late. Our interrogation ran longer then we expected it to."

"And did you manage to get your man?" she asked, clearing the text messages before turning her phone on silent and sitting it on the table top.

"Your man managed to get his man," Lake replied. "Flack never ceases to amaze me how he takes utter and complete control like he does. Doesn't let the perps get the upper hand. He's always one step in front of them. And intimidating? Some times he has me shaking."

She gave a broad, proud smile. "Don's incredible at his job," she declared. "He doesn't let anyone pull anything over him. He's calm and composed when he needs to be and aggressive and assertive when the need calls for. He puts his foot down when he has to and the perps don't know what hit them. It's what makes him an amazing cop. All these different layers to him."

"Spoken like a woman in love," Lake said.

She shrugged and sipped her iced tea. "I respect him not just as my husband and the father of my son, but as a colleague, too. He's great at his job. I trust him with my life."

"As your husband or as your colleague?" Lake asked curiously.

"Both. I know that whether it be personal or professional wise, I can count on Don having my back no matter what. He's always there for me. Regardless of how small or big something is."

"He should be," Lake said, smiling at the same waitress that he met him at the door as she stopped at their table to fill his glass with ice water from the pitcher in her hand. "He's your husband. I'd be worried if he didn't support you through thick and thin."

"Well not all men see marriage in the same light as you, Chester. I'm just lucky I found someone that lets me be me. He's never tried to strip away my sense of self worth and turn me into a possession. To him I'm more then just his wife and the mother of his son. I'm Samantha and he lets me be a strong, independent woman. Even if sometimes it's hard for him to be that way."

"He just worries about you," Lake said, his eyes on his menu. "He just wants to keep you safe. You and those babies. How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling okay," she sighed, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her stomach. "I'm more than halfway through now. Good thing, too. I'm getting majorly uncomfortable. Everything's happening at once. I'm spending that last month before my planned c-section in the hospital and we're moving into our house at the exact same time. So Donnie's got that to deal with and me in the hospital and Danny and Lindsay concentrating on their baby who will be here before we know it. It's just sheer and utter craziness. Thank God for my in laws or we'd be up shit creek without a paddle child care wise."

"It's good you have such a huge support system," he told her, snapping his menu closed. "It's quite the change from when you were growing up. I'm glad that things worked out for you in the end. That you got your happily ever after."

She smiled, closing her menu as well. "We're working on the happily ever after," she said. "It isn't always easy, the whole marriage thing, but we love each other and we're determined to make things work. Especially for our kids."

"Hope that's not the only reason you're trying so hard," Lake told her, sipping his ice water.

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"It means that I hope you're not just staying married and forcing yourself into thinking it's what you want and working your ass off to keep something together when you're only doing it for Kieran and the babies you're having. It's always a disaster when people stay together just for the kids."

Sam frowned. "That isn't what I said. I said that we're determined to make things work…"

"Especially for your kids," Lake tossed in.

"I didn't mean we were making things work just because of our kids. Apparently you either didn't hear or understand what I said before that. When I distinctly said that we love each other."

Lake held his hands up in self defence. "Don't get so defensive, Samantha. I'm sorry if I misunderstood what you said."

"Well you did misunderstand it," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why do you have to be like that?"

"Be like what?" he asked.

"Get all negative and bitchy when I talk about me and Don."

"I don't get…"

"You do," she insisted. "It's like you just can't handle the fact that I'm not the same person I was when I was fourteen. That I'm a wife and mother. It's like it just burns your ass that I'm with someone else other than you. Which makes no sense considering we were teenagers when we were together and it was almost two decades ago."

"We share something, Samantha," Lake told her, leaning across the table and speaking in a quiet voice. "It wasn't just this simple teenage relationship and you know it. We were each others firsts. For everything. We had a child together."

"A lot of people have children together and don't end up with one another," Sam reminded him.

"But don't you ever wonder what…"

Lake paused as their waitress returned to take their orders. He asked for a plate of lasagna and a side Caesar salad while Sam stuck to a simple order of warmed foccacia bread and a bowl of Italian Wedding soup. Her stomach had been queasy since earlier the previous evening and the triplets had seemed to be having a hell of a time finding comfortable spots to settle down in. the doctor had said if things ever seemed frantic, to head to the ER. Sometimes it was a sign that a baby was in trouble. So Flack and her had made a three am trip to the ER after waking Danny and Lindsay up to watch Kieran. Thankfully, an ultrasound had shoved that everyone was alive and well. Just more than a little cramped.

"What were you going to say?" Samantha asked once the waitress departed, rubbing her stomach in slow, smooth circles.

"Nothing," Lake waved it off. "It wasn't important."

"You said 'but don't you ever wonder what'. That sounded like something important to me."

He sighed heavily and clasped his hands together and rested them on the table top. "I was going to ask you if you ever wonder what might have been. What might have happened had you never left New York."

"We were kids, Chester. Baby or no baby, we were never going to have a future together. We were never going to have the white picket fence and the happily ever after. And if you think that that's what was going to happen, marriage and family, then you're completely delusional."

"We could have made things work, Samantha. We could have been that one success story for kids our age."

She snorted and shook her head.

"You don't know what might have happened had you stuck around."

"No. I don't. But I didn't stick around and a lot of years have gone by, Chester. I'm not the same person I was when I was fourteen or fifteen or sixteen. I'm thirty-four years old. I'm a wife and a mother. I've changed. Drastically. And so have you."

"And you never, ever sit back and wonder what if? What if we hadn't have given the baby up? What if you'd stayed in the city? What if we'd stayed together? You don't ever wonder, Samantha?"

She contemplated her answer, tapping a watermelon pink fingernail on the side of her water glass. "I never wonder what if," she told him. "But, in all truthfulness, when I first came back to New York City, I was hoping to find you. I was hoping to find you and reconnect with you and maybe, just maybe, see where things would take us after so long."

"And why didn't you?" Lake asked. "Why didn't you try and find me, Sammie? Because I would have love to seen you. And to have where life would have taken us now that we're grown up. Because I think we could have had something incredible. Why didn't you come and find me? What happened that prevented you from coming for me?"

"Life happened, Chester. More specifically, Don happened. I met him and I fell for him hard and fast. And I don't regret the way things went down between us. Because I love him and adore him and he's my entire world."

Lake snorted. "Give me a break, Sam. He takes you for granted. He doesn't even appreciate you. We all see it. We all hear how he talks to you. Why do you put up with that? You don't deserve that."

"Chester," she fought to control her temper. "You don't know anything about Don. He's your supervisor. That's it. You're not friends with him. You don't hang out and have a beer after shift. He simply comes home to me and his son and minds his own business and lives his life. You have no clue what happens behind closed doors. Don isn't perfect. And neither am I. You don't know the issues we have and how hard we work at getting past them. So do me a favour and keep your mouth off of my husband."

Lake blinked and stared at her long and hard. Her eyes not meeting his as she drummed her neatly manicured nails on the table top. The engagement ring and diamond eternity band had long ago been removed and placed in a lock box at home. And while her wedding ring was getting tighter and more uncomfortable with each passing day, she refused to take it off.

"He doesn't deserve you, Samantha," he said quietly. "And I'm sorry if it hurts you to hear that. But I think deep down you know that's true."

"Don't pull this psychological bullshit on me," she snapped. "You're trying to put feelings in my head that aren't there. I think you're jealous. Plain and simple. I think you haven't been able to let go of the past and you're over estimating this bond that we have. We had a child together. But we were kids and we made a decision that was right for the both of us. And you need to let me go, Chester. I do care about you. A lot. But not in the way you want me to. I love my husband. I love him and the way he loves me and the life we have together. And you need to accept that and back off."

"How can you just let him treat you like that?"

"Treat me like what?" she cried. "How is he treating me? He's not abusing me. Emotionally or physically. We fight. A lot. We scream and we say mean shit to each other and we slam doors and throw things around the house. But you know what? We don't hurt one another. Don and I love each other and we get through things together! And our lives together are none of your business!"

"You love him so much yet you ask me to lunch? The ex boyfriend you share a child with that he can't stand being around you? Does he even know you're hear? Or am I one of those secrets you love keeping from him?"

"You know what? He does know I'm here! In fact, this was his idea! He thought it would be great for me and you to sit down and talk about things! Don was the one who told me to call you! So how about them fucking apples?"

* * *

Lake opened his mouth to respond but all words were cut off as she winced and laid a hand on her stomach. "Are you okay?" he asked, concern in his dark eyes.

She bit her lip and nodded. Taking deep breaths and releasing them slowly. One hand gripping her water glass while the other rubbed her stomach. "I'm okay…" she said. "I just…I need to start taking it easy. I can't be getting all worked up like this. It's not good for the babies."

"Is everything okay?" the waitress asked as she appeared at the side of their table, orders balanced on her hands, her eyes wide at the sight of a pregnant woman in obvious distress.

"I'm fine," Sam assured her, managing to get the cramps, and her heart rate and breathing under control. "Just sometimes…they act up a little too much…"

"She's having triplets," Lake explained to the waitress.

"Three babies?" the young woman asked, placing the food down in front of her patrons.

Sam nodded.

"You must have some lucky swimmers," the waitress declared, winking at Lake before leaving them in peace to enjoy their meal.

Sam snorted at the waitress' comment and reaching for her iced tea, took a long sip. "I can't believe she actually thought we were together. As in together, together."

"I thought it was pretty funny," he said with a shrug and dug into his salad.

"You would," she mumbled, and setting her glass down on the table, picked up her spoon and set to the task of eating her soup.

Lake watched her as she stirred the soup over and over again with her spoon, her eyes riveted on the concoction in front of her. Her lips pursed together in a slight grimace. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she replied.

"You're not going to eat?"

"I haven't been feeling very well the last couple of days," she admitted. "Nausea, dizziness. Last night I got freaked out because one of the babies, or all three, who knows, was moving a lot more than usual and the doctor always says…"

"If the movement seems frantic it would be the sign of trouble," Lake finished.

She nodded. "Don and I ended up having to wake Danny and Lindsay up at three am so they could watch Kieran while we went to the ER."

"And everything was okay?"

"The ultrasound shows that everyone is just fine. Just that they're running out of room. Inuterine Growth Restriction. The doctor said she expected it to happen because of how small I am, but I guess she didn't expect it to happen this quickly. So I'm on twice a week ultrasounds and at the beginning of next week I'm on bed rest. I'm not allowed to leave the apartment unless it's for an appointment, I'm not allowed to be alone for prolonged periods of time. I'm not allowed to pick Kieran up. I mean, how am I not suppose to pick him up? I'm his mother."

"You have to take the babies into consideration. Do what's best for them."

Sam sighed and spooned some soup into her mouth. "I am telling you, this is it. No more babies. I told Donnie last night that four is our cut off. And that if he even thinks about coming near me after this, I'm cutting something of his off."

Lake chuckled. "You put the fear of God into that poor guy."

Sam grinned. "He loves me though," she said. "Sometimes I wonder why mind you."

"Probably because you're insanely smart and even more beautiful," Lake offered.

"Chester," she sighed. "Please don't…"

"I was just making a comment, Samantha. An innocent comment. Nothing flirtatious about it."

She raised her eyebrows sceptically but didn't respond.

"So why Flack want you to meet me?" he asked. "What is it he thinks you and I need to talk about?"

"There's two things, actually," she replied. "First is whether or not you ever heard of someone named Lincoln Scott when we were teenagers."

"Name doesn't sound familiar."

"Do you ever remember seeing any guys coming around my house when my dad was off on one of his alcohol and drug fuelled expeditions or…"

"I never saw anyone out of the ordinary. And besides, that neighbourhood was filled with rats that would have run back to your old man and told him about some guy coming around. You know what he would have done to your mom, and probably you and Adam if he'd found out some other man was coming around his wife and kids when he wasn't there."

"Can't be any worse then what he was already doing to us," Sam muttered.

"Look, I'm sorry about your dad did to you and Adam, but…"

"Maybe you just don't remember if you saw Lincoln Scott or not. It was a long time ago. He's about five ten and has dark hair and eyes just like mine. He was a friend of my mom's from high school."

Lake shook his head and chewed and swallowed the food in his mouth. "Doesn't sound familiar," he told her. "I'd remember seeing someone hanging out at your house. So would you."

"He might have come around when I wasn't there," Sam argued. "If you think hard enough maybe…"

"Samantha, there's nothing wrong with my memory. The way your dad was, he would have lost it if there was some other guy around your mom. And I'd remember something like that."

She sighed and was quiet as she munched on a piece of the bread.

"So who is this guy? This Lincoln Scott?" Lake asked.

"Apparently, there's a possibility he's my real father."

He stared at his lunch companion, dumbfounded.

"It's a long, long story," Sam said with a huge sigh and dropped her spoon into her bowl wit a clatter. Leaning back in her seat, she smoothed both hands over her stomach. "My step dad gave me this guy's number. I went to see him and I'm pretty sure that he IS my real dad. He knows things about me and has pictures of me and we even sort of look alike."

"I sort of look like a lot of people, too," Lake told her. "Doesn't mean I'm related to them."

"My mother had a thing with him in high school," she explained. "She found out just after she broke up with him and met up with my dad that she was pregnant with me."

"So she had no clue which guy was your father."

Sam gave a dry laugh. "Talk about an episode of Maury Povich, huh?"

"Why in the hell would your mother keep something like that from you for thirty-four years?" Lake asked.

"Because she's a damn nutter that's why," Sam declared. "She's never been right in the head. I guess she felt she was doing the right thing by keeping something like that from me. Who knows what her reason was. But she did do it and when and if I find out for sure that he is my father, trust me, that bitch is going to pay. All those years she made me live with that monster she called my father when she had the opportunity to get me the hell out of there?"

"Only thing getting you out of there would have done is separate you and tour brother," Lake said. "And you wouldn't have been able to leave Adam there and Adam never would have survived without you. The best thing, during all that insanity, was that the two of you were together, helping each other through it. And your bond with him is even greater because of all the things you've been through together."

Sam sighed and nodded as she considered his words. "Adam has no idea how much he means to me," she said quietly. "I don't tell him enough or spend near enough time with him. And I miss that. And him. Just since I've got back to New York so much has happened in both of our lives that we don't seem to have the time to hang out."

"He probably misses that, too. Maybe you should think about trying to make some time."

"Easy for you to say. Are you pregnant with triplets with a husband and a toddler at home?"

"No. But I'm sure your brother would like to feel like he's still part of your life. But back to what we were originally talking about. This Lincoln Scott who may or may not be your father. What do you mean when and if you find out for sure?"

"He said he had to think about submitting to a DNA test. I mean, what the hell is there to think about? He already has it in his head that he's probably my dad so why not just help me out and find out for sure."

"Maybe he figures he's gone this long without knowing, why bother?"

"Why bother? Maybe because I've got this bomb dropped on me about thirty-four years and I think I have a right to know the truth?"

"This isn't just about you, Samantha. This affects him too. His entire life changes once he knows for sure."

"Please," Sam snorted. "Not like he has to pay me child support. What changes?"

"He's suddenly a father and a grandfather," Lake reasoned. "Those are two huge deals."

"It's not like I'm expecting anything from him," she said. "I don't expect him to be part of my life. I don't expect him to start playing daddy to me and coming around my home being the doting grandfather. I have a dad. Sarge is my dad and the grandfather to Kieran and the new babies. And Don's dad is in their lives too. So I don't need a father and they don't need a grandpa."

"So then why is it so important for you to know whether he's your dad or not?" Lake asked.

"I just want to know."

"Why? Sarge gave you and Adam a great life once he met your mother. He rescued all of you. He's your kids' grandfather like you said. So who gives a shit about this Lincoln Scott guy."

"I do!"

"But why? Why should something that happened thirty-four years ago matter to you? If you don't want him in your life, then…"

"I want to know!" she cried. "You can't drop a bomb like that on me and not expect me to want to know the truth!"

"You know what your problem is, Sammie? You dwell on the past too much. I know it's a shitty thing that happened to you and Adam, but you need to let it go and get on with your life and…."

"Excuse me?!" she laughed. "Now that's the goddamn pot calling the kettle black!"

"What you mean?"

"What I mean is that you haven't exactly been able to let go of the past. You're the one trying to tell me how badly my husband treats me in hopes I'm just going to dump him and come running to you. Give me a break."

"He does treat you badly. It's more an observation then anything."

"What in the hell are you talking about? What has he done that has made him out to be such a bad guy in your eyes?"

"It's the way he treats you."

"And how does he treat me? You still haven't told me what it is he's done to me that makes you get the impression that he treats me bad."

"The way he gets assertive and bossy with you, for one."

"Don is assertive and bossy," Sam informed him. "That's his personality. He's always been like that and he always will be. It's just him. And he's like that with everyone when he's on the job. It's not something I take personally."

"Way he talks down to you," Lake said. "Treats you like a second class citizen. Like you're so much below him."

"Look," Sam sighed heavily. "I don't know where you're seeing all of this, but you're delusional. Don doesn't treat me like I'm a second class citizen and he doesn't talk down to me. He loves me and he respects me. Sure, we have our issues. We have fights where we both talk to each other like we're pieces of shit. But you know what? We kiss and make up each and every time and we're going to keep kissing and making up for the next fifty, sixty years, God willing. So you either shut up and stop disrespecting him, or I get up and walk out of here and never bother with you again. Take your pick."

"I am just telling you the way I see it. And you must see it too to be getting so defensive."

"I'm getting defensive because you're bad mouthing my husband! Do you really think I'm just going to sit here and take that kind of shit? So either shut up about him or get the hell out of my face One of the two."

Lake sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair and stared at her long and hard. Contemplating his options. "What's the second thing he thought we needed to talk about?" he asked.

"Sara," Sam simply replied.

Lake nodded slowly. "So he knows about Sara."

"He's known for months now. He just has never brought it up to you because he feels it's none of his business. You know, he is capable of being a decent human being."

"Sam, I never said that…"

"I told him that I was ready to meet her," she said, cutting Lake off. "And he was a little worried and hesitant. Concerned about the impact that she'd have on our family. But he realizes that nothing or no one could possibly come between me and him or me and my children. Kieran and these triplets mean the world to me. And so does their father."

"And where does Sara fit in to your happy little family?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "Maybe she doesn't fit in anywhere. Maybe she'll fit right in. I really have no clue. But I feel I'm ready to meet her. Doesn't mean I'm going to have her over at my place every second night for dinner, getting acquainted with her step-siblings and calling me mom or calling Don her step-dad. So don't get your hopes up that anything like that is going to happen."

"So why meet her then? If you don't want her part of your life…."

"She has a mother and father. And maybe I'd just like to sit down with her and acknowledge to her face that I'm the one that gave birth to her nineteen years ago. Maybe I'd like to give her my reasons and my explanations for why I gave her up."

"And if she wants to be part of your life?"

"Then that's something Sara and I will need to talk about. Because honestly, Chester, I don't know if I can have her as part of my life. I have a husband and a little boy and babies on the way. I don't know if she fits in with all of that."

"And you think I'm just going to let you disappoint her?"

"What the hell do you want from me?!" Sam cried. "I am trying here! I am trying to make amends for the shitty things I've done in my past, Chester! I can only take one step at a time here! And the first step is meeting her and telling her why I made the decisions I did! And I came to you because you're part of her life and my link to her!"

"And you want me to tell her that you suddenly want to meet her? That I ran into her mother out of nowhere and her mother just so happened to say she wanted to meet her after nineteen years."

Sam nodded.

Chester snorted and shook his head. "You're fucking crazy, Samantha. You know that? If you actually think I'm going to give you a hand in breaking her heart."

"I'm not going to break her heart! I just want to meet her!"

"She's been asking about her real mother since she was twelve and she was told she was adopted. I lied to her when I told her I had no idea where you were! I lied because you asked me to keep her out of your life because you were afraid of how your husband would take it!"

"And he took it fine!" Sam argued. "He's fine with it! You think this is easy for him? Accepting that he was a nineteen year old step-daughter! He's thirty-two! Meaning he was thirteen when she was born! Thirteen! And you expect him to just welcome her with open arms and take her under his wing and let her call him dad."

"He's not her father. I'm her father!"

"You're her birth father! You helped make her and that's it! Her father is the man who has raised her since she was a newborn!"

"She calls me dad and if you think that Flack's just going to walk in and…."

"And what? Take over your spot? Give me a goddamn break, Chester! He doesn't want to be her father! He has a son of his own! He has more children on the way. He doesn't need her in his life!"

"And neither do you," Lake said, pushing his chair away from the table and standing up.

"Where the hell are you going?" Sam asked. "Sit down!"

"Just 'cause you can boss your husband around, don't try it with me," he said, and taking out his wallet, tossed a handful of bills on the table. "That should cover the entire bill. Don't ever call me again with anything to do with your daughter."

Sam grabbed his hand as he stalked away from the table. "You know what you're really pissed off about, Chester? You're pissed that I don't want you in the same way as you want me. You just can't handle the fact that I'm someone elses wife."

"You know what? You're right. And I especially can't handle the fact of who it is and the fact that he treats you the way he does and you let him!"

Sam snorted and shook her head. "You don't even know Don."

"You're right, I don't. But I've seen enough to know that he doesn't deserve you."

"And you do?" she asked, a smug look on her face.

"I could do a hell of a lot better job taking care of you then he does. Since I've been here, he's done nothing but fuck up and let you down. And from what I heard, he's got quite the track record of fucking up when it comes to you."

"Get the hell out of my face," she grumbled and turned back to her lunch.

Lake leaned over her and smoothed a piece of hair behind her ear. "One day, Samantha, you're going to realize everything I said today is true. And you know what, I'll be here. Just remember that. Remember I'm here for you no matter what."

"I think you should leave now," she said, sipping the remains of her iced tea.

"One day," he vowed, and pressing a kiss to the top of her head, stalked away.

That will be one cold day in hell, she thought. Wincing as a sharp pain in her lower stomach nearly took her breath away and brought tears to her eyes. She willed herself to calm down, to think about her babies. Knowing she'd never be able to live with herself if anything happened to them.

Or if anything happened to the life she had.

* * *

Flack yawned noisily as he sat in the passenger seat of Danny Messer's department issue SUV. He'd been just too damn tired to drive to and from Brooklyn. The trip to the hospital at three in the morning had come after only and hour and a half of sleep. A near sleepless night that had began with calming Kieran after a night terror, and ended with walking through the front door at six in the morning with a scheduled eight o'clock shift.

It had been Danny's idea to accompany him into Brooklyn when Flack had announced he needed to make a visit to Crown Heights. To get himself acquainted with the guy Sam truly and honestly believed was her real birth father. Flack was suspicious to say the least. Not that he doubted her story. He knew when she was telling the truth and when she was trying to pull something over on him. And she wasn't lying. She believed in her heart of hearts that this was her dad. And it was killing her to not know the truth. That this Scott character wasn't willingly to take a simple DNA test to put her tortured mind at rest. Flack wondered if this guy was on the up and up. If he was sincere when he told her that he'd thought all along he was her father, or if he was some kind of wack job holding onto a more than thirty year old fantasy.

Only time would tell.

Danny had told him, when Flack had said where he needed to go and the errand he needed to run, that he knew all about Lincoln Scott. The CSI had explained that when Lindsay couldn't get ahold of Sam the day before, she'd gone through her best friend's things and found Lincoln Scott's address. And that Danny himself, thinking that something was up, had gone to Crown Heights to confront her. Flack appreciated the fact that Danny had his back and was so protective of his best friend. And understood why Danny came to the conclusions of an extra martial affair. And he'd appreciated even more the fact that Danny cared that much about Sam and the babies that he had been compelled to make sure they were safe.

And Danny wasn't about to let his best friend walk into stranger's apartment in Crown Heights alone.

The meeting with Lincoln Scott had gone exceptionally well right from the get go. The man had been somewhat surprised when two NYPD detectives came pounding on his door, especially considering the visit he had the previous day from a woman claiming to be his daughter. But he'd willingly let them in the moment Flack had explained who he was. That it had been his wife that had showed up on Scott's doorstep the day before and that he was worried about her health and well being and what news like that was going to do to her and his unborn children.

The guy had seemed on the up and up. He wholly believed that he was Samantha's birth father and had brought out the photos and the letters from Sam's mother to back up his theory. And while he'd hedged a little and gave Flack somewhat of a rough time when Flack brought up the idea of taking a cheek swab and letting the lab test the DNA to prove paternity, Scott had come around when Danny just said it the way it was. That after the hell that Samantha had suffered from a man she'd thought was her father, she deserved to know the truth. She deserved to know if the monster who'd molested her and abused her and her brother was the man who helped give her life.

They'd left half an hour after they'd arrived, cheek swab sealed up tight and plans on taking it straight to Mac for testing.

"Crimestopper…" Danny said as he made the cut off to Manhattan. "Am I that boring?"

"Sorry," Flack let loose another yawn. "I'm exhausted. Between K and those nightmares and having to take Sammie to the hospital, I'm running on empty here."

"Soon enough those babies will be here and you'll never sleep," his best friend told him. "Get used to it."

"I've already taken care of one baby, remember? I know what to expect."

"So think of it as Kieran times three."

Flack frowned. "You're a bastard, you know that Messer?"

"Just speaking the truth. But Sammie and the babies are okay?"

Flack nodded and closed his eyes. "Somewhat," he said.

"Somewhat? What does that mean? Somewhat?"

"It means they're somewhat okay. They're in no immediate danger. She's going to wind up in the hospital on complete bedrest before the date they gave her to check in. I just know it."

"It's probably the best place for her," Danny said.

"Probably," Flack yawned again. "Jesus Christ. I need a nap. Or caffeine. Or both."

"I'll make a pit stop at the Starbucks on Lex," Danny told him.

"You hear anything on Erica?" Flack asked, putting his seat back and stretching his legs out.

"Montana and I are going to the final ultrasound with her and her lawyer tomorrow."

Flack laughed. "Her lawyer goes to the appointments? Are you kidding me?"

"For her protection apparently," Danny snorted. "I am past caring what that bitch does. I just want my kid. I just want my baby home with me and his mother. 'Cause that's what Linds is. His mother. She's going to be my wife and the one to raise him."

"Him?" Flack asked, cracking an eye open.

Danny shrugged. "Gut feeling," he replied. "I am pretty sure it's a boy."

"Guess you having a boy is for the best," Flack said, closing his eyes once again.

"Why's that?"

"Means I don't have to worry about some daughter of yours seducing Kieran when their older."

"Screw you, Flack. We both know that it would be the other way around. That your kid is going to have a hard time keeping it in his pants."

"Wonder who he's going to get that from," Flack said with a grin.

"Like father like son," Danny sing-songed.

The detective held up a his left hand and gave his best friend the middle finger.

"Come on, Flack. Don't deny it. Before Sammie there wasn't anything you wouldn't tap."

"You've got me completely mistaken with someone else," the other man grinned.

"You're so full of shit," Danny snorted. "But I'm proud of you, you know. I'm proud of my boy."

"Yeah? Why?"

"You've changed a lot. A hell of a lot, in fact. And it all has to do with that ring on your finger and the beautiful, amazing woman that put it there. You've grown up, Don. Ever since you met Sam and things got real serious between the two of you, you became this different person. For the better. I mean, you're a husband and a father. You've got this great woman and an adorable little boy and more kids on the way. I never dreamt in a million years that you'd be so damn domesticated."

"Neither did I," Flack admitted. "Or that I'd be as happy as I am."

"Hang on to that," Danny said. "Don't ever let that, or her, go."

"Don't plan on it. She's stuck with me whether she likes it or not."

"And I do hope my kid is a boy. You know why?"

Flack shook his head.

"Our kids can be best friends. Carry on what you and I got."

"What you and I got?" Flack laughed. "Are you calling us besties, Messer? You been hanging out with my wife too much or what?"

"Hey, the ladies in our lives are rubbing off on me, alright? But yeah. You're my best friend. You always have been. And now K and my son can be best friends, too. Carry on after their old men."

"Quit being so goddamn sappy, Dan-o. It's not becoming of you."

"You know I love you, Flack."

"Say that again and my gun will be going off in a very rare and freak workplace accident."

"What? It's okay for two guys to tell each other they love one another!" Danny argued.

"Sure it is. But that's usually after one of them's gone down on the other one or something," Flack argued.

"You're sick in the head. Don't be such a homophob."

"I'm not!" the detective laughed. "I'm just saying it's not normal for two guys to be saying that unless they're sleeping together."

"Well…" Danny said with a smirk. "I have always found you insanely attractive and had this massive crush on you."

"Okay…either pray you have a paper bag in here or pull the car over so I can barf my guts up."

"I can't help it that I'm attracted to you and always have been," Danny commented, pulling into a spot outside the Starbucks and reaching out to run a hand over Flack's hair.

"Get the fuck outta here, Messer!" Flack bellowed and shoved his best friend's hand off of her.

"You're such a cup cake," Danny chuckled and killed the ignition.

"Me? You're the one feeling me up."

"I am not feeling you up. If I was feeling you'd up I'd…."

"FUCK OFF, DANNY!" Flack roared when he felt his best friend's hand on his thigh.

"Admit it," Danny laughed. "You want me."

Flack snorted. "What I want is coffee. Lots of it."

"Fine…fine…" Danny sighed and tossed his door open. "What do I get for it?"

"Messer…."

Chuckling, Danny shut his door and headed for the coffee shop.

"You little fruit," Flack murmured and closed his eyes and settled his head back against the seat.

Several minutes passed. Flack had managed to drift off into a comfortable, albeit brief nap. Interrupted by a loud knocking on the window next to his head.

His eyes snapped open. Taking in the young kid standing at the door. A large manila envelope in hand. The guy looked no older then twenty and had tousled light brown hair and wide set green eyes. He looked nervous and shaky and his green and plaid hunting jacket and his jeans and his face and hands were dirty.

"What do you want?" Flack shouted through the window.

"Detective Don Flack?" the kid asked.

"What do you want?" he repeated, his hand slipping under his coat and his thumb flicking open his holster. His fingers curled around the handle of his gun.

The kid held up the envelope. "From a concerned friend!"

"Put it on the windshield and walk away, facing me, with your hands up," Flack ordered.

The young man nodded in understanding and did as he was told. Setting the envelope on the windshield before backing slowly away, hands up, palms out.

Flack slipped his gun from his holster. Not taking any chances. Unlocking his door, he cautiously slipped out of the car, gun to his side.

"Not here to cause any problems!" the kid said. "Just wanted to deliver it to you!"

"Who asked you to do it?" Flack asked, weapon at ready as he reached for the envelope.

"Person didn't give me a name. Just asked me to do it. Said they were following you for some time and didn't want to approach you and asked me to do it."

"Guy or girl?" Flack asked.

"Girl."

"What she look like?"

"Dark hair. Dark eyes. Tall. Slender."

"Another cop?"

The kid shrugged.

"Get the hell out of here," Flack ordered. Waiting until the young man disappeared into the crowd before holstering his gun and tearing open the envelope.

He reached in, pulling out several eight by ten coloured photographs. His heart pounded and his stomach nodded at the subject of the photos.

The sidewalk outside of Lincoln Scott's apartment.

His wife and his best friend.

Danny holding Samantha's face in his hands, their eyes locked on each other. Intensely and lovingly. The two of them hugging.

Rage built up inside of him. Tears of anger and heartbreak welling in his eyes.

"What you got there?" Danny asked, as he returned to the car and found his friend, hands shaking, staring down at photos in his hand.

Flack just shook his head. At a loss for words.

"You okay, Don?" Danny asked. "What's wrong?"

Flack held out the photo of his best friend tenderly holding his wife's face in his hands.

"I think you owe me a fucking explanation," he said.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing!! Things are going to slow down a bit with VFB as the muse drags me in the direction of the new story! But please, please keeping R and R'ing folks! I appreciate and love each and every one of you!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**muchmadness**

**Hope4sall**

**Laplandgurl**

**EvaFlack001**

**Jag Lady**

**Forest Angel**

**Bluehaven4220**

**Soccer-bitch**

**wolfeylady**

**shopaholic20**


	67. Simple Explanations

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND KIERAN FLACK.**

**A/N: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, FOLKS! THE MUSE TOOK A HOLIDAY IT SEEMS! BUT SHE'S BACK!**

* * *

**Simple explanations**

"We're standing on a tiny ledge  
Before this goes over the edge  
Gonna use my heart and not my head  
And try to open up your eyes  
This is relationship suicide  
Cos if you go, I go...  
Taking shortcuts through the alleys  
While your racing through my mind  
Cops can chase but they wont catch me  
Not before I get to speak my mind  
If there's still time."  
-Talk You Down, The Script

* * *

"Kieran!" Lindsay bellowed, her voice filling the entire thirty-fifth floor.

Despite the hectic and noisy pace of life that personified the New York City Crime Lab, she could clearly be heard over the din. Conversations between employees and visitors halted and all eyes turned towards the petite woman from Montana and the nearly sixteen month old bundle of energy that tore off the elevator the second the doors opened. He barrelled through the crowd like a mini linebacker for the Giants. Sending people scrambling and swerving to get out of his way. Some grumbling and going as far as offering up comments on how that kid was nothing but a holy terror and a brat who needed a firmer hand. And how it was obvious that Detective Flack -everyone knew Kieran, especially after the Dean Lessing incident- despite his intimidating personality and appearance, couldn't control his own child.

Lindsay bit back the urge to tell them all to take a hike -in more colourful language obviously- as she hurried after the toddler. Pushing his stroller that was loaded down with his knapsack and sweater and jacket and the various bags of purchases they had made during their early afternoon romp through midtown Manhattan. It was all Lindsay's fault that he had managed to escape. She should have known better then to trust the nod Kieran had given her when she'd asked him, if she let him out of his buggy, if he'd hold onto it and not let go. There could have been no possibly way he actually understood what she was saying. But he'd looked so damn cute and innocent looking up at her with those huge blue eyes and that Mets cap turned backwards on his hand, that she'd been unable to accept her was anything other then a perfect angel.

Angel in looks. Devil child in personality. She'd come to quickly learn that as cute and cherubic as Kieran Flack was, he was more then capable of causing sheer and utter hell.

It wasn't the sheer embarrassment of having to chase a sixteen month old tyrant down that bothered Lindsay the most. Nor was it the whispers and the stares and the 'helpful' comments on how to keep a better eye on the kid. It was the deep rooted fear she had of something happening to him. Panic was quickly setting in because she couldn't see that tiny body in the crowds of people that took up the halls. She could hear his musical laugh and his calls of mommy and daddy. He recognized where he was and knew his parents had to be there somewhere. And as long as she could hear him, Lindsay knew that Kieran was okay. Because the thought of anything happening to him, of someone snatching him up and never seeing him again…well that thought nearly paralyzed her with fear.

She had just caught side of him, of that little body clad in denim overalls and a yellow and blue striped polo shirt and those flashing Diego shoes swerving through the crowds, his Caillou stuffed doll tucked under his arm, when the inevitable happened. He didn't fall and crack his head or his face open. Someone didn't scoop him up and attempt to take off on him. Kieran had decided, unknowingly of course, to collide with the legs of the one person that struck fear in Lindsay Monroe.

Chief of Detectives Brigham Sinclair.

Jesus Christ, Lindsay thought, sheer horror spreading through her body as she rushed towards her tiny charge staring up at the man towering above him. Sinclair looking down sternly at the child at his feet.

And then those cold, unfeeling dark brown eyes softened ever so slightly as the little boy lifted his free arm.

"UP!" Kieran demanded.

A smile spread across Sinclair's face. And he paused briefly, considering his options, before bending down and scooping the toddler up into his arms.

"Now where do you think you're going little man?" Sinclair asked, in a deep and gentle voice as he settled Kieran on his hip. "You're going to get hurt running around like that. We certainly wouldn't want that to happen, would we?"

The toddler shook his head.

"And I'm sure your mommy and your daddy wouldn't want anything happening to you," Sinclair told him. "It's not good to run off like that. We wouldn't want a bad person getting a hold of you again."

Lindsay gave a polite, almost nervous smile as she finally caught up. "Chief Sinclair," she greeted.

"Miss Monroe from Montana," he said with a nod. "Long time no see. I was surprised to find you back here in New York City. I hope life is treating you well."

"Very well," she told him. "Danny Messer and I are getting married."

"So I've heard. Congratulations are in order. I hope all goes well for the two of you."

"Thank you, sir," she said. "So I take it you already have met this monster."

"A few times," Sinclair told her. "But it's been a while since I've seen him last. In person that is. He was just a tiny thing the last time I laid eyes on him. The famous Kieran Flack."

"I'm sorry about him running around like that. He gets away from you and it's hard to keep up."

"The important thing is that he didn't get hurt," Sinclair said.

"What dat?" Kieran asked curiously, poking at the platinum, oval shaped pin gracing the middle of Sinclair's silk tie.

"That, little man, is a tie pin," Sinclair told him.

"Mine?" the toddler asked hopefully.

Sinclair chuckled. "Unfortunately, I can't give you that. My wife would not be happy at all if I handed that over. But I do think I have a little something for you."

Passing Kieran over to Lindsay, Sinclair proceeded to unclasp the small American Flag pin that boasted the numbers 9-11 in the middle of it in gold lettering, that he always attached to the label of every suit jacket he put on.

"Here we go," Sinclair said, his big hands reaching out and surprisingly gracefully, attaching the pin to one of the straps of Kieran's overalls. "That was given to me by a man named Rudy Guiliani," he told the little boy. "He was the mayor of our fine city when nine eleven happened. Which, by the grace of God, you're too young to know, or ask questions about. But he gave this to me, once he was out of office, on the first anniversary of the attacks. And now, I am giving it to you."

"Mine?" Kieran asked, fingering the pin, a bright smile on his face.

"All yours," Sinclair replied. "Now, when you're say, nineteen, twenty and graduating from the academy, I want you to come and find me and show me that pin, okay? So it's up to you, little man, to keep it nice and safe. Maybe when you get home tonight, your mommy or your daddy can put it away for you."

"What do you say, Kieran?" Lindsay asked. "Say thank you…."

"Tank you," the little boy said, and brought his right hand up to his mouth, then brought it down in front of him.

Sinclair arched an eyebrow.

"It's sign language," Lindsay explained. "We're using that to help him communicate better."

"Detective Flack was telling me the last time we spoke that his son was having some issues," Sinclair said with an understanding nod. "Will the hearing be a permanent thing? Or is it something that will improve with age?"

"No one is quite sure yet," Lindsay told him. "It's just something that the audiologist and his pediatrician and his ENT are keeping an eye on. Only time will tell, I guess."

"I hope for our sake that it's temporary," Sinclair said. "I'd hate to see anything stand in the way of the next Flack to make his mark within our department. The NYPD is in his future. I wouldn't want to see something prevent him from carrying on the family name."

Lindsay gave a polite smile. "Well, sir, with all due respect, he's a Ross too. And his mother, and his uncle, are both Ivy league educated and valuable members of the department as well. Just in a different respect."

"This boy bleeds blue," Sinclair informed her. "He's his father's son. Through and through. It would be both a shock, and shame, if he didn't become an officer of the same calibre as his father."

"I guess that's just a decision Kieran will have to make when he's older," she said. "Like in twenty years. His parents are still working on potty training and self feeding. I don't think they've even started concerning themselves with what he'll do when he's out of high school."

"If they were smart, they'd be thinking about it. Grooming him as soon as possible. Another Flack in the department? There's a great light of expectation shining on him."

"Well he's sixteen months old," Lindsay reminded him. "Let's give it some time before we're charting out his course."

"Put a bug in in their ear," Sinclair told her. "It would be a great moment for the department years from now. It was nice to see you again, Miss Monroe. I have to get back to my office. Attend to some important matters."

"Of course," she said. "Take care."

He smiled, then laid a gentle hand on the top of Kieran's head. "I will hopefully see you soon, little man," he addressed the toddler. "You keep your mommy and daddy in line."

"Mommy?" Kieran's entire face lit up as he glanced around. "Daddy?"

Sinclair chuckled and pinched the little boy's cheek gently. "You've got the face of an angel," he told Kieran. "Great things await you, little man. You be a good boy."

"Bye-bye!" Kieran called, waving farewell to his new friend as Sinclair headed down the hall. "Bye-bye!"

Sinclair cast a glance and a bright smile over his shoulder. "Word of advice, Miss Monroe?" he called. "The Crime Lab is not the Romper Room."

"Yes, sir," she said in response and looked at Kieran. "You are a little bugger," she declared.

He gave a dramatic pout and lowered his chin to his chest and fluttered his long eyelashes. "Bad boy?" he asked.

"Just a bit," Lindsay told him. Unable to stay mad for more then ten seconds.

"Wuv you!" Kieran declared, planting a noisy kiss on her cheek.

She laughed. "I love you, too," she told him, stepping behind the buggy to push it with one hand as she carried him down the hall. "You ready to go see mommy?"

He nodded excitedly. "Wuv mommy," he said.

"What about daddy?" Lindsay asked.

"Wuv daddy!" he exclaimed. "Wots!"

"You love daddy lots?"

Kieran nodded.

"Well lucky for you, kid, your mommy and daddy love you to the moon and back," she told him, pecking one of his chubby cheeks. "We all do. We wouldn't give you up for anything in the world, you know that?"

He nodded again.

Lindsay laughed. It was an amazing feeling to be part of her 'nephew's' life. To teach him new things, to see him develop and achieve milestones. To see him grow and watch how happy and innocent and carefree he was. Relatively emotionally unscathed by the trauma he'd gone through. And oblivious to the pain and suffering of his parents and their inability to fully accept what happened.

Time healed all wounds.

It was just the waiting that made things more painful.

* * *

Flack waited for an answer. His lips pursed, hands trembling from anger, the sound of blood rushing through his brain nearly deafening. How long he actually stood there was a mystery to him. It seemed like a lifetime that he clutched that photograph shoved in his best friend's face. Disbelief and fury and the most unbearable heartache threatening to consume him. That Danny would betray him like that. That his wife would destroy him. Toss everything they had achieved out the window. All but laugh at him and mock him as they hit their sick secret from him.

"Look, Flack…" Danny began, sitting the take out tray of coffees down on the hood of the SUV. Choosing his words carefully as he backed away from his best friend, hands raised in surrender. "That…that is not what it looks like, buddy."

"Famous last words from cheaters," the detective spat. "Isn't that what they all say when they get caught? It's not what it looks like? You know what I think, Messer? I think you're full of shit and that this!" he slammed the photo down on the hood and forced another picture into Danny's face. "And this! Are exactly what it looks like! And it looks like you're fucking my wife!"

"No…" Danny shook his head. "That's not what it looks like. What it looks like is one friend comforting another."

"Look at this!" Flack picked up the first photo once again. "Look at the way you're looking at her! The way she's looking at you! How you're holding her face in your hands! Does that look like you're just comforting someone!"

"Yes, it does," Danny remained calm. "It's looks like your wife is upset and I'm talking to her and trying to calm her down."

"It looks like you're going to fucking kiss her you asshole!" Flack raged.

"You are blowing this way out of proportion," the CSI told him. "It looks nothing like that. Sam and I aren't looking at each other in anyway. She was upset and I was trying to get her to talk to me. She was crying and all I did was hold her face in my hands and brush her tears away. That's it. There was never going to be a kiss. Don't read into that."

"Don't read into it! How the hell would you see it if those were pictures of me and Monroe? If I was touching her face like that? If I was hugging her like that? Tell me how the hell you'd feel, Danny! Would that not piss you off? Would you not see red?"

"Of course I would. But…"

"But?! How the hell can there be a but?!"

"Don…listen to me. There is nothing going on between me and your wife. I don't know where you got those pictures from but…"

"Some fucking kid just walked up to the car and knocked on the window. Knew my name and everything! Handed me these pictures and said they were from a concerned friend!"

"Well whoever this concerned friend is, they've got shit all wrong. They just saw what they wanted to see and took the pictures. There is nothing going on between me and Brooklyn. I swear to you. And what kind of friend would fucking spy on your wife?"

"What kind of best friend would be in this kind of situation with his best friend's wife?" Flack challenged.

"Don…honestly…I know this looks bad, buddy. I understand how you could think, looking at those pictures, that there's something funny going on with me and Sam. But there's not. You are my best friend. She is your wife. And I love you like a brother and respect you, and your wife and your children, more then I could ever tell you! And I would never, ever fuck your life up by taking away your wife and taking Kieran's mother away from him!"

"You know how much I love her, Danny!" Flack was near tears as he paced in front of the department issued Avalanche. Tears of rage and insurmountable anguish. "You know that she's my everything! She's my entire world! I have been through hell and back with her and for her! There's nothing I wouldn't do for her! I'd fucking die for her and this is what you and her do to me?"

"We're not doing anything to you!" Danny exclaimed. "Samantha would never hurt you like that! She loves you! Worships the goddamn ground you walk on! Same way you do with her! And you are my best friend! You've always been there whenever I needed you! Always had my back no matter what. And I would never, ever fuck you over like that, Don! And you know what? It hurts to think that you don't trust me enough to let me take care of your wife when she needs someone!"

"Yeah? Well that someone should be me. Not you."

"And I get that! But you were in another state all together. Working. Making money to support your family. And when Montana called me and told me about that guy's name and address and what not, I did what I know you'd do and I went there to get her! To make sure she was safe!"

"And I appreciate that, Danny! I do! But these!" Flack nodded down at the pictures. "Explain these!"

"Samantha was upset! She came out of Lincoln Scott's building and found me waiting for her. I jumped to conclusions. Got all defensive and protective of you! I accused her of having an affair. Said some pretty mean shit to her. And you know what she did?"

Flack shook his head.

"She slapped me across the face. Told me to take a hike. And trust me, she was not that polite about it. And then she was going to take off for the subway and I knew I had to go after her. Make amends. Keep her and those babies safe!"

"The pictures, Danny. Explain to me how you and my wife got into situations like that."

"They aren't situations! They're moments between friends, Don! She was upset and started to cry and I pressed her to tell me what was going on and that's when she told me about that guy being her father. I was comforting her. That's it. I took her face in my hands and I wiped her tears away and I hugged her. That's all there was to it. I'd never fool around with your wife. You're my boy, Flack. You know that."

"I was your boy when me and Sammie were just starting out but it didn't stop you from fucking her then," Flack said.

"The two of you were seeing each other!" Danny argued. "There was nothing serious going on between you! You even told her you wanted to see other people. You were still doing whatever it is you were doing with Devon. Sam and I went out on a date. Had a little too much to drink and ended up back at my place and we had sex. It was just sex. That's it."

"Just sex, huh? You have this 'just sex' on the same pool table you had 'just sex' with Monroe on?"

"What went on between me and Lindsay that night and what went on between me and Brooklyn were two entirely different things. I was in love with Montana and…"

"And what? You were just looking for someone to fuck and went after my girlfriend?"

"She wasn't your girlfriend, Flack! You were still banging Devon so who the hell are you to talk? You weren't exactly Mister Monogamous! You were fucking Devon and Sam and I had sex! So what? It only happened one goddamn time!"

"One time or just one night?" Flack asked.

"What the hell does that matter?"

"You can have sex a lot in one night. Was it just once that night or…"

"It happened a few times, a'right?! What difference does that make? Sam and I went back to my place knowing we were going to have sex. We weren't expecting candles and flowers and romance. We were looking for a wild and crazy night of no strings attached sex. And that's all it was! We weren't hoping to wake up the next morning madly in love with each other! We woke up, did our thing again, we each took a shower and that's it. She left and we acted like nothing ever happened between us. Went back to being Danny Messer and Samantha Ross. Friends and co-workers. That's it!"

"You ever want it to happen again?" asked Flack.

"After that, you and her got your heads out of your asses and got serious," Danny replied.

"But did you ever want it to happen again?" his best friend pressed.

"I'd be a complete moron to not want that again," Danny admitted. "I'm a guy and Samantha is a beautiful, alluring and sexy woman. But she was in love with you! She told me that she was falling in love with you!"

"Before or after you fucked her?"

"Jesus Christ, Flack! Listen to me! She was in love with you! Not me! She married you! She had your son! And she's having your babies! It is all you!"

Flack sighed heavily and looked down at the photos sitting on the hood of the SUV.

"Samantha is your wife," Danny said. "And you should have more respect for her and trust her more. Because if you did, you'd know she'd never, ever hurt you like that."

Flack shook his head slowly. "You been hurt once by someone you love, you can't help but think everyone else you love is going to do the same thing."

"Look, I know you've been fucked over by women. Hell, we all have. But this just isn't some woman. This is your wife and the mother of your children. And she loves you more then words, Flack."

The detective nodded.

"Don, I'd never do something like that to you, okay? Ever. I love you like a brother. And think about it. I just got Montana back. She's the love of my life, my everything. Sam is her best friend. Why in the hell would I destroy Lindsay by doing something like that? I fucked things up once. By doing something selfish and stupid with Rikki. I learned my lesson. And I love Lindsay too much to loose her again. I'd die without her. Simple as that."

Flack took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Danny laid a hand on the other man's shoulder. "You and me are boys, Flack. I'd never hurt my boy like that. And if you don't believe me that nothing happened, then you can just go and ask Mac and…"

"What does Mac have to do with this?"

"Mac was in the area. Saw me and Brooklyn and jumped to the same conclusions. He knows for a fact nothing happened. And he can tell you that himself if you want."

Flack shook his head. "I believe you, Danny."

"Good," the CSI said and began gathering the pictures up. "Now what do we do with these? Toss 'em?"

Flack grabbed the envelope and handed it to his best friend. "Put them in there," he said. "I'm going to try and see if I can find out who the hell is trying to fuck up my life."

"I can run some tests on them and the envelope," Danny told him, slipping the photos back into their original holder. "Look for prints and what not. A'right?"

Flack nodded and laid his hands, palms down, on the hood and hung his head, his eyes closed.

"You're alright," Danny said, reaching out to rub his best friend's back softly. "Just take it easy."

"I just…I can't loose my wife, Danny."

"You're not going to, okay? This was just a misunderstand. Simple misunderstanding."

"Just the thought of her with someone else…it makes me sick. Physically sick."

"I know. I don't blame you. I'd feel the same way."

"I'm sorry I reacted the way I did," Flack said, opening his eyes and raising his head. "Just when it comes to my wife…"

"You don't need to explain, buddy. I get it. Trust me. Here…" Danny snagged one of the coffees out of the carry tray and held it out. "Little caffeine. Although maybe the way you're feeling I should have got you decaf. Don't need you anymore wired and jittery."

"Funny," Flack said, and accepted the coffee with a grateful nod. "Any Baileys in here?"

"Sorry," Danny laughed. "I left my booze in my other pants. You're okay now?"

The detective nodded as he sipped the coffee.

"Let's get these back to the lab," Danny said, holding aloft the envelope. "See if we can't find the sonofabitch fucking with you. At least we know who it isn't."

"Who?" Flack asked, as he went around to the passenger side door and opened it.

"Well Lessing's lying six feet under with a bullet wound in between his eyes," Danny replied, as he went around to the driver's side of the vehicle. "So it rules him out. How many people could you have possibly pissed off during your career?"

Flack arched an eyebrow.

"Bad question. Maybe we should be asking who you didn't piss off. Might narrow down the list."

"You're a goddamn smart ass," Flack declared and climbed into the vehicle.

"I aim to please," Danny said and slid in behind the wheel. "I got your back, Don. I'll find out who sent these things. And then you know what we're going to do?"

"What?" the detective asked.

"We're going nail 'em to the fucking wall," Danny replied confidently.

* * *

Samantha sighed heavily and hung up the telephone and stared down at Mac's day planner open in front of her. After a lot of wrangling and schedule adjusting, she had finally managed, after two hours with her ass parked behind her desk and the phone pressed to her ear, organize her boss' schedule. With the political game stepped up within the NYPD since Mac's successful defeat of Gerrard and Sinclair over the Clay Dobson mess -Sam wasn't entirely sure what went down, she just knew Mac was being railroaded and he'd come up with a smoking gun to save his ass- Mac Taylor was in hot demand. Everyone seemed to want a slice of the Crime Lab boss' time.

And Mac hated politics. But what he hated more was having to sit through meeting after meeting with the NYPD brass. Especially if it had to do with budget cuts. It was that time of the year and Mac had zero tolerance for being told what to do and how to run the show. He despised Sinclair for expecting better and faster results with a short staff and less then top of the line technology. And if there was a more reliable system to be had, Mac said to hell with the brass and ordered it anyway. Fuck them, he had said to Sam once, when she'd complained about the financial officer calling her and complaining her boss had spent way over the allotted money he'd been given for the year. Just fuck him.

Sam remembered how she'd blinked at the language coming out of Mac's mouth. Surprised he'd had somewhat of a meltdown in front of her. And then she'd gone back to her office was a huge grin on her face. Because that meltdown had proved to her that Mac Taylor was a human being. Capable of emotion.

And goddamnit if that didn't make him even sexier in her eyes.

That thought made her giggle aloud as she jotted important dates and times in the leather bound book in front of her.

Nothing like having daydreams about your boss when you're married and massively pregnant, she thought, a grin on her face as she reached for the bottle of water sitting on her desk. Uncapping it, she took a large swig and contemplated waddling down to the lunch room for a snack.

But all thoughts of food were slightly derailed when a knock came to the open office door. And before she could look over, a tiny body launched itself across the room with an ecstatic shriek.

"MOMMEEEE!"

She turned her chair around to face the door and smiled brightly, her arms outstretched. "Hi, baby boy!" she greeted cheerfully, unable to do little more then wrap her son in what seemed like the lamest hug she'd ever given. "How are you today?" she asked, pressing kisses all over his chubby cheeks. "Have you been a good boy for Auntie Linds?"

Kieran nodded. "Mommy up?" he asked hopefully.

"Mommy can't lift you up, sweetie cheeks," she said apologetically. "Remember? She can't pick you up because of the babies in her tummy. Do you remember daddy telling you that?"

"Baby?" he inquired, poking her stomach with his index finger.

"Babies," she told him. "In mommy's tummy. Are you going to be a big brother?"

"Brudda," he said proudly.

"That's right. Kieran is going to be a big brother. Have you been having a good day with Auntie Linds?" she asked. "What have you been doing today?"

"A little bit of this, a little bit of that," Lindsay said, as she parked the stroller by the window, pulling one of the shopping bags out of it before heading over to the desk. "How are you feeling, mommy?" she asked, pecking Sam's cheek and giving her a one armed hugged.

"Okay," Sam replied. "I haven't moved too far. Doctor says leaving the house is even a bad idea."

"Well she's right," Lindsay told her. "You should be on bed rest."

Sam waved it off. "So what have you guys been doing?" she asked.

"Shopping," Lindsay replied. "Kieran bought something for the babies."

"You did?" Sam asked her son. "What did you buy?"

"Give this to mommy, K," Lindsay said, passing the small bag to the toddler. "Show mommy what you bought the babies."

He took the bag, peered inside of it and gave a huge grin as he held it out to his mother. "Dis mommy!" he chirped.

"Thank you, sweet cheeks," Sam said, pressing a kiss to his lips and accepting the bag. "That was very sweet of you to buy something for your brother and sisters."

"Or sister and brothers, or brothers, or sisters," Lindsay teased, rubbing her friend's shoulders.

"Let's see what Kieran bought!" Sam exclaimed and reached into the bag. Smiling as she pulled out three Beanie Babies. A skunk, a monkey, and a hippopotamus. "Hey look!" she held up the last animal. "It's me! A hippo!"

"Give me a break," Lindsay snorted.

"I'm a whale, Monroe," Sam sighed. "Face it."

"Well let's blame Flack for that," Lindsay said and kissed her best friend's cheek.

"Thank you so much, Kieran," Sam pecked his cheeks. "It was very sweet of you to buy the babies something. Can you give the babies a kiss?"

He smiled brightly and kissed his mother's stomach.

"Good boy," Sam praised. "You're such an amazing big brother!"

"Me!" he chirped, pointing to himself. "Me brudda!"

"Tell mommy what your name is," Lindsay said. "What did Auntie teach you? What's your name?"

"Me?" he asked.

"Yeah…you. What's your name?"

"Me K!" he announced proudly.

"That's amazing, baby boy!" his mother enthused. "You'll have to tell daddy when you see him. Daddy will be so proud of you!"

"Daddy?" Kieran asked, looking around the room.

"Daddy's out working," Sam told him. "He might be back soon. He's been gone for a while with Uncle Danny."

"Unc 'anny?"

Sam nodded.

"Unc 'anny up?"

"I am sure Uncle Danny will pick you up when he sees you," Sam laughed. "Did you eat lunch yet?"

Kieran shook his head.

Lindsay giggled. "Yes you did! You had a bagel and cream cheese!"

"Ungy," the toddler exclaimed, rubbing his tummy.

"You are always hungry," Sam declared, slowly standing up.

"That's the ultimate proof that he is Flack's son," Lindsay said, holding the chair with one hand to steady it, while taking her friend by the elbow with her other hand, helping Sam to her feet.

"Like you can't tell by looking at him?" Sam asked. "He is Don. Just a mini version. You want to go and have a snack, baby boy?"

"Ungy," he told her, licking his lips and rubbing his stomach once more. "Ungy."

"Let's go and get a snack," his mother said, taking one of his tiny hands and leading him from the room. "But let's walk slowly, okay?"

"O'tay," he agreed, as Lindsay followed behind with the stroller.

* * *

"Just so you know, if word gets back, K had a run in with Sinclair," Lindsay told her best friend, as the three stepped out into the hall and Sam closed the office foor. "Like a literal run in. Right into Sinclair's legs. He sort of got away from me and well…BOOM."

"'OOM," Kieran said, and giggled.

"You hang around your Uncle Danny way too much," Sam informed her son. "And what did the Chief say?" she asked Lindsay. "Did he freak out?"

"He was actually quite good about it. And he was amazing with Kieran. Picked him up, had a conversation with him. The whole nine. I was quite shocked. I never realized Sinclair had a soft spot for kids."

"He is definitely a study in contradiction," Sam said.

"He gave Kieran a pin of his. That he always wears on his lapel."

Sam arched an eyebrow and halted. "What did you get from the nice man, K?" she asked curiously, carefully bending over. "Can you show mommy?"

"Dis?" he asked, pointing the pin on his overalls.

"Did a nice man give that to you?" Sam asked, studying the item.

Her son nodded.

"You're a very lucky little boy," his mother said. "That nice man just doesn't give things away to just anyone. He must really like you. That's a special pin."

"Mine," Kieran informed her.

"That's a nine eleven memorial pin," Sam told Lindsay as she straightened up. "Donnie has one, too. He wears it on his dress uniform. Guiliani gave it to him for working search and recovery at Ground Zero."

"That must have been horrible," Lindsay said with a shudder.

Sam nodded. "He still has nightmares about it," she told her best friend. "I think it's a bit of PTSD. But you didn't hear that from me. He'd kill me if I told you that."

"Your secret is safe with me," Lindsay assured her. "Do you guys ever talk about it?" she asked curiously.

"Nine eleven?"

Lindsay nodded.

"We haven't talked about it more than twice since we've met," Sam told her. "The first time was our first nine eleven anniversary together. He went to the ceremony and read a couple of names of friends he lost. That night he talked about it a bit. Asked me what I was doing when it all went down. That type of thing. Second time, was when I saw the pin on his dress blues and asked him what it was. That's when he told me about going to Ground Zero. About digging through rubble and finding nothing but parts of people."

"That's hard," Lindsay said, her voice a mere whisper.

Sam nodded. "Donnie's a strong person," she said. "He gets through things on his own. He's not one to talk about it and get someone else involved."

"Even you?"

"Even me," Sam sighed. "It upset me at first. That he didn't want to talk about things. But I just realized it's him. It's not personal. That's just the way he is. Besides, I talk enough for both of us."

Lindsay laughed at that.

Sam paused at the water fountain in the hall to take a drink.

"Daddy!" Kieran cried.

"Daddy isn't here," Sam told him. "He's working. Maybe we can call him and see where he is and he can get here in time to see you before you go home."

"Daddy!" the toddler repeated, tugging on his mom's hand.

"We will call him," she said. "We'll have something to eat and then we'll call him. Okay!"

Kieran struggled to get out of her grasp. "DADDEEE!" he shrieked at the top of his lungs.

Sam nearly jumped when someone pinched her sides from behind. She jerked her head to the side to see who it was, and got a spray of water in the face.

"Jesus, you drink much?" Flack asked with a chuckle.

"You scared me!" she scolded, wiping her face with the back of her hand and turning to face him.

"Sorry, babe," he said and kissed her softly. "How's things going?" he asked, rubbing her sides.

"Slowly but surely," she replied. "Everything go okay with your witness?"

Flack nodded. "Better then expected," he said. "How's the babies?" he asked, laying a hand on her stomach.

"They're having a good day," she smiled. "Where's Danny?"

"He's just dropping some stuff off we need to get tested. He's down in DNA with Mac."

"And that's where I'm heading," Lindsay announced. "Give you guys some family time."

"Thanks, Monroe," Flack said.

She gave a smile and headed off down the hallway.

"Daddy!" Kieran cried, tugging frantically at his father's jacket. "Up! Daddy up!"

"He's dying for someone to pick him up," Sam said.

"Come here, big guy," Flack scooped his son up into his arms. "You having a good day?" he asked, kissing Kieran's cheek. "You been a good boy?"

The toddler nodded and curled one arm around his father's neck, while the other still firmly grasped his Caillou doll.

"Tell daddy what you learned today," Sam said, as her husband took her hand in his free one and they headed down the hall. "Tell daddy what your name is."

"K!" the little boy cried happily. "Me K!"

"Who taught you that?" Flack asked. "That's amazing. Did Auntie Linds teach you that?"

Kieran nodded.

"That's awesome, K. You're really smart, you know that? Just like your mommy. Cute like daddy and smart like mommy."

"Oh that's it," Sam laughed. "Teach him that I'm the ugly one."

"Actually, what it's teaching him is that I'm the stupid one if you want to look at it that way."

"How can you be stupid, Donnie?" his wife asked. "I mean, seriously? How can you stupid if you had the brains to hook up with me?"

"And you call me the egotistical one?" he teased.

"I've learned from the best," she said, winking at him. "You rub off on me."

"I'm a damn good influence," he declared. "So your day's been okay, babe? Nothing too exciting? You've been taking it easy?"

"My fat ass has been parked in a chair all day," she assured him. "But the babies are hungry. I crave sustenance."

"You want me to run across the street and grab you something?"

"I brought some lasagna from home," she said."But thank you. You can be quite sweet when you want to be."

He smirked and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

"Me!" Kieran demanded. "Me!"

Flack gave his son a kiss on the cheek. And was rewarded with a sloppy, wet one to the lips.

"Wuv daddy," Kieran said, laying his head on his father's shoulder.

"How much?" Flack asked.

"Wots," his son replied.

"How much is wots?" his father inquired.

"Wots!" Kieran giggled.

"You know how much daddy loves you?"

The toddler shook his head.

"Wots and wots and wots and wots," Flack said and chuckled heartily.

Sam smiled at the exchange between father and son. Thinking, and not for the first time, how damn lucky she was to have found the perfect man to share her life with. To have children with. He was blessed with a huge heart and infinite patience.

"You know how much I love you?" Flack asked his wife, squeezing her hand.

"How much?" she asked.

"More today than yesterday but less than tomorrow," he replied.

She beamed.

He leaned down and kissed her long and soft. "Always baby," he said, pressing his lips to her forehead. "You know that."

"How long is always?" she asked.

Flack gave a dimpled grinned. "A wot," he answered.

Sam laughed and laid her hand on the side of his face and kissed him.

"A wot is perfect," she said.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all you lurkers! But please R and R folks!**

**Thanks to:**

**Laurzz **

**Bluehaven4220**

**Laplandgurl**

**Hope4sall**

**muchmadness**

**wolfeylady**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Forest Angel**

**shopaholic20**


	68. Love and Loss

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND ALL THE FLACK KIDS.**

**SPECIAL THANKS TO ALL OF THOSE ADDING ME TO FAVS AND ALERTS!**

* * *

**LOVE AND LOSS**

"There's nothing I could say to you  
Nothing I could ever do to make you see  
What you mean to meAll the pain, the tears I cried  
Still you never said goodbye and now I know  
How far you'd go

I know I let you down  
But it's not like that now  
This time I'll never let you goI will be, all that you want  
And get myself together  
'Cause you keep me from falling apart  
All my life, I'll be with you forever  
To get you through the day  
And make everything okay

I thought that I had everything  
I didn't know what life could bring  
But now I see, honestly  
You're the one thing I got right  
The only one I let inside  
Now I can breathe, cause you're here with me."  
-I Will Be, Leona Lews

* * *

Digging to China was a lot harder than Liam Flack ever anticipated.

It had all been Kieran's idea. Like most brilliant ideas in that house were. Big brothers always came up with the most logical plans and the coolest things do to when you were bored out of your mind.

Two weekends ago, when it had been raining enough to spark the second coming of the great flood and all six kids had been stuck inside the house under Kieran's watchful eye while mom and dad ran into Manhattan to catch up on work, Kieran had come up with the most hilarious, exciting idea ever. He went into the crawl space in the basement and unearthed one of the crazy carpets they used for tobogganing in the winter, and brought it up into the kitchen. Where he'd proceeded to coat the underside of the thing with a whole can of cooking spray and then carry it to the top of the stairs.

What had ensued next had been both insanity and pure entertainment. Two hours of each kid taking turns sledding down the wooden stairs and into the living room. They'd been smart enough to pad the landing with the throw pillows and the cushions off of the couch -the same couch that mom had just recently purchased and absolutely forbid anyone to sit on - but not smart enough to keep the music or the laughter down to a minimum. They hadn't heard their father's car pull up into the driveway, or his keys in the front door. They hadn't heard him hanging his coat up in the foyer closet or taking off his shoes. The only time they had been aware that there was someone else in the house other then the five kids parked at the top of the stairs and Liam lying in a heap at the bottom on top of the cushions, was when the music abruptly cut out.

Their father had appeared at the bottom of the stairs, glaring up at his offspring that were slack jawed and scared shitless at the sight of their dad. While Liam, six years old and precocious and adorable enough to get away with just about anything, lay on his back on the pillows and gave his father a toothless grin. His eyes and nose wrinkling.

"Hi, daddy!" he'd chirped, obvious to the hell that his brothers and sisters were in danger of enduring.

"What in the hell are you kids doing?" his father had asked, hands on his hips, furious blue eyes flicking back and forth between his youngest and his siblings.

"Tobogganin'," Liam had replied nonchalantly.

"It was Kieran's idea!" Alannah had been quick to tattle, the words barely out of her mouth before she and her sisters and Declan had went tearing off towards their rooms in search of a safe haven. Leaving Liam at the bottom of the stairs and Kieran attempting to act brave and tough at the top landing.

"You," their dad had said simply and crooked a finger and motioned for Kieran to come down the stairs to receive his punishment.

It was then that Liam had been truly and completely afraid. So afraid he'd been unable to move. All he could do was lie there on the cushions, his golden eyes wide and terrified, praying to God that whatever end awaited his oldest and bestest brother, would be swift and painless.

Their dad had laid his hands on Kieran's shoulders and looked straight into blue eyes that mirrored his own.

"I want you to put that crazy carpet away and clean those stairs. Get that Swiffer Wet Jet thing that your mother keeps in the pantry and go over those stairs really, really, really well. Understand me?"

Kieran had swallowed noisily and mumbled a "Yes, sir," and hurried for the kitchen.

"Am I in trouble?" Liam had asked innocently.

Of course, the answer had been yes. And it had been his job to put the cushions and the pillows back. And to try and get the streaks of cooking oil out of the khaki green fabric. To no avail. Resulting in a very tearful explanation to his mother over what had actually happened to her brand new things.

They'd all been grounded for a week. But secretly, when their parents weren't around, the kids had laughed hysterically about the incident and declared that it was the most fun they'd had in a long time. And more then worth getting punished for.

But the digging. The digging wasn't as fun as K had promised it would be.

Liam was tired and thirsty already. And he'd only been working at making his way to China for an hour. His older brother had told him that if he'd tried hard enough, Liam would make it to the Great Wall and back again by suppertime. And that if he was cute and charming enough, he'd be able to talk somebody into giving him enough free Chinese food to bring back for his entire family.

Liam had been sceptical. He was pretty sure that China was a lot farther away then Kieran was telling him. But K never lied and would never play a dirty trick on him. K was his older brother. His protector and best friend, and he wouldn't have said it if it wasn't true. And Alannah and Reghan had agreed with him and it had been Reghan had been the one to go into the shed and grab mom's handheld shovel used for gardening and Alannah who'd packed him a snack and a couple of drinking boxes in a plastic shopping bag. And they wouldn't have done all of that if they weren't convinced that China wasn't that far and he could get there and back before dinner time.

The outlook wasn't very optimistic. Liam had been working steadily on his hands and knees since the moment he'd put the first hole in the ground at the farthest corner of the back yard. K had said that that area was closest to China and digging there would cut down on work, and travel time. So far, all Liam had found were rusted out toy cars that had been long buried.

"What'cha doing, Liam?"

He looked up from his digging. Smiling at his sister Mikayla who stood alongside of him, eating a small bag of tiny Ritz crackers. "I'm diggin'," he told her, stating the obvious.

"I know that," she said, holding the bag of crackers out to him. "But what are you digging for?"

"China," he responded and helped himself to some of the crackers.

Mikayla's eyes widened. There was no way that digging a tunnel to China was even remotely possibly. It didn't take an Einstein to figure that out. It was across the ocean for crying out loud. And even if someone could dig that far, it was going to take a lot more effort then a handheld gardening shovel and her six year old brother who was slight enough to blow away if there was a stiff breeze. But Liam looked like he was having a good time, and she didn't have the heart to dash his hopes, or downplay all his hard work.

"Why do you want to go to China?" she inquired, taking a seat on the grass.

"'Cause K said if I'm cute and charming enough I can get some Chinese food," Liam replied. "I like chicken balls."

"Daddy's not going to be happy that you're digging a hole in the backyard," Mikayla informed him.

"He won't mind," her little brother said. "Daddy will understand. He likes chicken balls, too. And so does mommy. So she won't be upset either."

"Well do you want some help?" Mikayla asked. "I don't think you're going to get that kind of tunnel dug all by yourself."

"I can do it," Liam argued.

"Not with mommy's gardening shovel. You need the big shovel. The one that daddy always tells K he's going to bury his dead body with."

"It's too big for me," Liam said.

"I can help you," his sister offered. "I'm bored. Alannah and Reghan and that new girl are hogging the television and that new girl keeps sitting beside K and touching his leg and rubbing her foot against his. I think she likes him."

"That's gross!" Liam declared. "Girls are gross!"

"I'm not gross. And neither is mommy."

"That's different," the little boy said, wiping sweat off his dirty brow with the sleeve of his t-shirt. "You're my sister and my mommy is my mommy."

"Am I your favourite sister?" Mikayla asked, holding out the bag of crackers once again.

"You don't call me names and beat me up and give me wedgies," Liam replied, dropping the small shovel and plopping down on the grass beside his sister as he reached in for some more Ritz bits.

"That's because you're the only boy in this house I like other then daddy," she said. "Even if you do always go in my room and mess things up."

"I just want to look at your stuff," Liam told her. "And read your diary."

Mikayla frowned. "It's off limits. I told you that."

"I just want to know what your secrets are," he said. "Are they bad?"

"No."

"What are they about?"

Mikayla sipped her Pepsi. "None of your business."

"I bet it's about boys," Liam said, lying down on his back and staring up at the blue sky. "That's all girls talk about."

"One day you'll have a girlfriend," his sister informed him.

Liam grimaced. "No way. No girlfriends. I already said they're gross."

"You'll meet some girl that's really cute and change your mind. I bet you daddy thought girls were yucky too until he met mommy."

"Probably," Liam said. "Daddy was 'spose to take me to the movies today. Daddy always takes me to the movies on Saturday."

"Daddy and mommy are at grandma's house. I think grandpa is really sick."

"Maybe he died and went to heaven," Liam said.

Mikayla frowned. "That's not very nice to say," she scolded her little brother.

"Grandpa is old," Liam said. "Old people die. It's what they do. They die and go to heaven. Like Papa."

"Papa Mac isn't dead."

"Not that papa! Papa Clint!"

"Not just old people die, Liam. Lots of people die. But I don't think grandpa died. Mommy or daddy would have said something."

"I guess," Liam sighed and sat up and reached for his plastic bag of snacks. "I'm thirsty," he declared, and shoving a dirty hand inside the shopping bag, pulled out a Cherry Kool-Aid pouch.

"We're going to have to start digging soon if you want to get to China some time today," Mikayla told him, taking the drink from him and unwrapping the straw and poking it through the pouch. "You know what daddy says about having to get in the house as soon as the street lights come on."

"You think the street lights in China come on at a different time?" Liam asked, accepting the drink from his sister and taking a long sip. "Because if they do, then maybe they come on later and daddy won't make me come in until the street lights in China are on."

"I think daddy means the street lights here, Liam," Mikayla replied. "You're weird."

"That's because I'm just like Uncle Peanut," he declared proudly. "That's what daddy always says anyway."

"I don't think he means that as a compliment," Mikayla snorted.

"What's that 'spose to mean?" her brother asked, frowning at his sister as she got to her feet.

"It means that you're strange," she informed him. "And not in a good way."

"I might be strange but you're ugly and at least I can get smarter and not so strange," the soon to be seven year old huffed.

Mikayla rolled her eyes. "I'm going to get the big shovel," she said, and headed for the shed.

"Do you think that we can get to China and back before the street lights come on?" her brother called after her. "Maybe daddy won't know where we are and he won't be able to tell us to come in. And do you think we should take some sleeping bags and a flash light? In case we get lost and have to stay over night?"

"I think mommy dropped you on your head when you were a baby," his sister told him and disappeared into the shed.

Liam reached out and touched the top and back of his head, looking for some sort of sign that his mother had done the unthinkable. He found no bumps, but did think that his head felt a little odd. He made a mental note to ask his parents about it later.

But first thing was first.

He finished his Kool-Aid and put the empty container in the plastic bag. Then crawled on his hands and knees to the hole he'd been working diligently on and picked up the gardening shovel once again.

He was going to get to China if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

Flack was thankful when his younger brother Chris had finally got his head out of his ass and decided that maybe coming to see their mother after their father's death was a good idea. Chris was, and always would be, a first class prick. He'd been laid off of more jobs then Flack had fingers on both hands. And those that he wasn't getting laid off from, he was being fired from because of his attitude problem, blatant disregard for superiors, and a dependency on alcohol that far surpassed anything Flack Sr or Jr had ever battled. Flack had sprung his brother out of jail more times then he cared to remember. It was better to go down and talk the charges down and cough up some money to get him out of there, then have his brother toss around their last name and then deal with the gossiping and bullshit that Flack knew would accompany the news that his brother was in lock up. Chris just couldn't learn his lesson. Whether it was for public intoxication or assaulting his wife, the guy just could not keep his nose clean.

Flack had been both disappointed and disgusted when his brother showed up at their parents' home a half an hour ago, dishevelled and reeking of booze. He looked like he'd spent the night on a park bench and smelled like he'd took a dunk in a vat of beer. And to walk in there as if he was being seriously put out by being asked to keep an eye on his mother had been enough to almost warrant a beating by his older and much larger brother. But by that time, Flack was just anxious to get the hell out of there for a while. All his mother wanted to talk about was the past. About her shitty marriage and the beat downs his old man put on her and the kids. About the years she'd suffered at his hands and how just when things started getting better between them, he got sick. And when she wasn't ranting and raving about her unfair treatment, she was pledging her undying love for her now deceased husband and crying as she looked over family photographs.

Chris had given them a hard time about leaving for a while of course. The guy was missing a sensitivity chip and he just didn't know how to deal with his mother when she was in that state. He'd all but chased his older brother out to the car, demanding to know why he was bailing on his family. To which Flack had replied that his family was at home. His kids hadn't seen their parents since bedtime the day before and they deserved to know what had happened to their grandfather. And he wanted to spend some time with his kids. Plain and simple. The funeral arrangements were complete and now their mother and her mental state were the only things to be concerned with.

That and why the hell his cell phone had been ringing off the hook all morning and afternoon.

"Jesus Christ," Sam complained, as she sat in the front passenger seat as her husband drove them home. She leaned forward and scooped the cell phone up from its resting place on the dashboard. "What in the hell could be so important that Max is calling you so much?"

"She probably wants to talk to me about firing Daria," Flack told her. "Ignore it."

"It's hard to ignore when someone is being that damn annoying," his wife said. "And you are going to have to give her some sort of explanation soon."

"What's there to explain? I don't want her as my son's special needs worker anymore. She did shit for him. Declan's no farther ahead then what he was before she became his worker. Kid is supposed to have someone that concentrates on his development and his speech and what not. Not someone that dresses like a tart and bats her fuck me eyes at my oldest son."

Sam's eyes widened at the harsh words that flew out her husband's mouth. She knew he was stressed and grieving over his father. But he'd never spoken like that about Daria before. He'd always considered her a niece. Max had always pushed the child on him as if he had to be some sort of stand in daddy. It had nearly destroyed their entire relationship. But he'd never once uttered a bad word about Daria.

"That seems a little harsh," she commented gently.

"Well it's true," Flack said. "You see how she dresses when she comes around the house? Little short shorts and tank tops with her goods practically hanging out. She's not there to help Declan. She's there to get into Kieran's pants."

"You made the decision to fire her, Donnie. And if you feel that your reasons were legit then…"

"They were legit. She's a useless little bitch and I don't want her around my kid. Plain and simple. I'm spending out good money for him to have a worker, and I damn well want a worker that is actually working. Is that too much to ask?"

Sam held her hands up in both self defence and surrender. "I'm sorry…don't have a freak out on me. I know your dad dying is kicking you in the ass, but don't take it out on the people that love you the most, Donnie."

"I'm not…" he bit his lip to prevent himself from snapping on her.

Because he didn't want to freak out on his wife. She hadn't done anything wrong other then expect a suitable explanation for him firing Daria. She'd been by his side and supported him through a lot of bullshit in the past fifteen years. And he knew that treating her like that wasn't fair. That she deserved better than that.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just really on edge and when I get on edge I talk a lot of shit. I'm not taking anything out on you, baby. You know that."

"You just need to…I don't know…you just need to relax, okay? You're not going through this alone. I'm beside you a hundred percent."

"I know," he said with a smile, and dropping one hand from the wheel, picked up on of her tiny hands in his own. "I'm sorry, Sammie. I didn't mean to snap on you like that. And I know that you support me through this whole Daria thing. I fired her because I didn't think she was doing anything for Declan. All she ever seemed interested in doing was flirting with Kieran."

"Seems to be a common occurrence with the girls that come around our house." Sam snorted. "In case you haven't noticed, your son is a very popular young man."

"Naturally. He takes after his old man."

His wife smirked and rolled her eyes.

"Come on, we knew he was going to be a heart breaker from day one. Ever since he was ten months old and giving Stella that little grin of his and flashing her those baby blues. Kid was destined to be a ladies man. Shouldn't be a surprise to you that the ladies are practically banging down our door to get to him."

"Well let them bang all they want," she said. "As long as they're not coming back in a couple months telling us we're going to be grandparents."

"Christ, can you imagine? I am in no way ready to be a grandfather anymore then he's ready to be a father. Kieran would not be able to handle taking care of a baby. The kid can't get his ass out of bed in the morning for school. How the hell would he manage to get up in the middle of the night for feedings and diaper changes?"

"He wouldn't. We'd be doing all the work. And now that we've decided to try our hand at the whole baby…"

"We don't need two of them in the house," he concluded. "So you know what that means, right?"

"Lock Kieran in his room until he's ready for college?" Sam asked hopefully.

"I was thinking more along the lines of buying him like a lifetime supply of condoms. But if you think the locking him in his room thing would work…"

"I can't believe you're willing to buy our fifteen year old son condoms!"

"It's better than him knocking someone up. At least I know if he's well stocked, I don't have to lie awake at night, worrying while he's out on a date, that whatever girl he's with won't be on the pill and then surprise a couple months later. He's got rubbers on him, then we know he's got no excuse."

"He's fifteen, he doesn't need an excuse. He's not thinking with his brain."

"Got nothing to do with age. He's a guy. Guys always come up with some lame ass excuse for not using them."

"I think in his case it would be something that got passed down from his father."

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"You weren't exactly the poster boy for condom use when we were dating. And ninety percent of the time the condoms were less then a foot away from you and you still didn't think about using one. Because if you did, I wouldn't have gotten pregnant so quickly."

"You got pregnant because despite your Masters degree, you couldn't read the instructions for your birth control pills. That's why you got pregnant. You were all, 'Don't worry, Donnie'. I'm on the pill. Had I known you hadn't taken any for five days…"

"Ooops," Sam said with a giggle.

"Ooops. That's nice. Our first born was an ooops."

"In the backseat of your SUV," she added.

"There is no proof of that. We're just assuming that that's when it happened."

"We narrowed down the conception date to that day," Sam reminded him.

"Yeah…but how many times did we have sex that day?"

"Good point," she laughed. "Oh the good old days. When we could have sex as much as we wanted, wherever we wanted. And as loud as we wanted. Where'd those days go?"

"Long gone, babe. Somewhere between baby one and baby six."

"Jesus…that sounds insane when you say it out loud like that. When you hear yourself admit you have six kids."

"All goes well, we'll have seven," he said.

"Or eight, or nine. Could be triplets again."

Flack stared at his wife in absolute horror. "Bite your goddamn tongue, woman."

"I'm just saying. We've already had triplets so there's a greater chance of us having multiples again."

"I would seriously shit myself," he declared. "Then jump off the Brooklyn Bridge. Our luck, you'd go on fertility drugs and have sextuplets and we'd end up with an even dozen."

"Can you imagine?" Sam laughed. "That is just way too many kids."

"Lots of people think that six is way too many," he pointed out. "And you know, going back to what we were talking about with Kieran. He was an ooops. We can't deny that. He was definitely unexpected and unplanned. But he wasn't unwanted, Sammie. Ever. There wasn't a time I didn't want him."

She smiled and brought her husband's hand to her lips and kissed it softly. "He's still our baby. Regardless of his age. And the thought of him having babies…"

"Lifetime supply of condoms," Flack sing-songed, as he turned onto their street.

Sam sighed heavily. "You know the thought of him having sex is just killing me. And then there's you encouraging him."

"It's not that I'm encouraging him. In fact, I told him not to have sex again until he was with someone that he really loved and cared about."

Sam turned sideways in her seat and stared at her husband. "Excuse me?" she asked.

"What?" Flack inquired.

"What do you mean you told him not to have sex again until he was with someone that he really love and cared about?"

Flack bit his bottom lip. It had honestly just slipped out. He'd never intended to fill her in on his knowledge that their son had lost virginity at such a young age. Because he had known once he let that slip, there was no way he was going to be able to keep the rest of the tale from her.

"What did you mean by that?" Sam pressed. "Why did you throw the word again in there?"

"Would you believe me if I told you it was an innocent slip of the tongue?" he asked.

"No. I wouldn't. Are you trying to tell me that our son is having sex?"

He contemplated how to answer that. Because Kieran wasn't exactly having sex at that point in time. If you believe Kieran's account of his activities with Addie.

"Donald…" she glared at him. "What do you know?"

He sighed heavily. "Kieran may have told me that he's not a virgin anymore?"

"May have? What does that mean? May have? Is that what your fight with him was about?"

"Samantha, listen. He's fifteen. We should just be thankful that he's not out running with a gang or smoking dope or boosting cars and what not."

"Did he or did he not tell he wasn't a virgin anymore?" she asked.

Flack sighed once more. Heavier and longer this time. "He told me that he wasn't a virgin anymore," he admitted reluctantly.

"So he's had sex with Addie?"

Flack shook his head. "He says that he and Addie haven't sealed the deal yet. That they've done some other things, but haven't had sex. He said that she's a virgin and gets scared every time they get close to do anything."

Sam shook her head. "If it wasn't Addie, who was it? And when was it?"

"It happened a couple of years ago and he…"

"Thirteen?!" Sam shrieked. "Our son, our first born, lost his virginity at thirteen?!!!"

Flack nodded.

"How in the hell…I mean I know how but…with who? Did he tell you who is was? Is it someone we know from the neighbourhood? Someone he goes to school with?"

"It's someone we know," her husband told her. "She doesn't go to his school and she doesn't live in the neighbourhood."

"Then who the hell…" Sam's eyes narrowed as the pieces of the puzzle came together. "Daria? It was Daria? He lost his virginity to Daria?

"You should be talking to Kieran about this babe."

"I'm not talking to Kieran about this, I'm talking to you about this. You're my husband and you're his father! We created him together! He's our responsibility, Don! We're supposed to watch over him and take care of him and you're telling me he had sex when he was thirteen?"

"Kids are doing it a lot younger then that this day and age," he said.

"We are not talking about other kids!" Sam cried. "We're talking about our son! Our baby! The baby we had to fight so hard to even get into this world! He's not just some kid!"

"And he's not a baby anymore either," Flack told her. "He's fifteen years old. And I know it's hard for you to hear this, but he's not a little kid anymore. He's almost a man, babe. Three more years and he's off to college and out of the house. He's not that little toddler carrying around his Caillou doll and wearing light up Diego shoes anymore. He's not even the little boy that used to be scared of the dark and ask me to check for monsters under the bed and in his closet every night. He's growing up. Have you looked at him lately? Have you taken a good look at our son?"

"I have but.."

"He's not a baby anymore, Sammie. And trust me, it kills me to think about how fast he grew. Every day I look at him and I wonder where in the fifteen years ever disappeared to. And I think how I should have taken more time off when he was little to spend with him and how I missed so many important things in his life. All these little milestones and huge events that I missed because of work. I can't get those things back, babe. And it fucking eats me up inside to think of all of that. But at the same time, I look at him and I think, wow, despite all our issues, Samantha and I raised one hell of a kid and we should be damn proud of ourselves. And of him."

"He was thirteen, Donnie! Thirteen! You can't tell me that you think that that's okay! That means she was seventeen! What normal seventeen year old has sex with a thirteen year old?"

"I don't think it's okay," Flack told her. "I think it's far from okay. And she's not normal. She can't be for doing something like that. And that's why I had to fire her. Because I didn't want her around him. I did it for him, Samantha. I know that sounds stupid to you, but it was for Kieran."

"Why didn't you…"

"I didn't tell you because after my freak out on him, he agreed that he was going to tell you himself. And I was giving him the chance to find a time when he was feeling comfortable and confident enough to do that. He's fifteen, babe. He doesn't want to be discussing sex with his mother."

She sighed heavily and shook her head slowly. "I always thought my kids could talk to me about anything."

"I'll repeat what I said. He's fifteen. He doesn't want to be discussing sex with his mother. When I was fifteen, my mother was the last person I wanted to talk to about that kind of thing. And I couldn't talk to my old man. He was all but non existent all my life."

"So then who did you talk to?" she asked. "There must have been someone that you told stuff to. Someone you could go to with questions."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he told her.

"Oh I've heard some things already today that are pretty shocking. I don't think whatever or whoever it was could surprise me."

"It was Gerrard," Flack said, as he pulled his wife's SUV into the driveway of their home. He parked behind his own vehicle that Danny had borrowed. Messer's own car was out on the street.

"Okay…" Sam nodded slowly. "Maybe I can still be shocked and surprised."

"He was my father's best friend," he told his wife, killing the ignition and removing the keys. "He knew what a fuck up my old man was and he stepped up. Handled a lot of things that my dad was missing out on. He was always there, willing and ready to talk about anything. He was like a second dad to me. I think that's why he was so hard on me all those years on the job. He expected the best from me. And when I didn't give it to him or when he didn't agreed with choices or decisions I made, he came down on me pretty hard."

"And you know that that was his hang up, right?" she asked, unclasping her seat belt. "I mean you know that everything you've ever did or said was always in the best interest of your guys and the department."

He nodded. "There's a few things I'd like to go back and change," he said. "But life is full of things like that. Things we'd love to be able to go back into time and either alter or get rid of all together."

"We wouldn't be human if we didn't have some regrets," she told him, and squeezing his hand, made to get out of the car.

When she realized he wasn't following behind her, she slid back into her seat and closed the door once again. She looked at him, sitting there in the driver's seat, his hand to his chin and his blue eyes staring out the windshield at nothing in particular. Besieged by a million memories. Most unpleasant.

She reached out and laid a gentle hand on the back of his head, stroking his hair softly. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Flack nodded. "I just…I can't help but wonder if he hated me," he said in a quiet voice.

"Your father?"

He nodded again.

"The two of you talked about a lot of things," she reminded him, combing her fingers through his short, grey hair. "When K was born and your parents came to the hospital, the two of you sat down and talked long and hard. Cleared the air. Said the things you both needed to say."

"I know. I just…I never got the one thing that I wanted most from him. The two things I wanted most, that is."

"And those were…"

"I wanted him to tell me that he was proud of me. He always made me feel like I was the lowest of the low. That I shit all over him and his legend. That I wasn't living up to our family name."

"But you know that isn't true," Sam said, running her fingertips down the back of his head to the nape of his neck, massaging it gently. "You know that you far surpassed anything he ever did. That you've made this amazing name for yourself. You shattered all of his records and ones that he never held that were in standing for years. You worked your way up in a short period of time from a simple uniform to the Deputy Inspector, babe. You're only forty-five years old. That's an incredible achievement."

"But I wanted to hear that from him. I wanted him to tell me that. And I know that probably sounds immature coming from a forty-five year old man."

"It doesn't sound like that at all," she assured him. "You have every right to feel that way, Donnie."

"And you know what I wanted most out of all, Sammie? The one thing that I waited all my life for and never got from him?"

She shook her head.

"I wanted him to say he was sorry. I wanted him to look me in the eye and say he was sorry for how he treated me as a kid. For the things he did to me and my brother and my mother. I wanted him to tell me he was sorry for not coming to the hospital when I had my stomach blown open and nearly died. He always danced around the words, you know? He could never look at me and say them. And that's what I needed from him. And now I'll never get that and I just wish…" his voice faltered as emotion got the better of him. He kept the tears back and laid a hand over his eyes until he composed himself. "I just wish both of us had have swallowed our pride and said enough is enough. Let's cut the shit."

"None of that is your fault," Sam said gently. "You know that right?"

He nodded and sniffled noisily. "This is all a little repetitive. Didn't we talk about this stuff this morning?"

"You're just a little distraught right now," she told him, running her hand along his shoulder. "You've just lost your father. You can repeat all you want if talking about that stuff makes you feel better."

"It helps," he admitted. "Probably drives you nuts."

"Donnie, I'm the mother to six kids. I hear the same stories from them all day, every day."

He gave a small laugh. "You know what would really make me feel better?"

She shook her head.

"Spending some time with those kids. I don't do enough of that."

"They miss you," she admitted. "They wish you were around more."

"So do I," he sighed.

"You do a great job, you know. Balancing everything. I know it hasn't always been easy on you. All these kids to take care of. Tons of bills to pay. A demanding wife to put up with."

He smiled at her. "You've been the easiest part of the last fifteen years of my life," he told her.

Sam laughed. "You're so full of shit."

He laid a hand on the side of her face and kissed her softly. "Thank you," he said, pressing his lips to her forehead.

"For what?" she asked, gazing into those amazing blue eyes that had captured her heart sixteen years ago. Eyes that still made her weak in her knees.

"The most amazing sixteen years of my life," he replied.

She smiled brightly and kissed him. "It has been pretty amazing," she agreed. "I mean, did you honestly ever see yourself with six kids?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Never in a million years."

"Me either," she admitted. "But I can honestly say that I picked the best possible guy to father half a dozen kids."

"Yeah…I think you did too. Considering how drop dead gorgeous they all are."

She frowned and slapped his shoulder. Then laughed. "You're a shit," she declared. "You were a shit when we met and you're a shit now. But I fell in love with you regardless."

"That was the easy part, huh? Falling in love with each other. We took to that pretty easily."

She nodded. "It's the staying in love that's been a bitch," she said teasingly.

"You'll love me forever, baby."

"Will you love me that long?" she asked.

"Even longer," he replied. He suddenly grew serious again. "What are we going to tell the kids, babe?" he asked.

"The truth," she answered. "We tell them that their grandfather died."

Flack nodded.

"And we tell them that he loved them very much," she added.

"There's no denying that," her husband said with a heavy sigh. "He never hid that from anyone."

Sam gave a small smile and leaned across the seat to kiss his cheek. "You're going to be okay," she said, rubbing his shoulder softly.

"I didn't think I'd feel this bad," he admitted. "After everything he'd put me through."

"He was still your father, Donnie. Regardless of everything else. You're going to grieve. And I'm going to be here for you while you do it. You'll let me do that, right? Be here for you?"

"Do I have a choice?" he teased. "I mean, you're my wife. We live in the same house."

"You know what I mean smart ass. You're not exactly known for relying on someone to help you through things."

"I'm the strong one, Sammie. Remember? I'm relied on to be the one everyone else relies on."

"Well guess what? Not this time. Let me be there for you for a change. Can you do that?"

He nodded slowly. "I can try," he said.

* * *

While Sam stayed inside and talked to Danny and Lindsay about the arrangements for Flack Sr's funeral -it was all quite simple. No departmental burial. No visitation. Cremation and a simple interment in the niche that he and his wife had purchased years ago at Gate of Heaven Cemetery in Flushing- Flack went downstairs and talked to his kids. Telling the oldest ones about their grandfather's passing. They took it pretty well. Kieran already knew and was dealing with his grief in that quiet, brooding way he'd inherited from his father. Both Reghan and Alannah, in tears, asked to be excused and headed to their room with their friend Alessa in tow. Declan asked a lot of questions. He didn't quite get the whole death thing yet. And his father tried his best to accommodate his curiosity.

By the time he'd gone back upstairs to find Liam, Sam was already comforting a sobbing Mikayla in the kitchen. Danny and Lindsay offered him their condolences and moved into another room to give the three of them some privacy.

"I'm sad, daddy," Mikayla cried and broke away from her mother and wrapped her arms around her dad's waist and buried her head in his stomach.

Sam moved away, trying to compose herself, heartbroken at her child's outward display of grief.

"It's okay to be sad," he told her, stroking her unruly hair. "It's always sad when someone we love dies."

"I wish I could have said goodbye to grandpa," she sobbed.

"No one got to say goodbye, pumpkin," he said. "Your grandfather was really, really sick and he wouldn't have known any of us were there. But he knew that you loved him and he loved you very much. You know that right?"

She nodded and sniffled noisily. "Can I make him a card?" she asked, trying her despair filled eyes up at her father. "If I make grandpa a card can you find a way to put it with him?"

"I'll do what I can," he replied.

"I'm sorry, daddy. I'm sorry grandpa died."

He bent down and pressed a kiss to his daughter's forehead. "So am I, pumpkin. But he was sick for a long time. And it was his time to go. He didn't need to suffer anymore."

"I know," she said. "I think I'm going to go to my room for a bit."

"Okay," her father ran a hand over her hair and down her cheek. "You need anything, mommy and I will be here for a while. Okay?"

She nodded and headed from the kitchen.

Flack sighed heavily. "You okay?" he asked his wife.

Sam nodded and grabbed a glass from the drain board and poured herself some water from the tap.

"You know where Liam is?" Flack inquired.

"He's in the backyard. Apparently he's digging a hole to China."

Flack arched an eyebrow.

"I do not make this stuff up," she said.

"Definitely a Ross that kid," he teased.

* * *

"Liam…what are you doing?"

The soon to be seven year old looked up from his digging. Dirt coated his face and hands soiled his clothing. His hair, slicked with sweat, stood messily on end.

"Hi daddy!" he chirped.

"Hey, buddy. What's all this about?" Flack nodded down at the array of shovels and the care package of drinks and snacks.

"I'm digging," Liam said. "To China."

"Okay…why?"

"Because I want some chicken balls," the little boy responded. "And some fortune cookies. K told me that if I dug here, it was the closest to China. And that if I was cute and charming enough, I could get free Chinese food for everyone. Isn't that cool?"

Flack nodded. "You know that it's a long way to China, right?"

"Oh yeah. I know it's going to take a while."

"A long, long while," his father told him.

"I promise I'll be back before the streetlights come on," Liam said. "Does that mean the streetlights here or the streetlights in China?" he asked curiously.

"The streelights here," Flack replied. "And something tells me you're not even going to be halfway to China by then."

"If someone helped me I'd be there by now," Liam huffed. "Mikayla said it was too boring and went inside. And no one else will come out and help. They're lazy."

"Liam, I hate to break it to you, buddy. But it's going to take a long time to get to China even with help."

"How long?" the little boy asked.

"Well…I'd say, even if the whole family pitched in? Never."

"But K said that I could dig all the way there! He said that I could go there and get Chinese food for everyone! We have to eat, daddy! We can't starve!"

"I don't think we're going to starve. And you know what? If you want Chinese food that bad, I'll buy it for supper. Okay?"

Liam frowned. He looked up at his father, down at his barely there hole, and up at his dad again. "Is it really that far, daddy?" he asked.

Flack nodded. "It's too far to dig to. Mind you, if you're not careful, you could end up digging to the center of the earth and hit the lava core and get sucked right in."

Liam's golden eyes widened in both horror and intrique. "Right in?" he asked.

"Yep. And then the ground will close up and you'll have to live down there forever. You'll never get to come back home. And wouldn't you miss all of us?"

"I'd miss mommy," Liam said. "Lots."

"You wouldn't miss me?"

"Well…yeah…but I'd miss mommy more. She makes me toast and honey in the morning and reads the best bedtime stories ever. And she smells pretty."

Flack couldn't help but grin. "Yeah…your mom is something else, huh?"

Liam nodded.

"Why don't you come and sit here with me for a second," Flack said, as he took a seat on the grass. "I want to talk to you about something."

Liam crawled on his hands and knees over to where his father sat and scrambled up into his dad's lap. Soiled clothes and dirty face and hands and all.

"You know that your grandpa was sick, right?" Flack asked. "And that he was living somewhere where nurses and doctors were taking care of him?"

Liam nodded.

"And that sometimes people get so sick that nothing the doctors can do will ever make them better and…"

"Grandpa's dead, right?" the little boy asked nonchalantly.

Flack blinked.

"Like Papa Clint," Liam said. "He got sick and died too and went to heaven. Same with Slippers. So now both my grandpas are in heaven and so is Slippers and no one is lonely. Everybody is there."

His father nodded slowly. "That's pretty much it, Liam."

"That means that grandpa is never coming back and that he's an angel now. I know all of this stuff daddy. 'Member? You told me all this before."

His father gave a small smile and laid a hand on the top of his son's head. "You're a pretty smart kid, Liam Flack," he said.

"I get that from mommy," the little boy declared. "Is mommy home, too?"

"She's inside. You want to go and see her?"

Liam nodded.

"Go on," Flack said, and helped his son to his feet. "Tell her all about your attempt to dig to China."

"Okay," he chirped and planted a kiss on his father's cheek.

"Hey, Liam!" Flack called to his son as he raced across the grass.

The little boy paused at the bottom of the stairs.

"I love you," his father told him.

Liam smiled brightly. "I love you too, daddy," he said, and turned and rushed up the stairs.

Flack watched his youngest as he stomped across the deck and tossed open the sliding door.

"MOMMEEEE!" Liam cried happily. "GUESS WHAT?!! DADDY SAYS THERE'S A LAVA CORE IN THE CENTER OF THE EARTH AND I COULD FALL IN AND THE GROUND WILL COVER ME UP AND I'D HAVE TO LIVE THERE! YOU WANT TO COME WITH ME?"

Flack chuckled and shook his head. Amazed at the innocence and exuberance in which his son lived his life. And he thought about how the world would be a much better place if everyone could experience life through the eyes of a precocious six year old. Or six and three quarters as Liam liked to say.

Sure, the world and life was full of hurt and disappointment. But it was also filled with triumphs and great joy.

And love.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers. But please, please, please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Laurzz**

**muchmadness**

**Forest Angel**

**Wolfeylady**

**Soccer-bitch**

**ImaSupernaturalCSI**

**HighQueenReicheru**


	69. Late night confessionals

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND ALL THE FLACK KIDS.**

* * *

**Late night confessionals**

"Let it go,  
Let it roll right off your shoulder  
Don't you know  
The hardest part is over  
Let it in,  
Let your clarity define you  
In the end  
We will only just remember how it feels  
Our lives are made  
In these small hours  
These little wonders,  
These twists & turns of fate  
Time falls away,  
But these small hours,  
These small hours still remain  
Let it slide,  
Let your troubles fall behind you  
Let it shine  
Until you feel it all around you  
And i don't mind  
If it's me you need to turn to  
We'll get by,  
It's the heart that really matters in the end."  
-Little Wonders, Rob Thomas

* * *

Kieran couldn't sleep.

The illuminated green numbers on his bedside clock radio read 12:22. He and Aiden had stayed up late, playing Call of Duty on the Play Station 3 and eating too much junk food and drinking too much pop. The evidence scattered around the bedroom. Crinkled potato chip bags and long guzzled and dented cans of Pepsi. An empty cardboard box that had belonged to the fully loaded pizza they'd ordered at nine thirty when the Chinese food had worn off, leaving the two rapidly growing boys hungry and craving some take out. Dad had leant them the money despite shelling out, along with a contribution from Uncle Danny, what was no doubt a disgusting amount of money to feed Chinese to the entire family, Uncle Danny and Aunt Lindsay and their brood and the new girls Alessa, whom Kieran was starting to think was never going to go home.

He wondered what her deal was. He'd heard from his sisters and his dad that the girl was stinking rich. Her father was some business guru and her mom an ex-debutante. They drove cars that cost more then what his parents made combined in an entire year and lived in some fancy, multi-million dollar penthouse. He guessed the old saying was true. Money really didn't buy happiness. Because despite having cash to burn and the most expensive, top of the line toys to play with, Alessa was in her glory hanging out with the middle class. She seemed to love being around the Flack family.

Kieran even had to admit, his folks were pretty cool. Sure, they argued a lot and always seemed to be on the verge of hating each other, but it was always in their eyes and in the way they smiled at one another that they adored and love one another. They took damn care of all of their kids, and or the most part, Kieran and his siblings were pretty damn good kids. None of them were out running the street or skipping school or doing drugs or far worse things. Sure, they argued and scraped a lot and caused their dad a shit load of grey hair over the years, but they loved each other, and were loved.

Alessa was hot. There was no other way to describe it. She was massively pretty and had a great body and was flirtatious as all hell. He had been doing a damn good job at deflecting the comments and compliments she slipped his way. Chalking her up to nothing more then a friend of his sisters' who had an innocent, school girl crush on him. But when all the kids had been called up stairs for supper, and Alessa had grabbed him by the hand to make him hold back until everyone had disappeared, he'd known right there and then that there was something different about her.

And that there was something there between them.

And when she'd dragged him off into the laundry room to secure them some privacy and proceeded to throw her arms around his neck and yank him down into her for the most intense, amazing kiss he'd ever experienced in his entire young life, Kieran Flack knew that he was a goner. Because what he felt for that girl far surpassed anything he'd ever felt for Addie. Or anything he thought he felt for Addie. And he knew that he had to do something about it in order to preserve his sanity.

The girl sleeping mere feet away in the room across the hall wasn't the only thing preventing him from sleeping. While Aiden snored and talked in his sleep on the air mattress that they'd placed on the floor by Kieran's bed, Kieran himself was wide awake and staring up at the ceiling. His brain bogged down with a million and one thoughts. About his relationship with his father and how he'd hoped, after his meltdown on the front lawn the night before, that he and his dad were beginning to have a stronger relationship. He loved his father to death and wanted nothing more then to have that bond back with him that they'd shared all through Kieran's childhood. He wanted to do his father proud, and when he'd told his parents about the scout from Notre Dame being at his hockey game and inviting them down to check the place out, Kieran had seen the excitement and the pride in his dad's eyes. His mom's too, of course. But mom was never shy about showing that kind of emotion. Dad closed himself off a lot. He was a hard person to figure out. But when he'd been told of his son's possible future as a university hockey star, Kieran had seen the emotion in his father's eyes for the first time in a long, long time. And it had meant more to Kieran then anything else in the entire world.

He thought about his grandfather. About not being able to say goodbye to him. About how his grandpa hadn't even shown any knowledge that there was anyone in the room the last time Kieran had gone to see him. He'd always shared a tight relationship with his grandfather. Grandpa Flack was his greatest and most loyal supporter for everything he ever chose to do. He would show up at seven am hockey practices in the dead of winter just to cheer his grandson on and give him moral support. He'd show up at school plays and soccer and baseball games. He was always willing to take a late night phone call when K needed to talk to someone about how things were falling about at home with his dad. It was grandpa that came and spent time doing boy things with him when his mom and dad had separated and his dad seemed to work all the time.

And it broke Kieran's heart that he would never get to thank his grandfather for everything he'd ever done for him. He was just glad, that when his grandpa was well enough to know what was being said and who was around, that he'd hadn't held back on his feelings. He had never missed an opportunity to huge his grandpa and tell him that he loved him. And he'd always remember the great times that they had together. Fishing off of Battery Park, riding the roller coaster at Coney Island, visiting the Children's Zoo in Central Park and taking the ferry to Liberty Island. No one could ever take all those memories away from him.

Tears filled Kieran's blue eyes and he blinked them back. He wasn't going to cry. No way in hell was he going to break down with his best buddy only inches away. Sleeping or not. And he knew damn well that he wasn't going to be getting to sleep in the near future either. So instead of lying there in the dark and letting his tortured mind play havoc on him all night, Kieran tossed the covers off of him and sat up and slipped out of bed. Climbing over Aiden and all the mess the two of them had made during the night as he headed for the door.

The night light plugged into the outlet across from Liam's room was turned on. His baby brother's door was opened slightly. Liam had developed a slight fear of the dark two years ago. It was all Kieran's fault, in a way. He really should have known better then to tell his then four and a half year old brother about the Bogeyman that was hiding in his closet and the monsters that lived under his bed. Liam had never been the same after that. And he always made dad check under the bed and in the closet before he'd even think about going in the room. In fact, Liam would stand at the door and make sure that their dad was doing the inspection properly. And once Liam was satisfied that dad had checked every possible nook and cranny, then and only then would Liam enter his room.

Kieran could hear soft giggling and whispering coming from Reghan and Alannah's room. He was tempted to knock on the door and ask Alessa if she wanted to hang out for a while. Either go down into the basement and watch a couple of movies or just sit out in the backyard, talking and looking up at the stars. But he knew that there'd be no way he'd be able to stop at simple, innocent activities like that. No after the way she had kissed him. And the way he'd responded.

Alessa was dangerous. But not as dangerous as facing his dad would be if he got caught in a precarious situation with the girl. Dad had zero tolerance for that kind of behaviour in the house. And with all the stress his dad was facing from both his own father's death and the constant and unrelenting phone calls from a furious Max because of the Daria situation, Kieran decided the best thing to do was stay as far away from Alessa as possible.

Kieran headed down the hallway. There was no sound coming from any of the other bedrooms. Declan and Mikayla were fast asleep. And judging by the closed door of his parents' room and not even the glow from the television poking out from underneath the door, mom and dad had probably long ago called it a night. They had planned on going back to grandma's after supper, but when Uncle Chris had called -more then likely his guilty conscience had gotten to him- and offered to stay the night with his mother, dad had been quick to accept.

Yawning noisily, Kieran went down the stairs and through the dark living room. Nearly tripping over Maximus as he lay sprawled out at the entrance to the hallway that led to the kitchen. The damn dog just slept wherever the hell he felt like it, while Cujo always found a warm, comfortable bed to crash in. Usually Liam's if he couldn't get into mom and dad's room.

The light in the kitchen was turned on and Kieran could hear the soft clicking of computer keys. He assumed it was his father. It wasn't uncommon for dad to not sleep well through the night and come downstairs to grab a snack and catch up on paper work. But usually he went into the home office when he needed to work on something. Dad was big into privacy and seclusion when he was working on something for the department. He wasn't one to leave case files out for one of the kids to get into. That had happened once. When Kieran was a kid. He'd been six when his mom had left a file sitting out on the kitchen table. Like most precocious six year olds, Kieran had been curious to what was exactly in that folder. So he'd pulled a chair over and climbed up and decided to see for himself.

It was his introductory into decapitation and evisceration. He'd had nightmares for three weeks and dad had been furious with mom for the longest time.

But instead of finding his father at the kitchen table surrounded by folders and papers, he was instead greeted by the sight of his mother, in a pair of black satin pyjama pants and a long sleeved lime green satin top with black stripes, her glasses on her face as she typed on her lap top. Paperwork and bills strewn around her and a plastic tumbler of milk and a serving of left over Chinese food sitting beside her. A fork dangling precariously over the edge of the plate.

"Hi, mom," he greeted.

She gave a small jump. She'd been so focused on her work, that she hadn't seen, or heard him come into the room. Nor had she expected company at that time of night.

"Hey," she said with a small, tired smile. "What are you doing up? Can't sleep?"

Kieran nodded. "Too much on my mind," he said. "What'cha working on?"

"Just paying some bills and getting some things done for work. I couldn't seem to fall asleep either. All these thoughts running through my head. Not to mention your dad is snoring like a bloody freight train. Aiden's asleep?"

"Out like a light," her son confirmed. "He's snoring, too. Is it okay to hang out with you for a bit? I mean, if you're busy I can just grab something to eat and go back to my room and…"

"I'm not busy at all," Sam said. "I'd like it if you'd hang out for a bit."

Kieran smiled. He went to the fridge and took out the milk and the containers of Chinese food and carried them to the island. Grabbing a fork and a plate from the clean dishes in the washer, he prepared himself a plate of food and popped it into the microwave for several minutes before joining his mom at the table.

"How come grandpa isn't have a department funeral?" he asked curiously, as he speared a chicken ball with his fork and took a huge bite. "Dad said that even retired cops, when they've had a career like grandpa and have made a big name for themselves die, they get a huge department thing."

"Your grandfather didn't want a big thing," Sam replied. "In his will he asked that it was a straightforward cremation and an interment. He didn't even want any visitation."

"Isn't that kind of weird?" Kieran inquired.

His mother shrugged. "People want different things when they die, K. It's a personal choice."

Her son nodded in understanding and took a sip of his milk. "What about when you and dad die? What do you guys want?"

"Both of us just want small things. One day of visitation, just family and friends for a Catholic mass the next day and then burial."

"Are you guys being cremated?"

Sam nodded.

"That creeps me out," he admitted. "The thought of body being buried like that. Freaks me out."

"Well you have a long way to go before you ever have to consider things like that," Sam told him, taking a bite out of an egg roll. "Just so you know, Kieran. You're grandfather left you a trust fund. It was mentioned in his will. He made your dad executor of his state and power of attorney. And one of the things he asked of your father, was that this money stayed under your dad's watch until you graduated from high school. And it's too use at your own discretion."

"Didn't he leave anything for any of the other kids?"

"He did. But not as much as he left you. And I expect that to stay between me, you and your dad? Kapish?"

Kieran nodded. "How much is it?" he asked curiously.

"Fifty thousand dollars," his mom replied.

Kieran nearly choked on the food in his mouth.

"It's a lot of money," Sam said. "And I trust you to do the right thing with it when you get out of high school. And you won't be able to touch it before then. And that's something both your father and I are going to remain very, very firm on."

"So use it for college?"

"Use it for whatever you want," she told him. "Just use it wisely. Okay?"

Kieran nodded and went back to his food. Mother and son sat in companionable silence. Each eating their midnight snack, their minds besieged with a thousand and one thoughts. K was stunned and pleased that his grandfather had done something so wonderful for him. He certainly hadn't expected it, or had even let the thought of money cross his mind when he'd heard about his grandpa's death. No amount of money in the world would bring his grandfather back. It was sad and hard to deal with. He was grieving in his own way. But at the news of the money, he was determined to one day put that cash to good use and not let his grandfather down.

* * *

Samantha pushed all thoughts of paying bills and completing paper work to the back burner. Instead she thought about the young man sitting across from her. Her son. Her baby. Her first born. She thought about how there were times it seemed as if he was just born yesterday. And how other days, when he was causing sheer hell, it seemed like a lifetime ago. She thought about how much he had grown and matured. From a seven plus pound baby to a six foot, two hundred pound young man. She thought about that night he'd been returned home safely after his incident with Dean Lessing. With hiis dirty little face and his platinum blond hair. And how his father had taken the clippers to both of their heads in the care by parent room shortly before Kieran was released from the hospital.

She thought about what Jack Doyle had done to him. About how Kieran had never shown any ill effects, psychology speaking, from being sexually molested. Physically, he'd suffered for months. He'd suffered from a tear in his bowel that went months before it was discovered and he'd regressed in some of his development and had nightmares. But he'd only been fourteen months old when he'd been taken. Too young to have lasting memories, thank God.

He had heard, as he was growing up, various and friends and family members talking about what had gone down. How someone named Dean Lessing that had had an obsession of sorts with his father had paid someone to kidnap him. But it hadn't been until he was twelve that he'd heard someone say he'd been molested. He'd gone to his father afterwards and asked what had happened to him when he was a baby. Flack hadn't known what to say, and he'd come home and discussed the appropriate answer with his wife. And together, they'd sat down with their pre-teen son and told him, as gentle and truthful as they could be, what had been done to him.

Kieran had handled the news well. He'd been shocked and stunned to say the least, and had cried when he had heard the truth. But he hadn't acted out. He'd simply gone back to being Kieran. A pillar of strength. He was strong and stubborn. Just like his father.

And he looked just like his father. It was something that Sam thought about now as she watched her fifteen year old. He was his dad from head to toe. The same hair - when he had some, that was- and the same eyes and jaw structure. The same nose save for the freckles that dotted the bridge and the same lips and chin and ears. The same broad shoulders and the same height and weight. And he had his father's disposition and personality traits. Even the majority of the same mannerisms. Kieran was a good kid. He was smart and funny and in love with life. People took to him quickly and he had a lot of friends.

And a lot of female admirers much to the dismay of his mother. Flack always got a kick out of his kid being such a ladies man. Just like his dad. Sam always rolled her eyes when her husband said something so arrogant. But in fact, it was true. Kieran was popular. And that popularity all to often came with a downside.

"Mom…" Kieran broke the silence first. "Do you love dad?"

Sam blinked. Taken aback by her son's question. "Of course I love your dad," she said. "He's my husband. The father of my children. I love him more then words could ever possibly say. Why would you ask me something like that?"

Kieran shrugged. "Just you guys fight a lot and say mean things to each other sometimes. And I wonder if maybe you guys just stay together because of all us kids."

"That is not why we stay together," she assured him. "We stay together because we love each other. Because we can't imagine our lives without each other. Your dad and I have been through some tough times. Some really, really tough times. But we always found our way back to each other in the end. And we love all of you and try our best to give you guys everything. To make sure that all of you know how much we love you."

He smiled. "You do a good job at that, mommy," he said.

She gave a smile in return. "You're just like your dad, Kieran. And I'm not just talking about looks. I mean you have that same stubborn, determined way about you. You're both the strong, silent type. Your dad does dark and brooding very well sometimes in case you haven't noticed."

"I've noticed."

"And so do you. You're just like him, Kieran. And that's a great compliment, trust me. Because when you're older, if you're half the man and half the husband and father your dad is, then you'll make some young lady very, very happy."

He grinned. That bashful, dimply grin that she'd seen his father display more then once in the past sixteen years.

"And speaking of young ladies," Sam said, sipping her milk. "You and Alessa. And don't tell me that there's nothing going on. I'm your mother. I see all. I know you better then you know yourself, K."

He sighed heavily.

"Did something happen between you and Alessa, Kieran?" Sam asked. "And don't bullshit me."

"She kissed me," he admitted.

"When did this happen?"

"Earlier tonight. After dad called us upstairs for supper. She grabbed me and pulled me in the laundry room and kissed me."

Sam nodded slowly and scooped some fried rice up with her fork. "And did you kiss her back?" she asked.

Her son nodded.

"Did you like it?"

He nodded again. "I liked it a lot," he told her.

"Did you two just kiss or did something else go on down there?" inquired Sam. "And once again, do not bullshit me."

"We just kissed. That's it, mom. I learned my lesson when dad caught Addie and I making out on the couch that night."

"Did you want to do more with her?" she asked. "Alessa, I mean."

Kieran sighed and then nodded.

"Look, Kieran, I don't know what you and your dad have talked about when it comes to safe sex and all of that. But I am hoping that he mentioned condoms to you. And stressed how important it is that you use them. I mean, he talked about this with you, right?"

"A few times. And we heard about it in school too. I know what condoms are, mom. And how to use them. I promise you that I won't get anyone pregnant. Not until I'm ready to have babies. And that won't be for a long, long, long time."

"Good," Sam said. "So you and Alessa…"

"I'm going to break up with Addie," he told his mother. "I thought that I was in love with her but now I know I'm not. Because the way I feel about Alessa is so much different. I can't describe it. I just know that what I feel for her is way different then what I feel for Addie. I'm in love with Alessa."

"First off, you barely know her," Sam said. "Second, you're fifteen. You don't know what it's like to love someone like that Kieran."

"I know how I feel, mom," he huffed.

"I didn't say you didn't. But you're a fifteen year old boy with raging hormones who thinks he's in love with every pretty girl that so as much looks in his direction."

"How long did you know dad before you were in love with him?" Kieran asked.

"What does that…?"

"You and dad hooked up pretty quickly once you met, right? You fell in love with him pretty fast. Got pregnant with me not too long into your relationship."

"Things happened really quick between me and your dad," Sam admitted. "I got pregnant with you about a month and a half into our relationship. We were engaged seven months after we met and married four months after that. I won't say that I loved him instantaneously, but it was pretty damn quick."

"So then why can't I be in love with Alessa?" he asked.

"Maybe because you've known her what? Four or five days? If that? And I was also twice your age when I met your father and a little more worldly then you when it came to affairs of the heart."

"I know how I feel," he grumbled.

"I'm not saying you don't, K. Trust me, that is not what I'm saying. I'm just saying that you're a young man with a whole life ahead of you. And you shouldn't even be talking about love and girlfriends and stuff like that."

"I knew I should have talked to dad about this," Kieran sighed.

"Well by all means, go upstairs and wake him up and discuss your love life with him. I'm not stopping you. If you think you're going to hear exactly what you want from your father, you have another thing coming. First, your father is going to be pissed off that you woke him up when he's going through some shit. Second, he's going to give you that condom talk all over again. And then, he's going to tell you that you're bound to face sheer hell at the hands of Uncle Tim for breaking Addie's heart."

"I don't give a shit about him!" Kieran cried. "What the hell does it matter to him? He doesn't want me with her anyway."

"And is that why you're breaking up with her? Pressure from him?"

"No. I don't give a crap what he says. I just don't want to be with her anymore. I thought I was in love with her and I'm not. Plain and simple. It's not that big of a deal."

"Yes, Kieran. It is. And let me tell you why. Addie is wildly and crazily in love with you. Or at least she thinks she is. And I'm a girl and as a girl, I've been in her shoes. It hurts like a bitch when you're dumped. And I know you Kieran and you are just like your father."

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"Your father is not the most gentle person in the world. And neither are you sometimes. And that's no fault of your own, kiddo. You've got that from him. But you're going to go and dump Addie and I'm afraid of how you're going to do it."

"I was going to call her on the phone and…."

Sam shook her head. "No. No you're not. You are not wimping out like that. You are going to do it face to face. Make it more personal. You're not calling her or emailing her or Instant Messaging her. You got that? You are going to swallow your pride and tell her one on one. In person. Am I making myself clear, Kieran?"

He bit his lip and nodded.

"She deserves that," Sam said. "You owe that to her. Okay?"

He nodded again.

"Okay?" she pressed.

"Okay, mom…jesus…"

"And I don't know what you're planning on doing with Alessa. If you're planning on asking her out or what not. But I hope when you do whatever it is you're going to do, you don't go to school and flaunt it in Addie's face. And that you don't let her flaunt it in Addie's face either."

"I won't," he promised her.

"Good. Because this isn't something to be taken lightly. Okay?"

"Okay…" he said and went back to his Chinese food.

Sam sighed and finished her milk and returned to her bills and paperwork.

"There's something else I want to tell you, mommy," Kieran said several minutes later.

"About?"

"Something important."

Sensing the urgency in his voice, she saved her work on her lap top and turned her full attention to her oldest son.

"How much do you and dad talk about?" he asked.

"A lot," she replied. "But if we promise to keep things secrets with one of our kids, we do it. We don't tell each other. Why?"

"That fight that dad and I had? When he took me out after school to get my hockey stuff?"

Sam nodded.

"Well it has something to do with the reason why dad fired Daria."

"Okay.." his mother said, giving him the chance to come clean with her.

She knew what he was about to tell her, and that he was struggling with finding a way to tell her. And she wasn't about to jump in and let him know that she already knew about the incident with Daria. She didn't want Kieran thinking that his father had betrayed him. She didn't want the kid thinking he couldn't trust his dad anymore. Because their relationship was strained enough. And Kieran losing faith and respect and trust in his dad would permanently fracture what they were trying so hard to improve on.

Kieran sighed heavily. "Something happened, mom. With Daria and I. And I told dad about it and he got pissed and fired her because of it."

"Did he have a reason to?" she asked. "Was it justified?"

"I think so…"

Sam folded her hands on the table top and waited.

"Daria and I…when I was thirteen, me and her…I lost my virginity to her."

His mother nodded slowly, letting the information sink in.

"I was honest with dad and he freaked out and I understand why he did. But it was just something that happened. Something that I wanted to happen. I know I was just thirteen. But I knew how to say no and I didn't want to. Daria didn't do anything wrong."

"Yes, K. She did. She was seventeen years old. You were thirteen. There's something slightly disturbing about that."

"You don't seem too surprised." Kieran commented.

"I'm not. I've had a feeling for a long time that you weren't a virgin anymore. I am surprised however about who you had your first time with."

"I never meant to get Daria into trouble," he said, eyes downcast. "I didn't know that dad would freak out like he did and fire her like that."

"Well, in my opinion, your dad had every right to get upset. And every right to fire her. He doesn't feel comfortable having her around you. He made a decision and I'm standing behind him."

"Are you pissed at me, mom?"

"I'm not pissed, Kieran. A little disappointed in both you and her…but not pissed."

"You're not mad at dad for not telling you?"

Sam shook her head.

"He gave me the chance to tell you myself. And I wanted to tell you a couple of times before now. But I never got the chance after he fired Daria and then grandpa died and it didn't seem like the right time to be talking about stuff like that. You understand, right?"

"I understand why you're dad didn't tell me and I understand that it was hard for you to come to me with this. But I'm proud of you for getting the courage up to talk to me about it."

"Am I in trouble? Like grounded or something?"

Sam shook her head.

He breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry, mom. For letting it happen."

"Well it did happen," she said. "And it happened two years ago and we can't do anything about it now, can we?"

Kieran shook his head.

"The important thing is that you told your dad and you told me," Sam said. "Do you feel better having told us?"

Her son nodded.

"So do I," she told him with a smile, and reached out to touch his face softly. "You should get some sleep, Kieran Shaun Donald Flack."

He grinned and pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand. "So should you Samantha Marie Ross-Flack."

"Smart ass," she laughed. "You're just like your father, you know that?"

He nodded and gave that dimpled grin.

"And it's not hyphenated," she reminded him.

"You're an old fashioned girl, huh mom?" he asked, as he pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. "Took dad's name no questions asked? Even though it's a crap ass last name and NOTHING sounds good with it."

"It was something I was adamant about," Sam replied, as her son gathered up their dirty dishes and she tidied up her stack of bills and slipped papers into their appropriate folders. "I wanted to take his last name. It's just the type of person I am."

"Well I can't see dad being the type to change his name," Kieran said, as he carried the dishes to the sink and rinsed them off. "He's too alpha-male for that sort of thing."

Sam laughed and shut down her lap top. "Your dad would die at the mere suggestion of such a thing," she declared. "And you and your brothers and sisters didn't fare too bad. All of your names sounds great with the last name Flack."

"You couldn't have married some guy with the last name Jones or Thompson or something normal like that?"

"Sorry, K. The last name was last on the list of reasons that made me fall in love with your father."

"He loves you a lot, mom. You know that, right?"

Sam nodded and smiled brightly at her son.

"He's a lucky guy," Kieran said. "All his shit and you still took him back."

"We've all screwed up at one point in time," his mother told him. "Your dad isn't the only guilty party, trust me. And I know it was hard on you when he left."

Kieran bit his lip and nodded. "I'm just glad things worked out in the end," he said, shutting the water off and leaving the dishes in the sink. Walking over to the table, he kissed his mom's cheek in farewell.

"Get some sleep," she told him.

"Take your own advice," he said with a playful wink and tousled her hair before heading out of the kitchen.

Sam grinned as she watched him go.

She had never felt more love for, or more pride in, her first born son.

* * *

Flack was having a hell of a time getting back to sleep. He'd woken up, at a quarter to one according the time on the bedside clock radio, and had found the place next to him empty. The sheets wrinkled and the pillows messed up. He'd snapped awake -from what he couldn't exactly remember, although he chalked it up to a dream. He'd been having a hell of a lot of them recently- and immediately rolled over onto his side and reached out for that warm, soft body that was always resting beside him.

Just it wasn't there on that night. His hand, instead of finding her back or her side, fell on cold sheets. It wasn't until he got himself oriented and checked the time that he'd heard the voices drifting up from downstairs. Easily identifying them as belonging to his wife and oldest son. It was extremely unusual for them to be up that late. Both Sam and Kieran valued whatever sleep time they could get. Both were incredibly difficult to wake up in the morning. Clinging to their blankets and whining incessantly about being tired. Always begging for that extra ten minutes of sleep.

He decided to stay exactly where he was. He imagined that Kieran was finally telling his mother about what happened with Daria, and Flack didn't want to have any part of it. He'd been told, he'd handled the situation and that was that. What was going on downstairs was strictly a mother and son moment that he had no business being part of. Instead, he'd rolled over onto his back and placed a forearm over his eyes and attempted to fall back asleep.

Which was futile. His brain was working over time. Thoughts of how his mother was getting through the night with Chris -who was less then reliable- taking care of things at the house. Questions over why his father had chosen a private, simple, no frills style funeral when he was of legendary status within the department. He though about all the years that had gone by in his life where him and his old man were fighting about something. And how a tiny seven and a half pound baby had managed to bring them back together and repair, to some extent, their relationship.

And he thought about his own kids. About how they were affected by the news of their grandfather's passing and how difficult it had been to break the news to them, and how they'd formed a united front of sorts to deal with their grief. No kid would ever be alone in that house. There was always a sibling there for you to talk to. To offer a shoulder to cry on or just some silent, unwavering support. Sure, they fought. A LOT. But when it all came down to it in the end, those kids were blood and they loved each other and had each other's backs no matter what. And he wondered how they'd cope if something happened to either of their parents. He supposed losing their father would be a hell of a lot easier on them then losing their mother. Their mom had always been around. Taking care of them, nurturing them, running the house and being mother and father when they'd separated. They'd be devastated if anything happened to either of their parents, but they would definitely have a harder time coping afterwards if it was their mother they'd loss.

It was just before one thirty when he heard the door to the bedroom open, and the softly close once again. He remained motionless and silent as his wife bypassed the bed in favour of heading into the washroom, turning the light on after she'd stepped inside and closed the door. She was in there for a few minutes and he heard the water running and the sounds of her brushing her teeth. The water shut off, as did the light and door creaked open once again.

He felt the mattress shift slightly underneath him and heard the soft rustle of the sheets and felt the satin of her pyjamas brush up against his skin as she cuddled in close, lying on her side with her head tucked under his arm and her hand resting on his stomach.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

She gave a small start. "Don't do that," she scolded, and pressed a kiss to his chest. "You scare me when I think you're sleeping and then you just start talking."

"Sorry, babe," he said, and removing the arm from his eyes, wrapped it around her slender body. His hand coming to rest on her back.

"You can't sleep either?" she asked.

Flack shook his head.

"Must be something in the air in this house," she said. "I went downstairs to have a midnight snack and pay some bills and then Kieran came down saying he couldn't sleep."

"He's okay?"

"He just needed to talk to his mommy," she said.

"Did he tell you about Daria?"

Sam nodded. "He was honest about everything and I can tell he feels really bad that it ever happened in the first place. He certainly has regrets about it. I'm proud of him for actually getting up the courage to come and tell me. And proud of you for giving him the chance to."

"But I ended up telling you before he got that chance," he reminded her. "So technically…"

"Technically nothing. You could have easily come home that day and told me and you didn't. You gave Kieran the chance to get his shit together and tell me himself. And so you know, he has no clue that I knew before hand. I didn't let on that you'd told me and I don't think he suspected."

"Why'd you…"

"Because he loves you and trusts you," she answered before he had a chance to finish. "And because the two of you hadn't had the best relationship lately and things are just starting to get back on track. And I was worried that if I told him you'd said something, he'd never trust you or want anything to do with you ever again. I'm not out to sabotage your relationship with your son, Donnie."

He smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Thank you," he whispered into her hair.

"The things I don't do for you," she said with a dramatic sigh. "Although we may have a slight problem on the horizon."

"With?" he asked, stroking her back softly.

"Kieran and Alessa."

"There's a Kieran and Alessa?"

Sam nodded. "He says that he's in love with her."

Flack gave a laugh. "Two days ago he was in love with Addie."

"Well, apparently whatever he's feeling in that body of his for Alessa, is more then he's ever felt, or thought he felt for Addie."

Flack sighed heavily. "He's not feeling anything. He's just horny. He's fifteen years old. He just wants to get into somebody's pants."

"Speak from experience do you?"

"I was fifteen years old once too. I know what the kid is going through and what he's feeling. And trust me, babe, it's not love. He's just looking for whatever and whoever, is the easiest conquest."

"I don't know…." she said. "He seemed very sincere. And convincing."

"He's fifteen," Flack told her. "Come on…he doesn't know shit about being in love. I knew nothing about it when I was fifteen. I wasn't in love for a long time."

"How old were you?" she asked curiously.

He thought about it. "Thirty," he replied. "I met this really cute and tiny and phenomenally smart and equally as phenomenally bitchy Brooklyn girl and well…you know the rest."

"You are so full of it," she laughed. "You can't tell me that you were never in love before you met me."

"I admit, a few times I thought I was in love with a couple of my ex girlfriends. But that feeling never lasted very long."

"That's because you never had a relationship that lasted longer then three months," she teased.

"True…very true. But I did think I was in love and it broke my heart when they dumped me and…"

"They dumped you?"

Flack nodded.

"Why?"

"They couldn't handle the job. They said I was too dedicated to being a cop and not dedicated enough to being with them. This was when I was a uniform. The first time was when I was a rookie, and the second was a just before I made it into the detective division. They said I was loyal to the city, but not to being a boyfriend."

"Hmmm…" Sam said and pressed a kiss to his chest. "Their loss. And their loss is my gain."

He smiled and kissed the top of her head. "But I realized, after I'd met you, that all those times I thought I was in love, it wasn't the real thing. Because what I felt for you, almost from day one?" he shook his head. "I'd never, ever felt that before."

"How did you know it wasn't just pure and unbridled lust?" she teased.

"Well that was there, too," he laughed. "But I knew pretty quick that I was in love with you. And when thinking about it didn't scare the shit out of me and send me running for Mexico, well I knew it must be the real deal."

She slid up the bed and pressed a kiss to his lips. "You can be such a sensitive and romantic bastard," she said.

He grinned and kissed her. Long and soft. "So Kieran and Addie," he said. "What's going on there?"

"He says he's going to break up with her," Sam replied, laying her head on her husband's shoulder.

"Great…Speedle is already a first class asshole. Now we have to deal with an even bigger one once our kid dumps his daughter?"

"I admit that since the whole thing with Kieran, Tim's been a real…"

"Fucking prick," Flack finished for her. "Things haven't been the same with him or Carmen since then and you know it. He opened his big fucking mouth during K's disappearance and he never once apologized to me or you and I'll never forgive him for it. Ever. And Carmen…well her panties have been in a goddamn twist since the day you and Lindsay became besties or whatever the hell you girls call shit like that."

"I told Carmen a long time ago that someone can have two best friends," Sam said.

"Well I guess she didn't agree and wanted you all to her lonesome, little self. Remember that fight she had with Lindsay? The argument over how Monroe just waltzed back into town and stole you away from her?"

Sam sighed.

"Like how fucking mature was that? What thirty something year old talks like that? That should have told you right there and then that both her and Speed were fucking wack-adoos and that we should keep Kieran far away from their daughter."

"Don't be so harsh," his wife scolded.

"Me, harsh? Me and harsh go hand in hand. Along with sarcastic, arrogant, obnoxious, abrasive…"

"Pig headed," Sam tossed in.

He frowned. "No comments from the peanut gallery," he said.

She laughed and propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him. "You are all those things and so much more, babe," she said.

"Yeah? Like as in good stuff? Or bad stuff?"

"Good stuff," she assured him and placed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "All good stuff."

"Like?" he asked, as her lips journeyed down on his neck. His hand on the back of her head, guiding her.

"Oh I don't know…" she said, kissing her way along his collarbone, feeling the slight pressure and urging from his hand. "Lots of things. Like tall, dark and handsome. Amazingly witty and highly intelligent in that unassuming, self deprecating way you have."

"I am pretty damn good at self deprecation," he agreed.

"And I must say," she said, as she slid her hand down his chest and over his stomach, stopping at the waist band of his boxers and running her finger just under the edge. "Incredibly sexy is still high on my list. Even sixteen years later."

"Yeah?" he flipped her over onto her back. "I can show you incredibly sexy baby," he said confidently, as his fingers began undoing the buttons on her pyjama top.

"You know…" she said, kissing him as he worked at undressing her. "Sex should be the last thing on your mind."

He frowned. "Why's that?" he asked, as he finished with her top and laid it open and bent his head to presses soft kisses over the swells of her breasts and trail his tongue down the valley between them.

"Your father just died."

"And your point? He's dead. I'm not. I'm very much alive. And I'm a red blooded male and incredibly horny and now that me and you got our groove back and we're working on this baby thing, I don't want to waste any time. And I don't think my dad is going to be massively pissed and haunt us from beyond just 'cause we had sex tonight."

"You never know…his spirit could be in this room. Watching."

"Well good for his spirit. Hope he enjoys the show."

Sam laughed. "You are more then slightly disturbed," she declared.

"A little," he admitted, and pulled back to look down at her. "But you love me. Always have, always will."

She smiled and raised her head to kiss him.

"And I love you so much, baby," he told her, kissing her softly.

"Always?" she asked, running her fingers through his hair as he bent to lick and kiss her neck.

"Always," he vowed. "Now let's see if we can make a baby normally instead of me having to go do my business in some cup in a doctor's office."

She laughed and flipped him over onto his back and climbed on top of him, a knee on either side of his strong body. "You just say the most romantic things," she said.

"You didn't marry me for my romance," he told her, running his hands up her sides and around the front of her over her breasts. Palming the nipples and feeling them harden under his touch.

"What did I marry you for?" she asked curiously.

"The concealed weapon," Flack replied, and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"You are one perverted man," she declared, running her hands down his chest.

"You mind if I show you how perverted?" he asked.

She grinned. "Not at all," she said.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers! But please, please, please R and R folks. **

**I hope all is going well for those of you that have school and exams and all the stress and issues that come with! Thanks for taking the time to read and enjoy!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**muchmadness**

**Hope4sall**

**ImaSupernaturalCSI**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**LuckysButterflyGirl**

**Forest Angel**

**Bluehaven4220**

**Soccer-bitch**

**rebandmel**


	70. Two phone calls, two outcomes

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK KIDS.**

**A/N: THANKS TO ALL OF THOSE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!**

* * *

**Two calls, two outcomes**

"I've got something to say but now I got nowhere to turn  
It feels like I've been buried underneath all the weight of the world  
I try to hold this, under control  
They can't help me  
'Cause no one knows  
Now I'm going through changes, changes  
God I feel so frustrated lately  
When I get suffocated save me  
Now I'm going through changes, changes  
I'm blind and shaking  
Bound and breaking  
I hope I make it through all these changes."  
-Changes, Three Doors Down

* * *

Samantha Flack felt like shit.

There were no other words that could adequately describe the poor health that had been hanging over her head like a proverbial black cloud for nearly three weeks. Lingering migraines and unshakable body aches. A constantly queasy stomach and various other flu like symptoms. She blamed it on one of two things. Either one, or more, of the kids were carrying some damn virus that insisted on plaguing her, or her menopause was kicking into high gear and causing her insurmountable suffering. Dizzy spells, hot and cold flashes. The list went on and on and no amount of medication seemed to help. The symptoms abated for short periods of time, then always came back with a vengeance.

And as life neared the end of the third week of April, three days shy of her forty-ninth birthday, the agony had become unbearable. She had barely been able to make it through a briefing with her team. The ATF had passed down word that, based on a credible source, a local Colombian business man was running a human trafficking and weapons smuggling ring out of his fine goods warehouse in the lower west side of Manhattan. Reports were that a shipment of 'goods' was scheduled to reach the Port Authority in two weeks time. Upon arrival, ATF and Department of Homeland security, along with members of the NYPD, would be waiting, search warrants in hand.

Due to their number of successfully solved cases and immigration issues, Samantha's small team had been hand picked by the ATF agent in charge of the raid. There was a lot to get done. Two weeks seemed like a lot of time for some, but when it came to DHS, two weeks passed like a blink of an eye. There were scenarios to run through, game plans to be worked out in conjuncture with ATF and NYPD. Some of the agents were young and had never been on a raid before and needed to be re-tested on their firearm proficiency skills. It was a lot of planning and running back and forth to meetings with various agencies. On top of the other work that was stacked sky high on all of their desks. Employee evaluations were due in a week's time. And Sam had yet to crack a single folder open. There was a dozen people to write up reviews on, and not enough time it seemed to get to them.

It had taken all of her will power to get through the meeting. The head ache was tremendous and the nausea unbearable. Once the two hours was up, she'd locked herself in her office and collapsed behind her desk and popped a handful of Gravol tablets in hopes they'd soothe her stomach and keep down what little food she'd been able to handle.

The pills had failed to do either. She'd gone down to cafeteria and bought some Melba toast, a cup of peppermint tea and a bottle of ginger-ale. The latter she'd sat on the window ledge in her office after twisting off the top of the bottle. Flattening it out before drinking it. It had always served to settle her stomach before. As did the Melba toast and tea she sat down at her desk with. Sipping the steaming beverage and munching on the plain, try 'toast' as she attempted, despite the pain in her head, to get some actual work done.

The month since the passing of Don Flack Sr had flown by. The interment had taken place a week after his death with little fanfare. Only his wife, sons and his two oldest grandchildren had been there. The NYPD brass had made a stink about him not having a department burial. They were adamant that despite what the will had stipulated, a man of his legend and stature deserved to be remembered publicly. Flack had simply showed the commissioner the will and pointed out his father's, and the lawyer's signatures, and told the older man to just accept it. The family wasn't going to go against his father's wishes and that was that. Flack missed Mac Taylor as the police commissioner. Mac didn't walk around thinking his shit didn't stink and treat anyone below him like a piece of shit just there to wait on him hand and foot. Joe Cantiolono was Brooklyn born and raised and had spend his entire forty year career with the NYPD before taking a hike to Chicago and serving as their commissioner before Mac had personally handpicked him and recruited him as his successor.

As far as Flack was concerned, it was the worst mistake Mac Taylor had ever made. Cantiolono was an asshole through and through. He rarely came up with a decent worthwhile idea, yet was quick to take credit for a policy or reform that took place in the department, shitting on the actual person whose hard work and idea it had been. He hated working for the prick. And dreaded the seemingly endless parade of meetings the commissioner insisted on. Flack was more action and less talk. And he couldn't stand sitting on his ass in his own office attending to paper work, never mind being stuck in a long winded, intolerable meeting.

Personal wise, family life had been relatively calm and non-eventful save for Kieran's hockey team winning the state wide high school championships and the head ache that his break up with Addie had caused. He had done the right thing by going over to her house an evening shortly after his conversation with his mother. He'd sat down with her and told her that he was breaking up and then explained, calmly and with great sensitivity, why he was doing it. Addie had taken it bad. Like most young women, and some men, who were convinced they were madly in love only to be dumped in the end. She wasn't the first person to ever to face a break up, and she wouldn't be the last. But she'd be devastated and heartbroken and gone running to mommy and daddy. Speed had taken it upon himself to then call up Kieran and ream the kid out or being such a little bastard. And had accused him of having a missing sensitivity chip, just like his father. To which Kieran, who was offended anytime someone bad mouthed his dad, told his 'uncle' to go fuck himself and hung up on him.

Hell had broken loose over that. Within half an hour, Speed was at their doorstep looking to pummel Kieran Flack's ass. An argument between Sam and Speed had soon ensued on the front porch. A lot of yelling, name calling and profanity. In the end, Speed had left vowing to never talk to the entire family again and Sam had told him if was no skin off her ass and to just fuck off. To which Speed had commented that it was obvious where Kieran got his attitude, and foul mouth from.

Carmen had been mortified by her husband's behaviour and had called later that night to apologize. Sam had accepted it, but things hadn't been the same between them since. Sam imagined Carmen was facing a lot of grief from her husband, and maybe even Addie, for being friends still with the family who raised such a prick of a son.

But Sam couldn't be bothered to concern herself with trivial nonsense. The fact of the matter was, she was just too sick to care. And just as she was indulging in some self pity and contemplating calling the family physician and finding out just what in the hell was wrong with her -stress was on the top of her list of self diagnosis'- the phone on her desk rang, startling her out of her fog of suffering.

She took a sip of tea and swallowed before scooping up the receiver of the phone that sat on her desk. "Agent Flack," she said in way of greeting, expecting one of her children.

"Yes, good afternoon, Mrs Flack…" a warm and friendly deep voice, bearing a slight middle eastern accent greeted her. "This is Doctor Sanjay calling. I hope this is a good time for us to speak."

She imagined that the older, distinguished man was calling to discuss the results of some blood work she'd had taken in his office two weeks ago. The fertility specialist was renowned not just in New York State, but all over North American. It had been Hawkes, with his seemingly endless list of friends, who'd put her in touch with the Doctor Sanjay.

Sam and Flack, in their quest to have a baby despite her increasing issues with impending menopause, had seen him for the first of many scheduled appointments. The two hours spent talking about the options that were available to them if there were viable eggs to be recovered and if there wasn't. They'd both been put through blood work and urinalysis to declare them healthy and the doctor had discusses their medical histories and then outlined what steps would be taken on the road to conception of what would be their seventh, and definitely last, child.

The second appointment, to have an ultrasound to check out the condition of her uterus, had been scheduled for the following week. All they'd been waiting on was the result of the blood work. Which they'd both been hoping and praying, was all clear.

"Nice to hear from you, Doctor," she said. "You've caught me at the right time. I was wondering when you'd be calling."

"I just received both your's and your husband's blood work back from the lab. I wanted to call you and discuss some things. Your husband's tests came back clear. He's exceptionally healthy. But your testing…"

She felt her heart sank. Both at those words and at the tone of the doctor's voice. He sounded so…concerned. And maybe even a bit confused. Which could only mean bad news awaited her.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "I'm not sick or anything am I? My white cell count is normal and all that right?"

"Everything appears normal there. It's just that…" he sighed. "I don't know how to tell you this. I actually can't quite believe it myself to be honest."

"You can't help us can you," she said. "The menopause is too far gone. There's nothing you can do for us. We waited too long."

"It's not that," he assured her. "It's just that…well the levels show that you are pre-menopausal. For certain heading towards the beginning of the change of life. But…"

She sighed and placed a hand to her forehead. The aching in her brain escalating at the sound of the doctor's voice. "Can you help us or not?" she asked impatiently.

"I'm afraid I can't," he replied. "But it's not because you're beyond help. It's just that…Mrs Flack, when was your last normal menstrual cycle?"

She thought about it. Going through the dates in her mind. "End of December she replied. "I started on December 20th and ended on the twenty-eighth."

"Anything after that?"

"Nothing. Maybe some slight cramping near that time of the month. But not even the slightest bit of spotting."

"I see…" the doctor said. She could hear the scratch of a pen on the other end as he took notes. "So it's been four months, " he stated. "Nothing since then."

"Nothing," she confirmed. "My husband and I chalked it up to menopause. Especially after we started having those intimacy issues that we discussed when we were there."

"I see…" he said once more. "Well I have some quite startling news for you."

Christ, she thought. Here it comes. I'm dying or something.

"As I said, you're pre-menopausal," the doctor told her. "But according to both your blood work and urinalysis, you're also pregnant."

She nearly drooped the phone. Shock rushed through her at the man's words. "Come again?" she squeaked.

"Pregnant," he repeated, speaking up, as if he thought maybe the connection had gone bad. "And if what you say is accurate, you're approximately, give or take a couple of weeks for conception time, three and a half months. Almost four."

"Excuse me?" Sam couldn't quite wrap her mind around the news. "That can't be wright. I've had my tubes tied."

"Ten out of one hundred women get pregnant after their tubes are tied," Doctor Sanjay informed her. "Did your OB not explain that to you?"

"She did. But it was seven years ago! My husband and I have been having regular unprotected sex for seven years! And nothing happened until now?"

"Well…sometimes it takes years for scar tissue to form. And when it does, it can form a sort of tube all on it's own. Or loosen the tie in your natural tube, enable an egg to pass through."

Sam closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "And you are absolutely sure about this? I mean, we were coming to you to have my tubes untied! So you could help us get pregnant!"

"I understand that, Mrs Flack. But it seems as if you and your husband already did the hard work all on your own."

Sam laughed at that. "It didn't seem like work at the time, trust me."

The doctor chuckled. "And my testing is a hundred percent accurate, I assure you. But if you'd like to either come in again, or purchase a home test for your own peace of mind…"

"No. I trust you and your results. It's just that…" she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I can't…I can't quite believe this."

"I understand it must be a shock," the doctor told her. "To come here expecting my help in conceiving, only to find out you'd done it on your own. Quite surprising."

"You can say that again," she sighed.

"Are you not happy of the outcome or…"

"No…I mean yes…yes I am happy. Ecstatically happy. We wanted a baby so bad. I just didn't expect it to happen this way. I thought for sure that we'd have to go through all sorts of tests and maybe in-vitro. I never thought we'd do it this way."

"God works in mysterious ways," Doctor Sanjay declared. "I offer my congratulations to you and your husband."

"Thank you…he's going to be…surprised. Very surprised."

"I will fax my results to your OB. Her name is on file, yes?"

"Yes," she said.

"I will tell her to contact you and you can begin making plans for appointments with her. Ultrasounds, blood work and such. I would imagine, based on your age and the problems you've had with pre-eclampsia and incompetent cervix that you'd be treated as high risk. And because you already have a child with an abnormality…"

"We'll have to have every test imaginable," Sam concluded. "We know."

"It's an exciting yet scary time," the doctor said. "Congratulations. I wish you both all the best."

"Thank you," Sam told him. "And thank you for calling me."

"It was my pleasure. Take care of yourself. And your new baby."

And with that the doctor disconnected the call. Leaving Samantha sitting at her desk, the receiver still pressed to ear, staring off into the distance and allowing the news to sink in.

Truth was, she didn't know whether to laugh of cry. Her brain was having a hell of a time digesting everything that the doctor had told her. Pregnant? Three and a half months if not more? Being able to conceive after tubal ligation? Scar tissue making their own tube? Christ. It was a lot of info for one brain to sort out. A lot of things that would not to be considered. Important decisions that would need to be made. She'd need more blood work, a definite exam by the OB, thorough ultrasounds and an amniocentesis. Having Declan meant that having another child just like him, at her age, was a one in four chance. And she just didn't know if…

She pushed all negative thoughts out of her mind. At the end of it all, once she was able to fully accept what she'd been told, only one thing mattered most.

There was a baby growing inside of her.

* * *

She picked the phone up once, a neatly manicured finger nail pausing over the numbers as she contemplated her next step. Calling her husband was first on her list of priorities. But he was in a closed door meeting with the Chief of Police and the Commissioner and wouldn't have his cell phone turned on. There was no telling how long the meeting would last for. She dialled his cell number and left a message as it went directly to voice mail. Trying to keep her voice as calm and collected as possible as she asked him to please call her when he got the message. That it was important, but not an emergency. Finishing with that she hoped everything had gone well.

And that she loved him.

For good measure, she left an identical message on his work extension before hanging up.

Next on her list, was verifying what Doctor Sanjay had said about the possibility of pregnancy after having her tubes tied. While she believed such a well respected and valued professional, a part of her still needed to see it to believe it. And sure enough, there was countless stories of women who'd become pregnant, some even a decade after having their tubes tied.

If it's going to happen, it's going to happen to me, Sam sighed, her hand absentmindedly reaching down to rub her stomach. Her mind was going into overload at all the things that would need to be done. Appointments and tests. A nursery would have to be made. Things would have to be bought. After Liam they'd gotten rid of all of their baby things.

So much to do. And based on the doctor's surmising of her conception date, not a hell of a lot of time do to them in.

She leaned back in her chair and sipped her tea slowly. The shock of the announcement now being replaced by elation. The thought that there was a baby already inside of her, thriving and growing, brought tears to her eyes and a broad smile to her face. Despite the fact that she had already gone through four pregnancies and bore six children, any conception and birth was a miracle. She loved being pregnant. Not so much the symptoms and the months of illness and worry, but the feeling of a child inside of her. Of having someone she was solely responsible for. Someone relying on her to get them into the world safely and to love them and nurture them all the days of their life. Whether it was her first -although nothing actually ever replaced the excitement and fear of your first pregnancy- or her sixth, all of her children were precious in her eyes.

Including you, she thought, as she laid her hand over her stomach and rubbed it softly. It just now occurring to her that she had been looking somewhat bloated within the last month. She'd chalked it up to menopause and the fact that she wasn't as young as she used to be, and not so concerned with her figure anymore. She had the man of her dreams, he wasn't going anywhere. Whether she was a size two or a twenty two. And as she got older, she cared less about what she looked like body wise, and learned to enjoy her food more. She was a size twelve now and proud of it. Not necessarily fat, but just above average.

She was dying to tell someone. To just pick up the phone and start dialling. But she wanted that someone to be her husband. He deserved to be the first to know. He'd missed out on the news that they were expecting triplets, and had been one of the last know -because of Sam's notorious impatience- about Liam. It was killing her that she couldn't just pick up the phone and talk to him right away. And she was considering calling the commissioner's office and telling the secretary to pull Inspector Flack from the meeting by telling him there was a family emergency, but at the same time she feared her husband's wrath when he realized that everything was fine.

The phone on her desk rang suddenly, startling her out of the daze she'd fallen into. Reaching out, she snatched the receiver up quickly, expecting it to be her husband and planning on breaking the news as soon as he responded to her initial greeting.

"Agent Flack…" she said into the phone, excitement bubbling out of her.

"Mrs Flack…" a nasally female voice greeted her. Sam knew that voice anywhere. And knew that if that voice was talking to her, whatever the reason for calling wasn't good. "This is Dorothy Watts. The receptionist at Archbishop Malloy."

Christ, what has he done now? Sam thought, letting out an audible sigh. And she wondered if Dorothy was actually as dense as she came across. The woman was as equally annoying on the phone as she was in person. That voice just drove Samantha insane. As did the impossibly long fingernails and the peroxide blond hair and make up the fifty something year old woman plastered all over her face.

"I'm calling about your son, Kieran," Dorothy continued, not giving Sam a chance to reply.

"What's happened?" Sam asked.

"Kieran was involved in an incident," the receptionist told her. "Involving another student."

"And am I allowed to know what this incident is?" Samantha asked. "Or am I suppose to guess?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone.

"Hello?" Sam asked, fighting back a laugh. "Are you there?"

"I'm here. As I was saying Mrs Flack…"

"Agent Flack," Sam corrected. "I'm at work. So if you don't mind…"

The receptionist sighed heavily. Obviously perturbed. "Your son was involved in an incident this afternoon. With another student."

"And I will ask again. What kind of incident?"

"A fight, Mrs…Agent Flack. I am afraid that your son's sent this other student to the emergency room of St Xavier's with numerous injuries. The last news was that this student had a fractured jaw, broken nose, possibly shattered orbital bone, broken ribs and a …"

"And what about my son?" Sam interrupted her. "I'm sure he didn't escape a fight like that unscathed."

"…and a concussion," Dorothy finished, ignoring her.

"Sorry to hear about that. But how is MY son?"

"He's currently sitting in front of me. Waiting for you to get here so he and you, can speak to the principal."

"Okay…maybe you didn't hear me the first two times. How is my son? Physically?"

Another sigh. "Split lip, bloody nose, black eye…"

"Well sounds like he wasn't the only one fighting," Sam said. "The way you were talking, you made it seem as if his actions were unprovoked. If he looks like that, obviously this boy fought back. It wasn't a one man show."

"I never said that…"

"And just what were my son and this other student fighting about?" Sam inquired.

"Your son is saying that he's not talking until one, or both of his parents get here," Dorothy told her. "That he isn't, and I quote, 'Going in there without a witness'."

"His father's influence," Sam said, struggling not to laugh. "My husband has always taught his kids to never get into a situation without having someone to back you up."

"Well apparently he's taught him more then that," the receptionist said snidely.

"Yes…that's right. He also taught him how to beat the shit out of people for sport," Sam snorted, as she opened the bottom drawer of her desk and yanked out her Kate Spade purse. Black with pink and white trim along the edges of the strap. "I'm on my way," she said into the phone, hanging it up as she got to her feet.

Stupid ass bitch, Sam thought, as she quickly sent an email to her supervisor explaining she had an emergency with one of her kids, before saving her work and logging off of the system. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she snatched her light pink suede jacket from the back of her office door and hurried out.

Super mom. Off to save one of her young.

With another one unknowingly tagging along for the ride.

* * *

It took a half an hour to get to Archbishop Malloy High School. The drive went surprisingly smooth and quick, even with the construction and paving that was tying up a lane going in either direction on the Queensboro Bridge and the road work that plagued Flushing every time the spring weather hit. Once the temperatures climbed into the mid to high teens during the day, you could count on two things in any borough in New York City. The smell coming off of the East River was nearly enough to make you light headed, and the department of works was out making everyone lives hell by messing up the flow of traffic. Not like traffic in any of the boroughs needed help with being screwed to the gills.

The late April weather was beautiful, and welcome, from the cold grips of winter and the chilly March that the city had experienced. The small LCD screen on the dashboard of the Volvo SUV displayed the external temperature at seventy-four as she parked in the visitor's and students lot located at the back of the school.

The sun was high and bright in a vibrant blue sky and a gentle breeze rustled the tree tops and tousled Sam's short hair as she climbed out of the vehicle. Shutting the door behind her, she set the alarm via the remote on her key chain, and stuffed her keys into her purse, zipping it up as she headed for the rear entrance of the looming grey brick and stone building. Her holster and badge on full display on her right hip and the waist of her grey dress pants as she breezed through a small group of students loitering and sharing cigarettes next to the entrance. Waving the smoke out of her face and ignoring comments about the narcs coming to bust somebody. She'd seen it all and been called it all. And Narc was the most tame.

Her kitten heels clicked on the cream tiled flooring as she took the familiar path from the back of the school and through the wide hallways towards the prinicipal's office located near the front entrance. It was a sad thing to say that she knew the place like the back of her hand. But with a special needs son that was picked on on a near daily basis and his older brother that would defend him to the death, Sam had made many a trip to the office to bail someone out of trouble.

She had just rounded the corner and was on the home stretch when a familiar face, stepping out of a classroom in his navy blue cargo style pants and his white polo shirt and his prized Adidas running shoes - "Just like dad," he'd declared in the athletic store, proudly swinging his legs back and forth and beaming down at the black and red and white shoes on his feet- spotted her. His short, black wavy hair was tousled and his cheeks were rosy. A massive smile spread from ear to ear and his blue eyes sparkled as he hurried over to her.

"H- h-hi, m-mom," Declan greeted, throwing both arms around her, sending the attendance list fluttering to the floor.

"Hi, buddy," she said brightly, embracing her son and accepting a kiss to each cheek. "Are you having a good day?"

"Y-y-yeah…you?"

"I'd be better if I didn't have to come here," she said.

"K got into a f-f-fight," Declan informed her.

"I know. That's why I'm here. I have to go and get him at the principal's office."

"Mr T-T-Thompson," her son told her, rolling his eyes. "He's an a-a-ass wipe."

"Delcan!" Sam scolded him. "That's not nice!"

He gave that shrug and cheeky grin. So much like his father. "It's t-t-true," he reasoned.

"It's still not nice," she said, and bent down to pick up the attendance sheet. "Where were you going with this?" she asked.

Declan pointed in the general direction of the office.

"You're running errands for the teachers now, huh? You're lucky. They must think you're something special. That they can trust you."

"D-d-dad says I'm the g-g-go to guy," her son said.

"Well dad's right," Sam told him, handing him the list. "I'm going that way, too."

"I w-w-will walk you," Declan announced, and linked his arm with hers as he led the way down the hall. "Is d-d-dad here too?" he asked.

"Dad's in an important meeting," Sam replied, smiling at the look of sheer pride on Declan's face as they strolled the halls together. As if he was with the most beautiful, popular girl in school. "He's with the mayor and the commissioner."

"The ja-ja-jackass," Declan said.

"You really need to stop listening to much to your father," Sam sighed.

"Dad knows all," her son informed her.

She rolled her eyes.

"Hey, D," a tall, well built student in a letter man's jacket greeted the other boy cheerfully. Sam guessed, by his stature and mature, handsome looks, that this boy standing at his locker was a senior. And that despite being a jock, had a decent heart inside of him.

"Hey, J-Joseph," Declan chirped back.

"Whose the pretty girl?" the other boy asked. "Your girlfriend?"

Declan blushed and hung his head slightly.

"She's really cute, D," Joseph told him, winking at Sam. "You gonna bring her to prom?"

"No," Declan said sheepishly. "Not my g--g-girlfriend."

"Wife?" the other boy tried.

Declan laughed at that. "It's my m-m-mom!" he exclaimed.

"Well you've got a really, really cute mom," Joseph told him. "And you should still bring her to prom."

"Those days are long behind me," Sam laughed.

"Hi Declan's mom," the young man said, offering his hand. "I'm Joseph Douglas. I'm in the Circle of Friends here."

Sam shook the hand offered to her. The Circle of Friends was a group of students that offered their time to help out the special needs kids in the school. Assisting them with school work, eating lunch with them, helping them find their classes. Some of the kids in the group even went as far as socializing outside of class with the special needs kids. They were definitely a blessing.

"Senior?" Sam asked curiously.

The young man nodded. "I just transferred here from St Patrick's in Ridgewood. Better athletic program here. I'm on the football team with your son Kieran."

"The hell raiser," she sighed. "He's why I'm here."

Joseph nodded slowly. "The fight. Saw the whole thing. Personally I'm glad Kieran knocked the guy around. The SOB deserved it. He needs a witness or anything, I'm more than glad to help him out."

"Nice to know someone is on his side," she said. "God knows he needs it. I should really get to the office."

"Well tell Kieran I've got his back," Joseph told her as he shut his locker. "And it was nice to meet you Mrs Flack. D talks about his mom and dad all the time."

"All good I hope," Sam said, smiling at her still blushing son.

"Naturally. Remember D, if you want, me and you can hit the movies on the weekend. That new Vin Diesel movie is playing. We can check it out."

"C-c-can I go mom?" Declan asked hopefully.

"I don't see why not," she replied.

"I'll grab your address and what not tomorrow," Joseph told him. "I got spare now so I'm out of here. Nice meeting you, Declan's mom."

"You too," Sam said with a warm smile.

"Catch ya later, D," the older boy clasped Declan warmly on the shoulder before heading off down the hall towards the back of the school.

"He's very nice," Sam said to her son as they continued on their way once again.

"Th-th-that's Alannah's boyfriend," Declan informed.

"It better not be for her sake," Sam declared. "Your father would throw a fit."

"H-h-have a st-st-stroke," Delcan said.

She laughed and nodded in agreement. Her heart sinking as they neared the glass enclosed office and she caught sight of her oldest child, sitting in a bank of chairs facing the hallway, his white polo shirt torn in several places and streaked with blood. His long legs stretched out in front of him as he slumped in his seat, an ice pack held to his split lip with his left hand. The black eye noticeable from a mile away. His knuckles bloodied.

"K!" Declan cried as they stepped into the office. "M-m-mom's here!"

"I think I can see that you moron," his older brother grumbled.

Declan flipped his brother the middle finger. Causing the stern receptionist at her desk a mere five feet away to gasp loudly and clasp her chest.

Kieran laughed at loud. More from the receptionist's reaction and the way his mother's eyes widened then the fact his brother just flipped him off.

"B-b-bye mom!" Declan kissed her cheek noisily and hugged her tightly. Oblivious to what was going on around him and the stir he'd caused. "Bye K!" he called, and bounced out of the office.

Sam watched him disappear down the hall. Then sighed heavily. "What?" she asked, when she noticed the disapproving stare of the receptionist. "They're their father's kids, okay? Mind your own and go back to filing your nails."

Kieran coughed noisily to keep back another laugh. He shifted in his seat as his mother took a seat beside him. He moved slowly and with great difficulty.

"Jesus Christ, K," Sam breathed, reaching out to touch his face gently. "What in the hell…"

"I'm fine!" he exclaimed, jerking away from her.

"You're not fine. You're bleeding…let me look at your face and…"

"Mom! I'm fine!" he insisted. "Just don't…don't be like that with me! Not here! Okay?"

She nodded in understanding. He was after all, a fifteen year old boy. Tough and macho. He didn't want his mommy fawning all over him.

At least not in public.

"Where's dad?" he asked, wincing as he moved in his seat once again, holding an arm across his ribs.

"Your dad's in a closed door meeting," she replied. "With Uncle Tony and the Commissioner."

"The jack ass," Kieran said.

"I really wish your father would watch his mouth around you kids," Sam sighed. "Did you want him here? Would you rather him here than me?"

"Are you insane?" Kieran asked. "At least I know you won't be putting another beat on me on the way to the car."

"Don't talk about your father like that," Sam scolded him. "You make him sound like he's this terrible person that knocks you around every chance he gets. Your dad has never, ever laid a hand on you a day in your life."

"He spanked my ass when I was six," Kieran reminded her.

"You told him to fuck off when he told you to eat your vegetables. Do you blame him?"

Kieran shrugged and pulled the ice away from his lip, wincing in pain.

"You're a damn mess," Samantha said.

"You should see the other guy," Kieran told her. "I messed him right up."

"And you're proud of that?" she asked. "You're proud that you got angry enough to hurt someone like that?"

"I didn't say I was proud of it," her son replied. "But he deserved it."

"He deserved to be put in the ER?" she inquired.

Kieran nodded.

"And what did he do to deserve something like that? You want to fill me in?"

"He said some things," the fifteen year old told her.

"About? Your brother?"

Kieran shook his head.

"Your sisters?"

"No…"

Sam's eyes narrowed as realization sank in. "Your father?" she asked.

"He said some things about dad," Kieran told her, tears welling in his eyes. "Bad things, mom. And I couldn't let him get away with it. He's been saying shit for weeks now. Every time I walk by him he's getting on my ass."

"About your dad?"

He nodded. "I ignored. Just went about my business. And then the things he was saying got worse so I told a couple of the teachers. And they didn't do anything about it. They told me to suck it up, to get thicker skin. To be a man about it."

Sam shook her head.

"I just couldn't take it anymore, mom," he sniffled noisily. "It just got to me finally and I snapped. I just snapped and I couldn't stop it. I just went after him. I don't even remember doing half of what they say I did to him."

She laid a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it comfortingly.

"That's my dad," he whispered, the tears finally escaping. "He's my dad and I can't let someone say that shit about him."

"What did he say, Kieran?" she asked quietly.

"He said that dad was a rat. A shit ass cop. Because he'd turned on one of his guys a long time ago. That he helped Papa Mac take down a dirty cop that stole some drugs and killed some guy. He said that dad never had this guy's back and that he should have! And that dad didn't deserve to to be with the NYPD. That he should have died in that explosion 'cause then he'd never been a rat."

"You know none of that is true, right?" Sam ran a hand over her son's hair. Quickly growing back from his brush cut. Her heart breaking at the words that tumbled from his lips. "You know that your dad is an amazing cop. He wouldn't have gotten as far as he has if he wasn't. Your dad has given blood, sweat and tears to this city, Kieran. More blood than anything, unfortunately."

Kieran wiped at his eyes. "He said that I was pathetic piece of shit just like my dad. That the pervert who kidnapped me never should have given me back. That he should have killed me and tossed me off the Brooklyn Bridge. Because I was a waste of human life because of who my dad is."

She sighed heavily. Anyone with access to a computer could go onto the 'net and type in the last name Flack and find dozens of photographs and articles. Detailing Kieran's ordeal as a toddler, and his father's near death experience and his high profile busts.

"Kieran…" she said, kneading the back of his neck. "Your father is an amazing man. He's given so much to this city. And to me and you and your brothers and sisters. He's an incredible person who tries so hard to make a good life for all of us. And you should be proud of him."

"I am!" he cried. "I've never not been proud of dad!"

"And you should never be ashamed of him or what your last name is."

"I'm not mommy…I swear to you, I'm not."

"Your father did what he had to do all those years ago. It wasn't an easy decision for him to make. He didn't want to turn on one of his own. But the man was a murderer, Kieran. And your dad never would have been able to live with himself if he'd let that go by the wayside. But he struggled with that decision and he was put through hell afterwards. And not once when he told me about it did I look down at him or question what he did. Because he did the right thing and you know that."

Her son nodded.

"And he fought damn hard to get you back to us," Sam fought off tears of her own. "We almost lost you! And he nearly lost his life bringing you back to me! And any sonofabitch who says things like that to you, should have the balls to say it to my face. Because I swear to you Kieran, I will put that little fucker into an early grave for talking like that about my husband!"

"Mrs Flack?" the reception called out.

"What?!" Sam snapped. "What the hell do you want! I am talking to my son! Do you mind? Do you honestly fucking mind?!"

"Mom!" Kieran whispered, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"The principal will see you now," the other woman told her.

"Well he can goddamn well wait," Sam said. "Now excuse me and leave us alone for a few minutes."

The receptionist didn't respond. She simply nodded and returned to her desk.

"Tell me who this kid is Kieran," Sam demanded. "What's his name?"

"Mom, I…"

"Kieran…"

"I don't want to…"

"His name, Kieran! Now!"

Her son blinked at the tone of her voice. "His name's David," he said quickly. "David Truby."

Sam's heart nearly stopped in her chest. She felt a chill travel throughout her entire body.

"Dean Truby was his uncle," her son told her.

"Mrs Flack…" the reception called once more. "Please…if you don't mind…"

Sam jumped to her feet. "Let's go Kieran," she said, motioning for her son to stand up.

"Mom…I…"

"Let's go," she insisted. "We're going to get to the bottom of this shit."

Kieran sighed heavily, biting back the pain as he got to his feet and followed his mom towards the principal's office.

It was time to face the music.

And accept the consequences.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers! But please, please, please review folks! Makes my day!**

**Special thanks to:**

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**Forest Angel**


	71. Boy troubles

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND ALL THE FLACK KIDS.**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!**

* * *

**Boy troubles**

"His early mornin' attitude  
You have to drag him out of bed  
Only Frosted Flakes will do  
He gets that from me  
Yeah, he gets that from me  
He melts my heart  
Tells me he loves me every day  
And cracks a joke at the perfect time  
Makes me laugh when I want to cry  
That boy is everything to me  
He gets that from you  
He gets that from you"  
-He Gets that From Me, Reba McEntire

* * *

Keith Thompson was nothing more of an arrogant, pompous ass.

Samantha had had that impression of the principal from the first day she'd ever met him at a meet the faculty night at the start of the school season. He had spent thirteen years as the head of a private school on the upper east side of Manhattan, before the pressures of dealing with the elite became too much for him and he'd applied for a position with the Queens Roman Catholic District School Board. He'd spent a year as a vice principal at an all girl's school in Ridgewood before receiving the top job at Archbishop Malloy. He'd been the only one at meet the faculty night that didn't wander the auditorium shaking hands and introducing himself to the parents. Instead he expected the families to approach him. And those that had made their way over, were treated to long winded speeches about how he was going to turn the school around. How he was single-handily going to whip the blue collar kids into shape and turn them into fine examples of the future.

All while wearing his Armani suits and Italian silk ties, naturally. Flack had spent less then five minutes with the new principal and as he walked away, had raised his eyebrows and looked at his wife and declared that that had to be the stupidest man he'd ever met in his entire life.

Sam wasn't too sure if Keith Thompson was stupid. The various diplomas and awards encased in frames mounted on the wood paneled walls of his spacious and immaculately clean office showcased that he was both highly educated, and respected by his peers. But the man had absolutely no people skills. Highlighted by the fact that as they were shown in to his office, he didn't move his ass out of his chair behind his desk or even bother to look up in greeting. He simply continued to scrawl notes on a yellow legal pad in front of him as he gestured for mother and son to take a seat in the leather bound chairs before him.

"Good afternoon to you too," Samantha greeted in an overly cheerful voice as she dropped into one of the chairs and crossed her legs elegantly.

"Mrs Flack…do you have any clue why we called you here this afternoon?" Thompson asked.

"Well let me see," she replied. "Could it have to do with the fact that my son looks like he went ten rounds with Mike Tyson? Or am I here on a totally unrelated matter?"

The principal halted in his writing and remained motionless for several seconds before sighing heavily and laying his pen down. He finally made eye contact with the petite brunette in front of him. Then proceeded to eye her up and down. His eyes falling on the holstered weapon on her right hip. "You are aware we have a zero tolerance policy against weapons in our school, aren't you?" he asked.

"And you are aware that I'm a Federal law enforcement agent, aren't you?" she countered, and unclasping her badge from the waist of her pants, dropping it onto the man's desk. "I would imagine that if a member of the NYPD was to come into the school armed, you'd have no problem with that? Especially if it was a male member of the NYPD."

"I resent the insinuation that I have a preference in dealing with members of the male persuasion," Thompson told her.

"That wasn't an insinuation," Sam said with a smile.

"I'm very sorry that I had to call you out of your office," the principal sighed. "I attempted to call your husband at both his work number and cell number, but…"

"My husband is in a closed door meeting with the mayor and the police commissioner," she said. "I guess he feels that I am more then capable of dealing with situations regarding our children. And now that I'm here, I'd like to discuss this particular situation with Kieran. Was he offered any medical attention save for a dirty rag for his split lip and an ice pack for his busted nose?"

"I'm fine, mom," her son told her. "I…"

She held her hand up to silence him. "My son was injured too," she informed Thompson. "Yet here he is, an hour after the fight, sitting in your office instead of being examined by a doctor. But I guess bleeding like a stuck pig doesn't warrant any concern, does it."

"Your son sent another student to the hospital, Mrs Flack. We tend to take that very seriously."

"And I tend to take bullying very seriously. Are you aware, Mr Thompson, that my son complained to members of your faculty on several occasions that the student in question was harassing him ?"

"I am aware that there were some concerns raised by your son."

"And those concerns were ignored. Pushed under the carpet. He was being tormented and bullied and he went to teachers and complained and he was told to stop acting like a baby and suck it up. You talk about a zero tolerance policy for weapons. In the state of New York, a zero tolerance policy on bullying was established shortly after the massacre at Columbine in Colorado. Or does the Queens Catholic School Board play by their own sets of rules?"

"Mrs Flack, I understand that you're upset. But think of the parents that now have a son in the emergency room."

"And think of the parents, like me, who teach our children to go to teachers and principals like yourself when they're having a problem. And then our children come to us and tell us that they weren't taken seriously. What about the parents who lost children from bullying? Or the parents whose children couldn't take the torment anymore and walked into schools just like this and shot up their classmates? What about all of those parents?"

Thompson blinked.

"I am sorry that my son was involved in such an incident. That he felt that the only way to handle things was through violence. He certainly wasn't taught that at home. And I'm sorry that this other boy suffered the injuries he did. And Kieran will be punished as my husband and I see fit. However, what is going to be done about this other boy? Who said such mean and hurtful things to my son? Things that were so disgusting and insensitive that Kieran felt the need to react the way he did?"

Thompson didn't respond.

"Nothing," Sam concluded. "Just like I thought. Well I guess that the school board trustee would be very interested to hear that this bullying was brought up numerous times and nothing was done about it. And this isn't the first time, is it?"

"Unfortunately, your son has been involved in a number of incidents since I've been at this school," Thompson told her.

"It is unfortunate. Because Kieran was never like this before. And if he's not defending his father, he's defending his brother when people call him a retard and a mongoloid. My husband and I were assured, by both you, and our trustee that our son Declan would be included in this school. That he'd be with the general population of students and given the opportunity to learn."

"And we've tried to accommodate him…"

"He sits in the corner of a classroom stringing beads and picking his ass," Sam fumed. "And he's been tormented and picked on and Kieran's defended him time and time again."

"With all due respect to you and your husband, Mrs Flack, the two of you should have considered what having a mentally retarded sibling would do psychologically to Kieran."

"My brother's not a fucking retard!" Kieran bellowed. "Don't call him that! You have no goddamn right to call him that!"

Sam laid a hand on her son's arm to calm him down. "Mr Thompson, I'd tread very lightly on this dangerous road your heading down. I happen to be on first name basis with the Chief of Police and the Commissioner. Both of whom have family members serving at the top of the school board. So unless you don't want your job, I suggest you keep your opinions on my sons to yourself."

"Your son," Thompson nodded in Kieran's direction. "Is in hot water, Mrs Flack."

"And he will be dealt with at home," she said. "Now tell me what his punishment within school life is so I can take him out of here and start looking for a different school to put him and all of his siblings into."

"Kieran's being suspended for two weeks," Thompson informed her. "On top of the fight, when his locker was searched we found…"

"Why was his locker searched? Did he give consent?" Sam asked. "Kieran?" she looked at her oldest son. "Did you give them permission to go into your locker?"

He shook his head.

"So you went into his locker without his permission and without justifiable cause," Sam snorted and shook her head. "This is all just so rich."

"We had justifiable caused under the zero tolerance policy," Thompson informed her.

"You had a reason to believe my son brought a weapon to school?" she asked.

"Well he does have two parents at home that are both in possession of firearms," the principal reasoned.

Sam laughed out loud. "And what do you think? That my husband and I just leave our weapons lying around the house fully loaded? Do you honestly think we're both utter morons? Don't insult my goddamn intelligence with such bullshit."

"Another student came to us with the concern that Kieran may have had something illegal in his locker," Thompson told her.

"And did he?" Sam asked. "Did you find a weapon? A knife? A gun? Anything?"

He sighed. "No," he admitted. "We did however, find these…"

Opening the bottom drawer of his desk, Thompson removed a large stainless steel Thermos, a small bottle of Jack Daniels and a package of cigarettes.

Sam glanced at her son. The fifteen year old was squirming uncomfortably in his side. "Kieran," she said. "What in the hell?"

"Those aren't mine," he informed his mother.

"They were found in your locker," she gently reminded him. "What do you mean they're not yours?"

He sighed heavily.

"Kieran…make this easier on yourself and admit that these things are yours," his mother urged.

"The cigarettes are mine," he admitted. "But that thermos and that booze do not belong to me."

"Who do they belong to?" Sam asked.

"A friend," he replied.

"You have a lot of friends, Mr Flack," Thompson said, annoyance in his voice. "Just which one of those friends are you referring to."

Kieran looked at the older man across from him. His blue eyes intense and unwavering as they held the principal's gaze. "Semper Fi," he said simply.

Thompson frowned.

Samantha couldn't help but smile. Despite the anger that bubbled inside of her for her son's actions, his stead fast loyalty was something to admire.

"And just what is that suppose to mean?" Thompson asked.

"It's Latin," Kieran replied matter of fact. "It's short for Semper Fidelis. It means Always Faithful. It's the motto of the Marine Corps."

Thompson smirked. "And now you think you're a Marine?"

"My grandfather was a Marine. A highly decorated one. After that he became a police officer and eventually ran the crime lab here. Then he became Commissioner and retired last month. He taught me that saying. And that if a man had no honour, he had nothing. I'm not ratting out my friends."

"Did he teach you that lying is a great virtue?" Thompson asked.

"I'm not lying," Kieran insisted. "The thermos and the booze are not mine. I copped to the smokes. But that other stuff doesn't belong to me. A friend asked me to hold onto them for them. And I said okay. That's all I'm telling you."

"You're being very foolish young man," the principal informed him.

Kieran shrugged. "I'm not a rat," he said.

"Two weeks suspension," Thompson told him angrily. "And that includes not participating in any extra curricular activities."

"That's fucking bullshit!" Kieran exclaimed.

Sam gripped his forearm tightly in an effort to keep him calm. "And the other student?" she asked.

"Well I happen to think his injuries and his time in the hospital is punishment enough." Thompson spat.

"So he walks away Scott free?" Sam nearly laughed in the man's face. "Did I happen to mention I'm very good friends with the editor of the Times? Reed Garrett. I'm sure he'd love to run a story based on all of this. Would you be willing to go record with all of this, Mr Thompson?"

"Don't hand me any empty threats, Mrs Flack."

"Oh I assure you, they are not empty threats. Did you think that because I'm a woman that you could bulldoze me? That I would just throw up my hands in surrender and lie down and die? You are screwing with the wrong woman."

"I'm sorry that you feel the need to be so hostile," he said.

Sam snorted and shook her head and stood up. "My husband and I will be talking to the trustee and looking for another school for all of our children," she informed him, and motioned for Kieran to stand up.

"And I'll be seeing Kieran in two weeks," Thompson told her.

Sam laughed. "It will be a cold day in hell when my son comes back here," she said, tossing open the door, allowing Kieran to pass through before stepping out of the office behind him and slamming the door shut. "We're going to your locker," she informed her son. "We're going to your locker and you're cleaning it out? Understand me?"

"What about my gym locker?" he asked.

"You'll clean that one out too," she replied. "All your stuff is out of here, understand me?"

Kieran nodded. "How much trouble am I in mom?" he asked.

"A shit load," she answered. "After we're done here, I'm driving to midtown Manhattan and we're going to One Police Plaza and you're going to go into the bathroom and clean yourself up and then you're going to sit and wait in your father's office for him. And then you're going to tell him exactly what happened today. Word for goddamn word."

The fifteen year old visibly blanched.

"You want to act all big and bad, Kieran? You think that attacking a kid to that extent is okay?"

"But mom, he said all that stuff!" her son argued.

"And you could have stopped with a simple punch in the face! But you didn't! You kicked the living shit out of the kid and put him in the ER! That is not okay, Kieran! And if you want to act all big and bad and adult, then you're going to face the consequences of what you did. And part of facing that is talking to your father."

"You can't do it?" Kieran asked.

Sam stopped and stared at her oldest child. "No. I can't. You did this and you're going to deal with it. You're fifteen years old. You're not a baby anymore, Kieran."

"But talking to dad?" he asked. "I can't talk to dad!"

"You can. And you will. I know you're terrified of him. But what do you honestly think he's going to do to you? He's not going to haul off and beat you, Kieran! He's going to be pissed. Very pissed. But if you take it upon yourself to be honest with him and go to him, trust me, your punishment will be less painful then what it would be if you didn't have the balls to talk to him!"

"Mom, I'm sorry about what I did! But he deserved it and I…"

She threw her hands up in frustration and headed down the hallway. "You don't get it Kieran. You just don't get it. You are old enough now to be held accountable for your actions and your decisions. You're a young man. Not a little boy."

"I know that…" he said, falling in step beside her. "I know you're pissed, mom."

"Oh I am far beyond pissed young man, trust me. And now underage drinking and smoking? What the Christ is wrong with you child?"

"The booze wasn't mine, mom! I swear to you it wasn't mine! It's a friend's! I wouldn't lie about that!"

She shook her head.

"I swear to you, mom! It's not mine! What do you want me to do? Take a breathalyzer test? Piss in a cup? I'll do whatever I have to just to prove to you that I'm not drinking!"

"Don't test my patience anymore, Kieran! Don't say anything else! You'll be damn lucky that this kid's parents don't press charges!"

"I just snapped," he argued. "I just snapped and I…"

"No more excuses!" she cut him off mid sentence. "You did the crime, you do the time! Plain and simple. And part of doing the time is facing your father! Understand me?"

Kieran sighed heavily.

"Do you understand me?" she repeated.

He nodded. "Yes, mom," he mumbled.

She shook her head in disgust and disappointment and said nothing more.

* * *

It was quarter to three when Flack finally emerged -massively irritated by his meeting and suffering from the worst tension head ache he'd ever experienced in his life- from the NYPD's Commissioner's office. The past five hours of his life had been nothing but endless numbers printed on spread sheets flashed on an overhead projector and a countless stream of pie charts and statistics and bitching and moaning on the Commissioner's part about department finances and the less then stellar showing in the amount of cases solved by the detective division and the inconsistencies in the crime lab's spending. As Deputy Inspector, the crime lab was under Flack's watch, as it had been under Gerrard's back in the day. And when the invoices and receipts Tim Speedle submitted to the financial department, didn't match the departments numbers, the shit hit the proverbial fan.

And landed right on Flack's head. Shit rolled up hill in the NYPD. There was nothing new about that. And for what seemed like the hundredth time since he'd been promoted to the Inspector position, Flack was desperately missing his days as a Captain. Hell, even the days as nothing more than a lowly detective. As a captain he'd been in charge of his precinct and his guys and that was that. He didn't have to worry about monetary issues or attend meetings with the brass. He did the schedule and went over DD-5 reports and kept on peoples' asses to be productive and efficient. It had been a lot of responsibility but he'd enjoyed it. Mostly because he'd made sure he was out in the field as much as possible. One of the few Captains to do so.

But as Inspector, it was meeting after meeting and bullshit after bullshit. Dealing with the Commissioner was the stuff ulcers and mental breakdowns were made of. The man was insufferable at the best of times. And Flack reminded himself -and not for the first time either that day- that if it wasn't for the money and the fact he had a wife and a huge family to support, he would have claimed stress related illness and applied for an early pension.

He took the elevator down to the main floor and bought himself the largest, strongest coffee possible in the small café near the front entrance, then went outside and had a couple of smokes to calm his frayed nerves. It was a beautiful late April day. And the warm sunshine and gentle breeze was enough to tear his mind off of the job for the time being and think about other things. The upcoming trip in May to check out Notre Dame. Technically, it was way too soon to be actually be considering Kieran's post secondary education, but his parents, proud of his accomplishments in both school and hockey, had agreed that they'd take a trip to check things out. They'd even agreed to bring Aiden Messer along so Kieran would have someone to hang with.

Then there was Liam's birthday party the first weekend of May. Turning seven was a huge deal to him and his parents had given him the chance to pick from a list of ideas, what he wanted to do for his special day. Naturally, he'd picked Chuck E Cheese. The one place his parents were actually praying he'd decide against. They'd been hoping he'd pick something tamer. The Children's Museum or the Children's Zoo in Central Park. Coney Island even. Or a party at home with his family and aunts and uncles and whatever little friends he wanted to invited.

But no. Chuck E Cheese it was. And no amount of coaxing or begging was going to change his mind.

But first and foremost was his mother's birthday. In two days, Samantha Flack was turning forty-nine years old. Her husband found it totally and utterly surreal to think about how far they'd come in the past sixteen years. From complete strangers meeting outside of the crime lab to husband and wife to the proud parents of their first baby in one year alone. And in the fifteen that had followed, they'd welcomed six more kids, struggled to fully accept a disability and fought damn hard to keep their family together. There'd been extreme highs and even lower lows. There'd been a hell of a lot of tears but even more laughter. Painful, heart wrenching memories but many more damn good ones. They'd fought and clawed their way to the top of mountains and then slid back down into seemingly bottomless pits.

But at the end of it all, they'd come out of it relatively unscathed with their marriage and their love stronger then ever. They'd learn to respect each other. To not take each other for granted. To show affection. To forgive instead of fighting.

They'd grown up. Plain and simple. And it had been one hell of a ride.

The kids insisted on throwing their own party for their mother. With gifts and cards they'd either made or their father paid for. With balloons and streamers put up all over the house, and a huge Happy Birthday Mommy sign on the front lawn that they'd all chipped in and made and was currently being stored at Danny and Lindsay's house. There'd be Chinese take out and a birthday cake and ice cream. Just a family thing. Flack and the kids and Danny and Lindsay and their family. The Messers, after all, were their family. Not by blood, but by love and respect and admiration.

Flack himself had his own plans for his wife's birthday. Ones that only he knew about and had no desire to share with anyone else. Just something between the two of them. Something he thought they'd both deserved. A get away from their often crazy and overwhelming lives.

Finishing his smoke, he butted it out on the brick wall behind him and then tossed it into the large ashtray that rested on the top of a nearby garbage can before heading back inside. He'd checked the messages left on his cell phone on the way downstairs. Several had been left during the course of the afternoon. Including one from his wife and another from the secretary at Kieran's school. The woman's nasally voice drove Flack mental. As did the cryptic, ridiculous messages the woman left. It wasn't an emergency but it was important. Kieran was fine, but not great. We'd rather you handle this but we'll call your wife. The message just totally boggled his mind and had him thanking God that he'd been unavailable to handle whatever bullshit the woman was rambling about.

He took the elevator up to the twentieth floor, cell phone pressed to his ear as he attempted to return his wife's call. She had assured him that there was nothing wrong, that she just needed to him as soon as possible. And while her voice had seemed calm and composed, there'd been something there. A slight hint of nervousness of aggravation. And that was never good.

Both her office extension and her cell phone went to voice mail. Not that that was alarming. It usually meant she was in a meeting or an interrogation. But the her tone mixed with the bizarre call from Kieran's school had Flack wondering what in the hell was going on.

"Any calls for me, Debbie?" he asked the receptionist, as he stepped up to her desk and signed himself in for the rest of the afternoon.

"Nothing that came through me, Inspector," she replied, and turning sideways in her seat, picked up a stack of folders and held them out to him. "These were couriered over to you from the Crime Lab."

"Lovely," Flack sighed and accepted the files.

"And you've got some visitors," Debbie told him.

"Who?"

"Your wife and your son," the receptionist told him.

Flack's eyes narrowed. "Which son?" he asked.

"Kieran."

He sighed heavily and briefly closed his eyes. "Can't be good if they're here together. Where are they?"

"I unlocked your office and let them sit in there. I hope that's okay…"

"I don't think they're going to steal anything or hack into my computer," he said. "It's no problem. Any clue what it's about?"

Debbie gave a polite smile. "Yes…but I think it's something you need to find out for yourself."

Flack gave a small laugh. "You can tell you're a mother. You're so damn diplomatic."

"Hold all your calls?" Debbie asked as he headed down the hall.

"That's probably the smartest thing. Wish me luck. Something tells me I'm going to need it."

"I hope you and your sanity emerge from that office intact," she teased.

He paused in the door to his office and gave a smirk. "You from Brooklyn, Debbie?"

"East side of Brooklyn. Why?"

"'Cause you're a smart ass like my wife," he told her, and disappeared into his office.

* * *

Samantha and Kieran sat in the leather chairs in front of Flack's cluttered desk. He had a place for everything and no matter how bogged down it got in the course of a day or a week, he always knew where everything was and remembered exactly where he put things. Organized clutter at it's finest. But if you touched or moved something, it was wise to put it back exactly where, and how, you found it. Or he'd be completely lost and spend the next hour searching for whatever it was.

"What's going on?" Flack asked, as he closed the office door behind him.

Both Samantha and Kieran glanced over their shoulders.

Flack's eyes widened at the sight of his son's face. A nasty split lip and an even nastier looking black eye. Or what was the start of one. Dried blood was spattered on both his torn polo shirt and his navy blue cargo pants.

"Hope you got the licence plate of that truck," Flack said, motioning to his son's face with the files before dropping them on his desk. "What's the other guy look like?" he asked, shedding his suit jacket and draping it over the back of his chair before pulling it out and taking a seat.

"Other guy's in the emergency room," Sam told her husband. "Kieran decided it was a good idea to go Chuck Lidell on someone."

"Randy Couture," Kieran corrected.

Flack's eyes narrowed as he stared at his son.

"I'm just saying…" Kieran said in a meek voice.

"Something tells me now isn't the time for you to have a shitty attitude," Flack told his son. "I guess now I know what the weird ass phone call I got from your school was all about. What's going on, K?"

"I got into a fight," Kieran told his father. "With this kid at school."

"Whose the kid?" Flack asked.

"A senior," the fifteen year old replied. "That likes to talk a lot of shit."

"This senior that talks a lot of shit have a name?" his dad asked.

Sam cleared her throat noisily.

Kieran sighed. He knew there was no escaping it. "His name's David Truby," he told his father. "I guess he's Dean Truby's nephew."

Flack nodded slowly and leaned forward in his seat and rested his clasped hands on top of his desk.

"And I know that you always taught me not to fight, dad. That I should only hit someone if it's in self defence. But he's been on my ass for months now and I just couldn't take it anymore. All he does is talk all kinds of crap whenever he sees me and I just couldn't take it anymore."

"How come you've never mentioned it before?" Flack inquired.

"I told some of the teachers at school," Kieran told him. "And they didn't do anything about it. They told me to get thicker skin about things. To suck it up. Ask mommy. She knows it's true. Mr Thompson admitted to her that he knew I'd complained about it."

Flack looked at his wife, who nodded in confirmation of her son's story.

"And nothing was ever done about him, dad!" Kieran continued. "And when he got on me today I just couldn't take it. I snapped. And I'm not proud of that or proud of hurting him like I did. But it just got to me and I couldn't stand it!"

"What was it about? Your brother?"

Kieran shook his head.

"He say something about your sisters? Your mom even? Seeing as she had that run in with this kid's uncle and all that."

Kieran shook his head once again and wiped away the tears trickling down his cheeks. "It wasn't about Declan or Reghan and Alannah and it wasn't about mom. It was about you. And I wasn't going to take that kind of shit. I wasn't going to let someone say crap like that about you. You're my dad and I…" he paused, overcome with emotion. "You're my dad and no one is going to talk about you like that."

Sam leaned forward and snatched a handful of tissues from the box of Kleenexes sitting on her husband's desk and held them up to her son.

"Thank you, mom," he said, sniffling noisily as he took the tissue from her. Suddenly a little boy caught in a man's body. "Do I have to tell you what he said, dad?" he asked. "I don't want to tell you what he said."

"You don't have to tell me, Kieran," Flack replied. It was obvious, by both the physical and mental state that his oldest child was in, that whatever had been said by the other boy involved in the fight had been brutal. And he didn't want to make his son feel even worse. "This kid's in the ER?" he asked, looking at his wife.

Sam nodded. "Shattered jaw, broken orbital, knocked out teeth, cracked ribs, a concussion. Need I go on?"

Flack shook his head. "Anything else I need to know?" he asked his son.

Kieran nodded. "I've been suspended for two weeks," he replied. "That means I can't play football either. No extra curricular activities."

"That's a small price to pay, don't you think?" his dad asked. "You could have easily been expelled completely. And if this kid's parents want to, they could have you charged with assault. And honestly, if you did that kind of damage, I'd be really surprised if they didn't."

Kieran's eyes widened. "I'm going to go to jail?"

"You'd be charged and booked and released to me and your mother," Flack told him. "When, and if, it goes to court you'd be charged as minor. That's if the parents don't push to have you charged as an adult."

The fifteen year old swallowed noisily. "What would happen to me then?" he asked.

"Then you'd go to trial, as an adult," his father told him. "And you'd serve adult time for assault causing bodily harm. If the kid has long term effects from what you did, the charges would be upgraded and there'd most likely be a civil suit filed against you for both physical and emotional pain and suffering."

"What would happen to me?"

"You'd go to jail, Kieran," his father told him, deadly serious. "You'd do adult time in an adult jail. And you'd have a permanent record. You know what that would do to you? In regards to your future? College? The academy if that's what you chose to do?"

Kieran shook his head.

"Let me tell you what would happen," Flack said. "The academy would take one look at your record and toss you out like yesterday's trash. They wouldn't even consider you. They wouldn't give a rats ass what your last name is or who your grandfather or father are. All they would see is your record. Is that what you want?"

Kieran shook his head once again.

"This shit has to stop," his father told him. "All this fighting and the problems at school? It ends today? Understand me?"

"But dad, I…"

"Understand me?" Flack repeated, more forcibly.

"Yes, sir," his son answered.

"You're going to be damn lucky if these people don't come looking for your head on a silver platter," Flack told him.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you or mom," Kieran said.

"You think that's what I'm pissed about, Kieran?" Flack fought to control his temper. "You think I'm pissed that some shit may come of this 'cause I'm Deputy Inspector? Let me tell you something and make something very, very clear to you, young man. I don't give a rat's ass what people say about me. What I'm pissed about is you doing something that could fuck up your entire future! Am I making any sense to you, Kieran?"

The teenager nodded.

"There's more," Samantha said reluctantly.

"How much more?" Flack asked, doing his best not to snap at her.

"Tell your father what happened, Kieran," she encouraged her son, rubbing his shoulder for moral support. "It's okay. Just tell him."

"I got caught with something in my locker," the boy said in a near whisper.

Flack's eyes widened. "Tell me it wasn't a gun," he said.

Kieran shook his head. "Someone asked me to keep something in my locker for them," he explained. "A friend of mine. And I said okay."

"I swear to God Kieran if it was drugs…"

"It wasn't drugs, dad. It was this little bottle of JD and a half empty thermos of it mixed with Coke."

Flack nodded slowly and leaned back in his seat, watching his son with his hands clasped behind his head. "Are you drinking, Kieran? And don't bullshit me."

"Today you mean?" Kieran asked.

"Today, yesterday, any goddamn day," his father replied. "Are you drinking?"

"Not on a regular basis," the fifteen year old said.

"So how often of a basis do you drink on?" his dad asked. "Once a week? Once a month? What?"

"I don't know," Kieran said with a shrug. "Maybe a couple of times a week."

Sam's eyes widened at her son's admission and as she opened her mouth to speak, Flack held up his hand and gave her a look informing her to just keep quiet. It was between him and his son.

"You know that's way too much, right?" he asked Kieran. "You should be drinking at all at your age. And trust me, I know teenagers sneak shit behind their parents' backs. I did it when I was your age, too. But we don't even have alcohol in our house because of my issues. And anything we have had, has been your mother's and it's never gone missing. So where the hell are you getting booze to drink?"

Kieran shrugged. "Places," he answered.

"Don't treat me like a moron," Flack said. "Where are you getting the chance to drink?"

"Friends houses," Kieran told him. "When I go there after school to study and stuff. They're parents aren't around and we drink then."

"And whose thermos and JD was it in your locker?" his dad asked.

"I don't want to…"

"I am not playing fucking games with you, Kieran. I want to know whose it was. Right now."

"You promise you won't say anything to his parents? That it just stays between us?" Kieran asked.

Flack nodded.

"It was Aiden's," Kieran admitted. "He's been bringing it to school every day for nearly a month now. And he was running late for class and he asked me to keep it in my locker and I said okay."

Flack sighed heavily and looked at his wife. She raised her eyes and gave a slight shrug.

"I've been smoking, too," Kieran admitted. "For about a year now."

"Tell me something I don't know," Flack snapped. "I've known since the day you started. I was hoping it was just a stage and you'd smarten up. Actually prove to me that you have brains in that head of yours. Wishful thinking, huh?"

"I'm sorry, dad," Kieran said meekly. "I never…"

"Go out and wait in the reception area with Debbie," his father ordered. "I want to talk to your mother."

Kieran looked back and forth between his parents.

"I want to talk to your mother," Flack repeated. "Am I not speaking English here? Go and wait in the reception area. When I'm done talking to your mother, you'll sit in here with me until it's time to go home so she can go back to work."

"But I wanted to…"

"Kieran!" his father bellowed. "Out now!"

The fifteen year old jumped and recoiled as if he'd been physically struck, then quickly jumped to his feet and hurried out of the office, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Sam sighed heavily. "What the hell are we going to do with him?" she asked her husband.

I don't know," Flack admitted. "I honestly don't know. One part of me wants to hug him and the other part wants to strangle him with my bare hands. Think I scared him with the whole being charged and going to jail thing?"

"Hopefully. You don't think that will happen, do you?"

"I doubt it. An older kid got pummelled by a fifteen year old. And once you bring in the school's lack of action on the bullying and whatever this kid said, it would make his parents look like idiots for pursuing anything. But Kieran's mind doesn't think like that, so putting the fear of God into him might be a good thing."

"I hope so," she said and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "I told the principal we were yanking the kids out of that school and going to the trustee about all of this."

"Which is exactly what we'll do. We'll keep the other three in there until we decide where they'll go. I don't want to yank them and having them sit around doing nothing while we look for a proper place."

"I just…I can't help but wonder where I went wrong with him," Sam said, near tears. "Did I baby him too much growing up? Spoil him? Not let him toughen up? Did I shelter him too much?"

"You didn't go wrong, Sam. If anyone fucked the kid up it was me when I took off."

"You didn't take off. We separated. You didn't abandon us."

"I still wasn't around as often as I should have been."

"Donnie, you had to work. I didn't expect you to be around every day. And you were there when he needed you. And so was your dad. And there was Danny and Adam and Mac, too. He was never without a male role model. So don't start blaming yourself for Kieran's problems."

He grinned. "Now if that isn't the pot calling the kettle black," he said.

She smirked. "That kid is going to be the death of me," she sighed. "Do you have much more work to do?"

"An hour. Hour and a half tops."

"I'm on until seven. And with K not at the school, I left a message on Reghan's cell phone. She and Alannah have gymanstics after school and Mikayla is going to a friend's house. So that leaves Declan and Liam to worry about. I called Danny and he said that he'd pick them up and take them to his place and for you to pick them up on your way home."

"Is this all written down somewhere?" Flack asked. "Like where everyone is? 'Cause I'll never remember all of that."

Sam sighed and leaned forward in her seat and flipped the page in her husband's open schedule book. She pointed to the day's date. Where it was clearly marked **R and A: gymnastics.** **M: Brittany's house.**

"Do you sneak into my office and do stuff like that?" he asked.

"Try keeping the damn day planner on the right date," she suggested. "Or better yet, actually use the bloody thing."

"That would be too easy," Flack told her.

"You are such a man," she sighed and rubbed her stomach and grimaced.

Flack frowned. "You okay? You still hanging on to that goddamn stomach virus? You definitely need to see a doctor."

Sam nodded in agreement. "Donnie, I…" her words were cut off by the shrill ringing of her cell phone.

"I'll wait while you hold on to that thought," he teased, as she pulled her cell phone out of her jacket pocket.

"It's work," she said as she stared down at the message coming through on the call display. "They need me back at the office to do an interrogation."

"I do not miss those days," Flack said. "Okay…I lie. Maybe I do. Maybe I miss getting smart ass with people."

"I miss being in the interrogation when you get like that," Sam told him with a smile. Tucking her phone back into her pocket, she stood up. "I've got to go. I hope to be home before the kids all go to bed."

"Liam will never forgive you if you miss tuck in time," Flack told her, pushing his chair away from his desk and standing up as well. "What is it you were going to say before the phone rang?" he asked, as he walked her to the door.

"It was just something I needed to talk to you about. It can wait though. It has to wait actually. It's not something we can discuss in thirty seconds."

"Bad or good?" he asked, opening the door.

"Good. Very good in fact."

"You got a raise? Or a promotion?"

"You'll just have to be patient," she said, and laid her hands on his sides. "Be gentle with him, okay?"

Flack nodded and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "Danny say anything? About Liam asking him to take him to the Blessing of the Bikes next Saturday?"

Sam shook her head. "I don't think Liam asked him yet," she said. "Liam told me he was going to do it today. That he was going to call Uncle Danny tonight and ask. He was mighty pissed when he found out we were both working that day."

"I'm just wondering how Danny's going to react," Flack sighed.

"'Cause of Ruben," Sam said.

Flack nodded.

"Danny doesn't have to do it," she said. "Someone else can take him. Adam or Mac. Why does it have to be Danny?"

"Liam says that Uncle Danny is his best buddy," Flack reasoned. "And we both know that Danny isn't capable of saying no to Liam."

"Little Flack," Sam said with a smile. "I just hope it doesn't…I don't know…mess with Danny's mind."

"Messer's a big boy," Flack reminded her. "He'll be fine."

"It's just when you bring back memories like that…it's never easy."

Flack nodded in agreement. He kissed her once more. "You better go. Run along and be DHS agent extraordinaire. Promise you won't torture whoever it is too much."

"I promise I'll only bring out my cattle prod if absolutely necessary," Sam laughed and rubbed his sides affectionately.

He pecked her forehead. "I'll have some dinner waiting for you. If you're going to be too late…"

"I will call you and let you know. Yes, daddy."

He smiled and took her face in his hands. "Be good," he said, briefly touching her lips with his.

"Always," she vowed, and giving him a wink, drew away from him. "Go easy on K. Can you do that for me, Donnie?" she asked, as she stepped out of the office.

"I can do a lot of things for you," he replied cockily, watching as her hips swayed as she walked down the hall.

"I bet you can Inspector," she said with a giggle, winking over her shoulder at him.

He grinned broadly. However it was soon replaced with a glare as his wife disappeared around the corner and was replaced by their son. Kieran's chin was tucked into his chest, his hung head low in both shame and embarrassment. And hurt. Hurt from the things the boy at school had said, and the words and warning his father had issued forth.

Kieran stopped in front of his dad. The two stood in the doorway of the office. Flack fuming, his son moping.

Father laid his large, strong hands on his son's broad shoulders.

Kieran looked up. "I'm sorry, dad," he whispered.

Flack nodded and ran a hand over his son's hair. "Come inside now," he said in a quiet, gentle voice.

The teenager gave a brave smile and did as he was told.

Sighing heavily, Flack followed.

And that point in time, he honestly didn't know what else to do.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of my readers -even all your lurkers!- tremendously! Please, please R and R folks!!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**muchmadness**

**Hope4sall**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Laplandgurl**

**Forest Angel**

**Delko's Girl 88**

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**Bluehaven4220**

**Wolfeylady**

**New-york-babee**


	72. Branching out

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND ALL THE FLACK KIDS.**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!**

* * *

**Branching out**

"Your life has been so hard  
It's dried up angels that can't keep guard  
And I'm trying to reach your hand  
But I'm on fire  
I never planned to fade... away  
Stay with me  
Just stop pretending when they say that you're nothing  
Are you sad?  
Are you holding yourself?  
Are you locked in your room?  
You shouldn't be…  
Are you sad?  
Are you holding yourself?  
Are you locked in your room?  
You shouldn't be…  
I'm drowning inside your head  
Help me to answer  
Help me understand  
Why it's been so long since we talked like friends  
Please, forgive me I'm just a man  
Whose made mistakes  
Just stop pretending when they say you're nothing."  
-Are you Sad?, Our Lady Peace

* * *

A US Marshall Manhunter was stationed outside of a holding cell on the sixteenth floor of New York City's Department of Homeland Security's headquarters. The holding cells, as cold and uncomfortable as the name led one to believe, were the complete opposite of those that were found in police precincts all over the country. Instead of metal tables and chairs and concrete, windowless walls, the small holding areas at DHS were furnished with simple tan coloured fabric armchairs and a matching sofa, a cheap, wooden coffee table, and a neatly made roll out cot that a prisoner could sleep on if they so desired. Sometimes the wait for an interrogator was a long one. It wasn't uncommon to be held for hours upon hours on a particularly busy day.

Samantha recognized the Marshall parked in the narrow hallway. Tucker Carlson -TJ as he was affectionately referred to as by friends and colleagues - was a mountain of a man. A phenomenally attractive African American in his early thirties, he'd been part of the elite team of fugitive chasers known as Manhunters, for several years now. A former all-star defensive tackle at Texas A&M University, he was six foot six and weighed well over two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle. His size, along with his deep, rumbling voice and his intense dark eyes, gave him a threatening and intimidating look.

Yet Sam knew, from working alongside of him, that aside from being able to snap a grown man in half. TC was a gentle giant. With a warm disposition, infectious laugh and a huge heart. On top of that, he was a strong Christian and a devoted family man.

Today however, he was all business. Standing at attention with his hands behind his back, he wore a US Marshall ball cap, Kevlar vest, navy blue t-shirt that was tight across the chest and around his bulging biceps, and heavy combat boots and navy blue cargo style pants. An automatic rifle was slung over on shoulder and a Glock was in a holster attached to his right thigh. A communications device was tucked into his right ear.

"Agent Flack," he greeted with a nod and a wide smile that made his eyes sparkle and showcased his perfectly straight, brilliant white teeth. "Long time, no see."

"Too long," she said, returning the smile. "I thought you and your partner were still working down at JFK doing some immigration and DEA style business."

"Department hired a bunch of newbies," TC told her. "Once they were all trained and ready to go, we got shipped back into the unit. Why? You disappointed to see me? You didn't miss me? You didn't start pining away for me?"

"Maybe just a little," she laughed, holding her thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. "Glad to be back?"

"Absolutely. I miss being able to kick a little ass every now and then. How's things been on the DHS end of things?" he asked.

"Busy," she replied, switching a heavy leather bound ledger and legal pad from under one arm to the other. "But busy is what pays the bills, right?"

"And keeps us out of trouble," TC added. "How's the husband and kids?"

"They're great. My husband is a bit of a workaholic, but I've only been dealing with that for sixteen years now. And the kids are keeping us on our toes with school and extra curricular activities. And with their incessant arguing and fighting. They're driving us mental in that respect. I was just at Kieran's school. He was suspended for two weeks."

"That can't be good," the Marshall commented.

"He got into a fight," Sam sighed. "A nasty one. Put a kid in the ER with all kinds of injuries. Not pleasant to say the least. And got caught with alcohol in his locker. He says it belongs to his best friend. That he asked Kieran to hold onto it for him."

"You believe him?" TC asked.

"I don't have cause not to believe him. Kieran's never gotten himself into this kind of trouble before. I mean, there's been fights, but never a fight of this calibre. And he's never had any issues with underage drinking. He's been a great kid. His grades haven't always been the greatest, but…" she sighed and shrugged her slender shoulders. "I don't know what's gotten into him lately."

"He's fifteen," TC told her. "He's experimenting with all sorts of shit. On top of that, he's got all these raging hormones inside of him. Those don't help things, trust me. He's probably just going through some kind of stage. Once he gets a handle on his aggression and his anger, watch, he'll be a totally different kid."

"I hope so," she said. "His dad tries hard to get through to him. Really hard. But my husband's ideas of getting through to a kid are way different then mine. And the more he freaks out and the more he yells, the worse things become. Their relationship is fragile at best."

"Maybe they need a little one on one time," the Marshall suggested. "Time for just dad and him. Talk man to man."

""I'm just worried they'll come out of something like that hating each other. That's the last thing I want."

"Maybe someone from the outside needs to sit down with him. An uncle, grandfather, mentor."

"Maybe," Sam said with a nod. "His grandfather, well honorary grandfather, means a lot to Kieran. He's a former Marine and ran the Crime Lab here for a long time before becoming a commissioner. Kieran has the utmost respect and love for him. He was even quoting his grandpa while he was being suspended. Can you believe that?"

"In this day and age, I can believe anything," TC told her.

"How are things with you?" she asked. "How's Cherrie and the kids?"

"Good. Cherrie's moved to part time now with the accounting firm she's junior partner at it. Dustin and Sasha are both loving school. He's gotten into basketball and her love is gymnastics."

"Sounds like my girls. Only ten years older than your kids. So? What's going on? Why am I here?"

TJ jerked his head in the direction of the room behind him. "Picked this dude up about an hour and a half ago. On a federal warrant. Three months ago, an immigration judge sent him some papers to appear in court. Guy claims he never got them 'cause only a month before that, he'd moved to a different place and left no forwarding address with anyone."

"How long as he been in the country illegally?" Sam asked.

"Thirteen years."

Her eyes widened.

"No joke. I don't make this stuff up. And in those thirteen years he's racked up all kinds of charges. Drug and weapons possession, assault and battery. So on and so forth."

"And he's been in the system for thirteen years and no one picked up on this until three months ago?"

"Hey, you're the DHS agent. I was hoping you could explain that to me."

"I know there's always been a massive back log in immigration court," she said. "It got even worse after nine eleven apparently with the founding of DHS and the huge crack down on illegals. But thirteen years? That's seriously fucking ridiculous."

"The how's and why's are your issues. We just pick the jokers up."

"Was he picked up without incident?"

"We nailed him just as he was getting home from work. Guy was thrown for a complete six. He had no clue we were ever coming for him or why we ever were. Like I said, he tells us he never got the summons."

"Well him not filing for a change of address is his problem, not ours," Sam concluded, placing the heel of her foot on the wall behind her and balancing her ledge on her knee as she unzipped it. Taking out a pen, she placed it between her teeth and yanked the cap off.

"He's been bawling from the moment we slapped the cuffs on him. Going on and on about how his two kids are legal US citizens and how one has special needs and he's the only parent this kid has. He's freaking out 'cause he's got no family and what not and we had to have a CPS agent pick these kids up at school. Guess the mom skipped town a couple of years back."

"What kind of special needs are we talking about?" Sam asked, jotting all the information down on her yellow legal pad.

"Kid's autistic," TC told her. "Low functioning according to what the CPS agent told us. Think that's going to make a difference in whether this guy is deported or not? 'Cause as it stands, he's scheduled to see a judge tomorrow morning. And something tells me, the judge ain't going to waste time shipping buddy's ass back to Guyana."

"I could, if I'm sent the proper medical documentation from the child's physician and therapists, ask the judge for leniency in this case. It doesn't mean that the judge is going to side with me, mind you."

"I honestly feel bad for the guy," the Marshall admitted. "He seems pretty damn sincere about not getting that summons. No one that's guilty of trying to fuck the system is going to feel that bad."

"Unless they're feeling that bad because they got caught," Sam reasoned. "Always upsets people to get caught."

TC grinned. "You can tell your married to a dude that spent years in homicide," he said. "He's rubbed off on you."

"Sixteen years with someone will do that to you," she smiled. "So what's the hold up?"

"Palmer's in there trying to calm buddy down a little."

"Isn't that a little unusual considering he's never been known as the empathetic one?" Sam asked.

"Guy took a liking to him. Said Palmer reminded him of that Paul Walker dude that was in The Fast and the Furious. Called them twins. Can you believe that?"

"I can," she said. "I've noticed the startling resemblance."

* * *

The door to the holding room clicked upon and a second Marshall stepped out into the hall. Jesse Palmer was two years shy of thirty and a relative newcomer to the Manhunter unit. He'd been a DEA agent before being personally recruited by the US Marshalls. He was just over six feet tall and had a strong, athletic build. Broad shoulders and chest and muscular arms. A smooth, boyish face and the second most beautiful pair of blue eyes she'd ever seen in her life. He wore his blond hair in a brush cut and was glad in the same 'uniform' as his partner.

He was an exceptionally attractive and appealing man. A young man more specifically. And while he and Sam had gone out to dinner once -as strictly friends and colleagues- and he'd attempted, on several occasions, to get a little too personal with her, she had no interest in him.

"Guy still blubbering away in there?" TC asked his partner.

"Bitching and moaning," Jesse sighed. "Wants to see his kids."

"Well that's wishful thinking on his part," Sam said.

The young man looked at her, sized her up from head to toe, then smiled brightly. "Nice to see you again, Agent Flack," he said.

"Nice to see you again, too," she told him. "I'm glad to see you both survived the hell of JFK."

"Barely," TC snorted.

"So when can I get in and talk to this guy?" Sam asked. "I don't want this day to be any longer then absolutely necessary."

"I've got his files in the conference room," Jesse replied. "You want to have a look at them while TC gets our guy and brings him over?"

"Sounds like a plan," she said, tensing up slightly as the much younger man laid a soft, warm hand on the small of her back.

As a living, breathing red blooded woman, there was nothing wrong with finding another man aside from your husband attractive. Or being flattered when another man found you attractive and desirable. She was confident in her marriage. Her husband trusted her. They were always open and honest with each other. It didn't bother him that she checked out other men, and she didn't mind when he did the same with other women. It was a look, don't touch policy they firmly stuck too. Both were extremely happy where they were, and had no plans on screwing up their marriage or family.

"Give us a few minutes to go over some things?" Jesse asked his partner.

TC gave a thumbs up sign before the pair disappeared into a small conference room across the hall.

"Guy we picked up is a total mess," the young US Marshall said, as he motioned towards where case files and photographs were laid out across the conference table. "He was completely and totally thrown for a loop when we showed up. Busted him just as he was pulling into his driveway from work. Says he never got the summons 'cause he moved."

"Well that's what forwarding address forms are for," Sam sighed, setting her ledger and legal pad on the table, before sliding her glasses off of the top of her head and slipping them onto her face.

"When he didn't show up for court, judge issued a warrant right away."

"Second he didn't appear he became a federal fugitive," Sam said, as she picked up the first case folder. "Xavier Motumbo," she read, as her eyes surveyed the mug shot stapled to the top corner of the folder. "Forty-six, originally from Guyana. Came to the United States in April of 2011 and never applied for citizenship. By the looks of things, he's owned his own small businesses and was paid under the table."

"So he can count on some charges of income tax evasion too," Jesse concluded. "He's got quite the rap sheet. Sure beats the hell out of me how he stayed under immigration's radar for so long."

"Bureaucratic bullshit," she sighed. "Too many chiefs and not enough Indians. This guy has a record longer than my arm."

"You would have thought the NYPD would have flagged this guy and rattled immigration's chains a little," Jesse said, moving closer to her as she skimmed through the files. Her arm brushing against his chest every time she moved in the slightest.

"The NYPD doesn't always concern themselves with the obvious," Sam said, clearing her throat noisily and sidestepping an inch away from the much younger man. "And, after my years with them, I know first hand that they aren't a hundred percent willing when it comes to dealing with federal issues."

"Yeah…they're always a pain in the ass to come across," Jesse agreed. "You'd like city workers would know better not to fuck with the Feds."

"And you would think that the Feds would learn not to take the city workers so lightly," she countered. "The NYPD has some incredible cops that would put most Agents to shame. That I can assure you of."

"And I assume one of these incredible cops just happens to be your husband," he remarked snidely.

Sam just smiled and continued flipping through the various reports. A silence fell between them and she was grateful for that. And with the small distance she'd manage to put between them. She was uncomfortable being in such close proximity with the young man who'd made no secret of the attraction he'd harboured for her for over a year now. He'd been honest and open with her about it. She'd been able to brush it off as a simple school boy crush. Young guy interested in an older woman. Until that night she'd agreed to go out to dinner with him and several colleagues and had gotten more than she had bargained for at the end of the evening when he walked her to the subway station.

This kiss had been nice. And she had responded to it eagerly and willingly. Until the reality of what she was doing, or what she was in danger of doing, had hit hard. Jesse Palmer was young and insanely attractive and it did wonders for her often struggling ego that he wanted her. But there was only one man in the world that she wanted. For the rest of her life. And he was at home in Queens, looking after their six children and trusting her not to get herself into foolish situations. So she'd put the brakes on that kiss -and anything else that Jesse may have had planned- and gently apologized and told him that while she was flattered, she just wasn't into him in that way.

That was two months ago. After she and Jesse had gone their separate ways, she hadn't seen him or heard from him again. So it had been somewhat surprising, and a little uncomfortable, when she'd seen TC in the hallway and realized that wherever he was, his partner wouldn't be far behind.

Jesse cleared his throat noisily, disrupting the silence. Then reached out and combed his fingers through the back of her short hair. "I like this," he said. "Looks nice."

"Do you mind?" Samantha asked, reaching up to push his hand away. "Seriously. Do you mind?"

"You never called me," he told her.

"Why would I call you?" she inquired. "What part of 'I'm married and my husband will kill you' don't you understand?"

"I figured that after our date…"

"Our date?" We didn't have a date. We had dinner and drinks with a group of people."

"I paid for yours," he reminded her.

Sam laughed. "Well how about I get my check book and reimburse you for my part?" she asked.

"And I thought because we connected…"

"We did not connect," she told him. "You kissed me and…"

"You kissed me back."

"We've been through this. I told you that it was a moment of stupidity on my part. I made a mistake. Plain and simple. I never should have allowed you to kiss me and I never should have kissed you back. If I could go back and change things, I would."

"You can't tell me you didn't enjoy. If you didn't, you wouldn't have reacted the way you did."

"Look," Sam snapped and dropped the files onto the table noisily. "It was a kiss. A kiss that meant nothing to me. So don't try and romanticize it. I'm married. Happily married. I love my husband."

"If you love him, why'd you kiss another guy?"

"You know what? You're an aggravating, insufferable bastard. Let me make something clear to you. My husband is my life. He and our children are my entire existence. There is no man in this entire world that could ever, ever take his place. And if there was, that man would not be you. You're young enough to be my son. So do me a favour and cut out this Mrs Robinson fantasy."

"I'm just asking for a chance," Jesse told her. "I'm a really nice guy, Samantha. Let me prove that to you."

"There's no question about whether you're a nice guy or not. You're a very attractive and nice young man. That's what you are. A young man. So go and find a young woman that's worthy of you. Preferably one that isn't engaged or married."

"I already told you that I like older women."

"Then go and find an older woman that isn't engaged or married. Just back the hell off of me," she told him.

Jesse laid one of his strong hands on her forearm.

Sam stared down at it, a frown on her face.

"You can't tell me that you don't ever wonder what it would be like to be with another man," he said in a low voice. "After all that time with the same person, you cannot tell me that you don't ever think about it."

"I've never had a reason to think about another man. Mine does his job just fine. And if you don't take your hand off of me, I'm going to drop you right here and right now."

He released his forearm and held his hands up in surrender. "I wonder how he'd react if I was to call him up and tell him about what went down that night."

Sam smirked. "Don't threaten me," she said. "He already knows. I told him when I got home that night. I told him exactly what happened. And you know what? He was pissed and I bore about ten minutes of his ranting and raving and then things we're all good again. We kissed and made up. Among other things. Which would probably be why I'm pregnant right now. My marriage is strong enough to survive you. So just back off."

"Why do you mean you're pregnant?" he asked.

"Pregnant. Knocked up. In a delicate condition. With child. How much plainer do I have to be?"

"I thought that you and I had something, Samantha. I thought that…"

"You thought what? That you'd kiss me and I'd fall madly and desperately in love with you? Leave my husband and my kids? Boy, you are more delusional than I thought. Nothing happened between us and nothing was ever going to happen. I have a job to do here. And the sooner I can do it, the sooner I can get home. To my family. So let's cut the chit chat and get down to work, okay?"

"I can't believe you can just act so indifferent like that," he fumed, as she yanked a chair away from the table and sat down.

"Well believe it," Sam said and flipped her ledger open. "Now are we going to get this show on the road or not?"

"So that's it, huh? Strictly business?"

She smiled politely. Then motioned towards the door as a loud knock announced the arrival of TC and their fugitive.

"Strictly business," she told him. "And that's all it's ever going to be."

Jesse paused at the door before opening it and glanced at her over his shoulder. "We'll see about that," he said.

* * *

"DADDY!" Liam bellowed from the small bathroom down the hall from the kitchen. "I NEED YOU!"

Flack sighed heavily and finished brushing barbecue sauce of a mountain of boneless chicken breasts set to make their way onto the barbecue any moment. If his kids would give him the chance to actually set foot out the door. Since they'd all gotten home from their various activities, it had been non stop yelling and fighting and a million in one questions and demands.

Reghan and Alannah had done nothing but argue about everything from clothing to boys to why one was so much better than the other at gymnastics. Kieran had moped from the time he set foot in the house. He was overly emotional from the fight and the worry and fear of the repercussions of what he'd done. It had gotten so annoying to see his oldest son in a constant stream of tears, that Flack had ordered him to his room. Which in turn had started a massive argument between father and son. Kieran accusing his dad of being cold hearted and his dad accusing him of being a goddamn wimp. So heated and volatile that it had the other kids cowering in their bedrooms and the two youngest in hysterics. Finally, at the point of wanting to strangle his first born with his bare hands, Flack had sent the kid packing to his room. With a warning to not to come out until he was capable of acting like an adult instead of a snivelling child.

Not the best choice of words or the best course of action. Flack knew that he'd said and done all of the wrong things. But being angry and spewing venom was a hell of a lot better than getting into a physical confrontation with his son. And Kieran, with his smart mouth and horrible temper, had had his father one step away from laying a beating of a life time on him.

And feeling that way scared the hell out of Flack. He didn't want to hit his kid. One spanking in the less fifteen years was enough. But Kieran had had him in such a state that he'd been legitimately afraid that he'd hurt his own son.

Once the ordeal with Kieran had calmed down, the other kids had gone back to normal. And normal to them was causing all kinds of hell for each other. All Flack wanted to do was get supper made and the kids fed. Because once they were fed, they could be shipped outside for a couple of hours or sent to their rooms to finish their homework or downstairs to just hang out. Then they'd be out of his hair and their mother could be home and he could find five minutes for himself.

He had no idea how his wife ever did it. Work, keep a house running, put up with all of those kids. And if that afternoon alone with his offspring had taught him anything, it had taught him that his wife was a goddamn Godsend.

And that he was through taking advantage of her and down playing everything she did.

"DADDEEEEE!" Liam shrieked once more. "I NEED YOU!!"

"What do you want?" he called to his youngest. "I'm a bit busy here, buddy."

"I need your help wiping my bum!" came the answer.

Flack grimaced at the sheer thought of wiping the kid's ass. Liam was nearly seven and more than old enough to know how to take care of himself in that respect. And while there was absolutely no problems in that area at school, there were still times at home that the kid needed assistance. It was one of the great mysteries in life.

"Mikayla," he said to his youngest daughter as she sat at the kitchen table doing homework. "Go and see what your brother wants."

The little girl looked at her father as if he'd gone completely insane.

"Give me a break here," he implored. "You want to eat some time tonight? Go and see what he wants."

"He just said that…"

"I know what he said. I also know that I'm not wiping his butt for him. So do me a favour and go and give him a hand."

"But daddy!" she shrieked in horror. "That's gross!"

"I'm am trying to cook you guys supper here. Just go and…"

"DADDY!" Liam called again. "HURRY UP! I DON'T WANT TO SIT HERE ALL NIGHT!"

"Wipe your own butt!" Mikayla yelled back. "Daddy's busy!"

"I can't wipe it!" her brother cried. "I don't want it to get on my hands! It will get through the toilet paper and get all over me!"

Flack closed his eyes briefly. Anyone who even considered having kids was completely and utter insanely. "Mikayla Patricia Dawn…" he turned pleading eyes to the eleven year old. "Cut me some slack, okay?"

"Fine…" she huffed and tossed her pencil down onto her binder. "Mommy always manages to do all of this!" she informed her father, as she jumped off her chair and headed off to assist her brother.

Goddamn kids, Flack thought, questioning his sanity and his decision to actually want another baby as he carried the plate of food through the kitchen and out the sliding glass door. He was seriously considering, as he lifted the lid to the already warm and ready barbecue and placed the chicken on the grill, of telling his wife that he'd changed his mind. He didn't want another baby. That he honestly didn't think he had the patience to deal with another one. Especially a newborn. He was forty five years old. Well past his prime -as far as he was concerned- for taking care of a newborn. He knew that convincing her that he was right was going to take a lot of arguing. That he'd have to have just the right things to say to make her realize that he was right. That they didn't need another baby. That they were much better off not having a seventh kid around. And he knew, if he chose his words and his arguments carefully, that in the end she'd agree with him.

The phone in the kitchen was ringing as he stepped back into the house. Snatching the cordless off of the top of the microwave, Flack moved to the fridge and yanked it open. His eyes surveying the contents as he pressed the talk button on the phone. Wishing that there was even just one beer in there. Or something, anything, to take the edge off a little.

"Yeah…" he said into the phone in way of greeting. "This is Flack."

The years and years on the job had left him with many a bad habit to break. And one of them was answering the home line in such a fashion.

"Don't you ever turn off that cop side?" Mac asked with a chuckle.

"You know how it is," Flack replied, snagging a can of Pepsi from the fridge and shutting the door. He popped the can open and took a long sip. "Old habits die hard."

"I know the feeling," the older man sighed. "I'm still getting up at five in the morning, expecting to be heading into work at the crack of dawn. How goes the good fight, Don?"

"It goes," Flack said. "And not too smoothly to be honest."

"Tiana came home from school and told me about the fight," Mac told him. "Is Kieran okay?"

"I took him to a walk in clinic and had him checked out. No concussion. But he has a cracked rib they figure to go along with his busted up nose, split lip and black eye. He's a goddamn pretty picture, that's for sure. Unfortunately, he did a real number on the asshole that was picking on him."

"That's what Tiana said," Mac sighed. "Something about the kid being in the hospital?"

"Guy's all messed up," Flack said. "He's going to be there for a few days. Kieran handed this kid his ass. Big time."

"I also heard something about this kid picking on Kieran?"

"Been going on for months now apparently," Flack told the older man. "Guess K told some teachers and they did fuck all about it. I just don't get how it got as far as it did. How does someone bully Kieran? You know the size of my kid, Mac."

"It wasn't so much physical bullying as it was psychological," Mac reasoned. "Any one can be a victim of that, regardless of size."

"I guess," Flack sighed and moved over to the stove, opening the door to check on the progress of the baked potatoes and the frozen, deep fried breaded vegetables. "Honestly, Mac? I don't know what to do with him right now. I had to send him to his room 'cause he was getting on my nerves so goddamn bad. He's this emotional wreck and I'm not saying he doesn't have a right to be. But I just can't deal with him when he's like that."

"You try talking to him?"

"Our talking just turns into fighting," Flack responded. "And Kieran…Kieran gets hostile and vicious with his mouth. And he's got that temper. Starts throwing things around, punching holes in the walls."

"In other words, he's just like you," Mac said.

Flack sighed. "He's just like me," he reluctantly admitted. "Or what I used to be like before I did my stints in anger management."

"Maybe that's what he needs."

"We're going to send him to see a psychologist," Flack said. "Well Sam doesn't know about it yet. But I called Hawkes and told him what went down and Hawkes knows some people and said he'd be able to get Kieran in to see someone. Find out why he's been acting up so bad lately."

"He's a teenager," Mac reminded him. "This is a confusing, difficult time in his life. You remember what it was like to be his age."

"Vividly," Flack said. "But I don't remember ever beating another kid to the point I put him in the ER. Do you think that maybe…" he paused as Mikayla and Liam came hurrying into the kitchen.

"Daddy?" Liam stepped to his father's side. "I'm hungry."

"Hang on for a second, Mac," Flack said into the phone, then covered the receiver with his hand as he address his youngest. "Dinner won't be for another half hour, forty five minutes," he told Liam.

"But I'm hungry now," the little boy whined. "Can I have a snack?"

"You have a snack and you'll ruin your appetite. Uncle Danny said that he gave you something to eat at his place."

"Just some nachos and cheese," Liam said. "I'm hungry!"

"Mikayla," Flack addressed his daughter as she slipped back into her chair. "Get your brother a drink and a snack and take him outside for a bit."

"But I'm doing my home work!" she protested. "Mommy always tells me to do my homework when I get home!"

"Well mommy's not here and I'm telling you to get your brother a snack and a drink," Flack ordered.

She sighed exasperatedly.

"Just do as I ask, okay?"

"Isn't wiping his butt enough?" Mikayla grumbled as she climbed off her chair.

"Excuse me?" Flack asked, glaring at her. "You didn't just mouth off to me. Tell me you didn't just mouth off to me."

She gave her father an apologetic look.

"That's what I thought. Don't make me send you to your room too, Mikayla. Quit testing my goddamn patience."

She rolled her eyes and held up her hands in surrender and set to the task of gathering a snack and a drink for her brother.

"Daddy, when is mommy coming home?" Liam asked.

"I don't know. She's working until seven," Flack replied.

"How long until seven?" his son asked.

"A couple of hours."

"Why so long?" Liam inquired.

"Did you not just hear me? She's working late. Go outside with your sister and get out of my hair for a bit, okay?"

"Will mommy be later then that?" his son asked.

"I don't know, Liam!" Flack snapped. "Would you just get out of here!"

The soon to be seven year old stared up at his father, tears pooling in his golden brown eyes.

"Come on, Liam," Mikayla tucked a drinking box and two apples and two slices of cheese under one arm as she draped the other across her brother's slender shoulders. "Let's go outside. Daddy's in a bad mood."

The two children headed for the sliding screen door. Mikayla let go off her brother long enough to open the door and close it behind them as they stepped out onto the deck.

"You're mean, daddy!" Liam yelled at his father from behind the screen door.

"Well you're pissing me off!" Flack bellowed back. Ashamed of himself for even saying such a thing. "Are you there, Mac?" he asked into the room, wishing once more for a very stiff drink.

"Are you okay, Don?" the older man asked in response.

"No," Flack replied quickly. "I'm not. I'm ready to kill my kids. Between the stupid fucking meeting I had today with that stupid ass wipe of a commissioner and then Kieran's issues and the agony I've been enduring for the last hour or so, I'm ready to fucking snap, Mac."

"Take it easy," Mac spoke calmly. "Nothing is worth getting this upset over. Your kids don't deserve to be treated like that just because you've had a bad day."

Flack sighed heavily. "I know…I just…it all piles up inside of me and then I just snap. It's been one thing after another today. The kids have done nothing but drive me insane since they all got home. And Kieran…I don't know what to do with him, Mac. I'm lost here. I'm lost big time. He needs help and I don't think I can give it to him."

"Yes, you can…"

"I can't," Flack said. "I just can't. I don't know what to do or how to do it. I'm either going to kill him, or one day he's going to end up in jail. I don't want either. I just need…I need help, Mac. I need help and I don't know where to go to get it. For him or for me."

"Would you like me to try and talk with him?" Mac offered. "Spend some one on one time with him? It may be that he'll listen better to an outside party. He already knows how much he's pissed off mom and dad. Maybe if he feels that he's got an ally in all of this, he might be more open to talking about what's going on in his life."

"He respects you, Mac. You're a grandfather to him. He loves you and worships the ground you walk on."

"Kieran's always held a special place in my life," the older man said. "You know that."

"He thinks a lot of you, Mac. Hell, he even quoted the Marine Corps motto as he was being suspended."

Mac sighed heavily. "I definitely didn't teach him that so he could use it in a circumstance like that."

"Well I guess he thought it was the right opportunity to use it," Flack sighed. "Kieran got caught with some booze in his locker. A friend of his asked him to hold onto it. After the fight, they searched K's locker and found it. Wouldn't rat out the friend to the principal."

"Well, that's admirable," Mac said. "If not very misguided. Do you know who it belonged to?"

"K came clean to me and Sam. I'm still trying to figure out how to deal with it. Trying to figure out whether I should go to this kid's parents or not. According to K, this kid has a bit of an issue with booze."

"Enough to get him into some serious trouble?" asked Mac.

"It's certainly heading that way."

"My advice? Tell the parents. Because if something ever happened to this kid because of his drinking, you'd never forgive yourself."

Flack nodded in agreement. "And this kid? That K beat up? Is Dean Truby's nephew."

Mac sighed heavily.

"I guess the nephew's been mouthing off for a long time. About me. Kieran didn't tell me exactly what he said, but it must have been pretty brutal to warrant a beating like that. That happened nearly eighteen years ago, Mac. And it still comes back to haunt me sometimes."

"And I'll tell you the same thing I told you way back then. You did the right thing."

"I know that. It's just…I don't know. It's not fair that my family has had to suffer because of it. First Sam after what Truby tried with her and now Kieran? That's not right, Mac."

"No, it's not," he agreed. "But the important thing is that Truby never managed to do anything to your wife. And with the right counselling and help, Kieran will get over what happened today and be a better person at the end of it all."

"I hope to God you're right, Mac. 'Cause this kid is pushing his luck with me lately."

"Tell you what," Mac said. "I'll come over tomorrow and spend some time with Kieran. Just the two of us. I'll take him out for lunch, just hang out with him. Have a talk with him man to man. Try to see if I can get to what's bugging him."

"You don't have to…"

"I want to Don. That kid, and his parents, mean the world to me."

Flack smiled. "Thanks, Mac. I appreciate it."

"Whatever you need, I'm here for you guys. I told you that years ago. Chances are, Kieran's just going through some stage. But it's better to try to nip some of these issues in the bud before they become bigger problems."

"Think you can get to him?"

"I think I can," Mac said. "It's whether or not he lets me get to him. Tomorrow around eleven thirty sounds okay?"

"Sam will be here. She's off tomorrow. I'll let her know you're coming. Listen, I better go. I got six kids to feed and a wife that's working late."

"Sounds like fun," Mac chuckled. "We'll talk soon, Don."

"Definitely. And thanks, Mac. For doing this."

"Anytime," he said, and disconnected the call.

Flack sighed heavily and pressed end on the cordless phone.

Mac Taylor was on a mission. And it made Don Flack feel a whole lot better about his lot in life.

* * *

It was quarter after eight when Samantha finally arrived home. The interrogation had gone on longer then she had anticipated. A less then cooperative fugitive and red tape bullshit with both immigration lawyers and CAS had made things needlessly complicated. And spending that kind of time, in a small room with Jesse Palmer had frayed her nerves almost to the point of oblivion.

The house was relatively quiet when she stepped through the front door. She could hear the television on in the family room in the basement and music playing in a couple of the bedrooms. For once there was no yelling and no fighting. The house was peaceful and it was a welcome relief from the stress and craziness of the day.

And there was still one more piece of business to take care of.

She toed off her shoes and hung up her jacket and headed, briefcase in hand, through the living room and down the narrow hallway into the kitchen, where she found her husband, with his glasses on and wearing a pair of tattered, faded jeans and a ratty old t-shirt, unloading the dishwasher. He looked tired and irritable. A scowl on his handsome face.

"Hey you," she greeted, setting her briefcase on the table before standing behind him and circle his waist with her arms.

"You're late," Flack said simply.

"And I called you and told you I was running behind," she reminded him.

"You called and said that you'd be home by eight o'clock," he told her, removing her arms from around him before stepping away to put dishes in the cupboard above the sink.

"It's only quarter after," she said. "I didn't think I needed to call you for an extra fifteen minutes."

"Well it would have been nice to know where you were instead of me worrying," he snapped.

She held up her hands in surrender. "Okay…you're pissed. I get it. You've had a shitty night with the kids. They got on your nerves."

He snorted and shook his head. "You have no goddamn clue," he said.

"I have no clue? You're kidding, right? Who does the most of the parenting around here? Who spend the majority of the time with these kids? Me. So don't you stand there and tell me I have no clue. I think I know a little bit more then you do."

"Don't start with me, Samantha," Flack sighed. "I'm not in the mood for your shit."

"And I'm not in the mood to hear your bitching and moaning the second I come in the door!" she argued. "I had a long day too! You weren't the only one that had to work today, you know? I was in the office and I went to the school to deal with your son and I…"

"Oh, so he's just my son when he fucks up," Flack fumed.

"Well the goddamn apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it," she snapped. "You spend one evening with these kids and you're falling apart! I've spent years taken care of them! Years!"

"So now you're the only fucking parent in this house!" he yelled, turning around to face her. "You single-handily raised those kids all on your own?!"

"I never said that…"

"I'm not some dead beat father that's been out of the picture for years! I've been here too! And maybe I wasn't always the best parent or the best husband, but don't act like you've done everything around here on your own, Samantha! I pay the fucking bills, I keep a roof over your head and food on the fucking table! So don't act like some goddamn martyr, alright?"

"What the hell has gotten into you?" she asked. "I step in the door and I have to listen to this?"

"I'm stressed, okay? I'm majorly stressed."

"Join the goddamn club, Don! You're not the only person who works you know!"

"Then quit! Just quit! You don't need to work! You can stay home and take care of the house and take care of the kids!"

"Just what you always wanted!" Sam fought back. "A nice little housewife to wait on you hand and foot."

"You know what? I want you to stay home with our kids! I want you to be around more for them! Especially for Kieran!"

"Oh so now Kieran fucking up is my fault? I'm a horrible mother because he screwed up?"

"I never said that. I never even thought that. But would it really be so bad to stay home, Samantha? Would it kill you to be a stay at home mom and wife? Is it really the end of the world?"

She shook her head.

"I just think that these kids need you more then they need me," he reasoned. "They need their mom. And you can call me a sexist and a male chauvinistic pig all you want. But they need you. And I need you. I need you to help me here because I feel like I'm caught up in a losing battle. We need to be a team and lately it feels like we're anything but with these kids."

She sighed heavily.

"My kids need their mother. And I need you. I need you as my wife to help me out here."

She nodded slowly, looking down at the kitchen floor.

"I can't do this alone, baby. I just can't. And I'm worried that we're not going to just lose Kieran because of this, but that all our kids will fall through the cracks. And I know you don't want that. I don't want that. And I think one of us being here would help out."

Sam didn't respond.

"Say something," Flack implored. "Tell me what you're thinking about how this. How you're feeling. Say something. Anything. Just.."

She looked up and across the kitchen at him. Tears sparkling in her eyes.

"I'm pregnant," she said simply.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of my fans for your never ending support! Even all the lurkers! But please R and R folks! **

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Laplandgurl**

**Delko'sGirl88**

**Madison Bellows**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**New-york-babee**

**Bluehaven4220**

**Forest Angel**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Wolfeylady**


	73. It's just who we are

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND ALL THE FLACK KIDS.**

**A/N: THANKS TO EVERYONE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS.**

* * *

**It's just who we are**

Tell me one more time again just like I didn't hear you  
Like I don't know what's going through your mind, I do  
I play the same game too  
I know it's hard to stop  
Even when you want to  
Now the moon lights up your face and I can see you're crying  
You never liked me to see you cry, it's true  
I've done some crying too  
You know, the hardest part about it  
Is trying to hide it from you  
It would be great to be so strong  
I never needed anybody's help to get along  
But we're so scared of the silence and the tricks that we use  
O, we're careful and we're cunning, but we're easily bruised  
I don't want to lie about it, I'm not bulletproof."  
-Bulletproof, Blue Rodeo

* * *

Silence descended on the kitchen. The simple yet powerful words hanging heavily in the air as husband and wife stood on opposite sides of the room, their eyes transfixed on each other. Tears filling, and threatening to burst from her golden brown ones, and complete shock and disbelief in his baby blues. Flack wasn't sure how long either of them had stood there, staring at each other, his brain trying to comprehend the news she had just dropped on him like a ten ton weight. But as the minutes ticked by, he became aware of life going on around them. Music playing over head in one of the bedrooms, laughing and talking and the television on in the basement. The dripping of the tap behind him.

And the pounding of his own heart.

"You're what now?" Flack asked, his startled brain unable to come up with anything worthwhile to say.

"Doctor Sanjay called me earlier today," Sam replied. "He said that my blood work and my urinalysis both say that I'm pregnant."

"Pregnant? As in having a baby?"

"And that giving two weeks here or there for conception and when my last real menstrual cycle happened, that I'm probably about three and a half months. Maybe even closer to four."

"Wait…just wait…" he held up a hand and shook his head in hopes of unscrambling the thoughts running rampant in his mind. "How in the hell is that even possible? You had your tubes tied."

"Well the surgeon who preformed the ligation told us that ten in one hundred women still conceived afterwards," Sam pointed out.

"It was seven years ago!" he argued. "For seven years we've been having completely unprotected sex and nothing. We never got pregnant before so why now?"

"Doctor Sanjay says that sometimes the scar tissue can actually build up to the point of loosening the tie in one or both tubes, or can form a tube of it's own."

"Seven years, Samantha! Nothing's happened in seven years!"

"Well maybe it takes that long for the scar tissue to build up. I don't know. All I know is that he called me and told me that I was pregnant. That I'm having a baby. That we're having a baby."

"I can't believe that…" Flack closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest and drew in deep breaths in an effort to compose himself. He wasn't entirely sure what he felt. Disappointment? Elation? An hour ago he was all set to convince his wife that they were insane for wanting another baby. He was going to tell her that it wasn't a good idea and he wasn't going to go through with the reversal on her surgery. He was going to talk her out of wanting a seventh kid. And now here she was, standing across their kitchen, completely blowing those plans out of the water.

"Say something," Sam implored. "Please say something, Donnie."

He gave a dry laugh and shook his head and opened his eyes. "What do you want me to say?" he asked. "Seriously, Samantha. What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say that you're not pissed off. That this happening is nothing short of a miracle and that it's amazing news."

"We were going to that doctor for help. You had had your tubes tied and you were starting menopause and then by some freak of nature you come and tell me you're pregnant? That there was no reason for us to be even going to that doctor? That we managed the near impossible all on our own?"

"It's not that it was nearly impossible, it was just that…"

"You know what I mean!" he barked at her. Then sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to freak out on you. It's just…this is a little goddamn freaky, don't you think?"

She nodded. "But aren't you happy?" she asked. "It's what we wanted. We'd wanted another baby and for some reason, we were given the chance to have one without having to go through a whole bunch of tests and operations and what not. This happened for a reason, Donnie. Aren't you happy about that?"

"Honestly? I don't know how to feel about it, Samantha. Because right before you walked through that door, I was thinking about how insane we were for wanting to have another baby. That with all of Kieran's problems and Declan's issues, we were mental for wanting to have another kid when we already had our hands full with the ones we have. I was going to tell you that I didn't think it was a good idea and that I changed my mind."

She blinked at his harsh, unexpected words. "You don't want it?" she asked, completely crestfallen as one hand dropped protectively to her stomach.

"I didn't say that I didn't want it. I just said that…" he paused, choosing his words carefully. "I just said that I'd changed my mind and I was going to tell you that…"

"That you didn't want another baby," she finished, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Which means you don't want it knowing that there is another baby on the way."

Flack shook his had. "That is not what I mean," he told her. "Of course I want it. Why wouldn't I want it?"

"Because you just said…"

"I just said that I had changed my mind about wanting another baby! But that was before you told me that the baby was already on the way. What? Do you think I'd actually tell you to get rid of it? That you'd have to have an abortion or have it and give it up for adoption? You don't think that do you?"

"I want you to want this baby as much as I do," she said, her voice a near whisper.

"And I do want it. Why wouldn't I want it? It's our baby. Something we made together. It's just that…you can't drop something like this on someone and not expect them to be shocked, babe."

"I know it's surprising," she said, brushing her tears away with her hand. "It's surprising and completely unexpected considering our circumstances and that it's a hard pill to swallow when things seem to be going so bad at the moment."

"I mean, I can't wrap my head around this," Flack said. "Seven years ago when Liam was born, we both signed those papers to have your tubes tied. For seven years, we've never used birth control of any kind. And then all of a sudden it's, 'Guess what, honey? My body decides to go nuts on me and untie its own tubes.' Don't you find that a little messed up? You can't tell me you weren't shocked when the doctor told you."

"Of course I was shocked," she sniffled. "Like you said, it's been seven years and nothing. But it's not the end of the world either."

"I never said it was the end of the world. I'm just saying that that this all a little surreal for me. Can't a guy be a little floored by news like this? We should sue that goddamn hospital."

"For what? It's just something that can happen," Sam told him. "It was no one's fault. It just happened. It was meant to be this way, I guess."

"I guess," he said, and sighing heavily, leaned back against the counter and raked a hand through his hair.

Silence fell over them once more. Each trying to come to terms with the news and contemplating how drastically their lives were about to change with a new addition to their family. A baby was always a wonderful, welcome thing. But at their ages and with their history, a whole new set of worries and complications came along with creating a life. There'd be test after test that Sam would not only have to put herself through, but their unborn child as well. And there were worries with how their other children would deal with the news, especially Kieran and all the head aches surrounding him at the moment.

But the fact of the matter was, despite the stresses of every day life, there was an innocent baby in the mix now. A baby both of them wanted more then anything in the world.

Sam sniffled noisily and fidgeted with the sleeve of her burgundy silk blouse, unable to look at her husband for fear that she'd disappointment and anger in his eyes.

"Why are you crying?" Flack asked, his voice soft and soothing.

"I don't know…" she replied, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. "It's just so much all at once, I guess. Kieran's problems and having to worry about hiring someone to be Declan's special needs worker and having to move the kids into a different school and stress with work and…" she sighed heavily. "It's just a lot going on all at the same time."

"I asked you, when you first brought it up that you wanted another baby, if you were capable of handling another kid on top of all of the other kids we have and your job," he reminded her. "And you told me that you'd be fine."

"And I will be," Sam said. "It's just…it's been a hell of a day, you know? Getting that phone call from the doctor and then getting called by Kieran's school and then the interrogation I went through. It's just all a little too much."

"I want you to be completely honest with me," Flack said, as he turned his back on her and reached for a plastic cup sitting on the counter and turned the cold water on. Filling the cup, he turned off the water and carried the drink to his wife. "Are you absolutely sure that you want this baby?" he asked, holding the water out to her.

"I'm absolutely sure," she replied, holding his gaze, her hand resting on his as she accepted the cup from him.

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You know that this pregnancy will be high risk, right? More so then the other ones 'cause of your age and medical history and all that."

She nodded and took a sip of the water. "I think I'm ready to stay home now," she admitted. "With the kids. I think I've been ready for a long time and just never wanted to let go of that last part of independence that having a career gave me. I know that makes you happy, Donnie. That after fifteen years you're finally getting what you've always wanted the most from me."

"I want you to want it too, Sammie. I don't want you doing it if it's going to make you unhappy. I just think that having you at home might fix a lot of things. Mostly whatever the hell is going on with Kieran lately. And I make twice as much money as you do, so me being home wouldn't be the most logical thing."

"I do want to stay home," she said. "I do…it's just that…I've always had a job and I've always contributed to the house and if I'm not working then…"

"You are working. You're taking care of the kids and everything around here. Being a stay at home mom and housewife or whatever you want to call if, that's a full time job in itself babe."

"I prefer domestic goddess," she said with a small laugh. "It's just so much to do and if I'm as far along as the doctor thinks, very little time to do it all. We'll have to go for an ultrasound to date it properly and go for an amnio and make appointments with my OB. And we'll have to buy baby things. We got rid of everything after Liam. And we'll have to figure out exactly where this baby is going to sleep. Then there's work and telling them I'm leaving and then telling the kids and all our family and friends that we're having a baby and…"

"Whoa…" he said, and silenced her with a small, tender kiss. "We can take all that stuff day by day, okay? Tomorrow you can call your OB and do what you got to do with her and you can hand in your notice and…"

She frowned. "I never said that I was leaving right away," she informed him.

"You just said that you were going to quit your job."

"I meant that when I go on maternity leave that will be that. I won't be going back. There's a lot going on at work right now and I can't just up and leave. There's employee evaluations that need to be done and I've got a million and one immigration papers to file and some deportation cases I have to testify in. Not to mention there's that big raid coming up and I need to…"

"You need to what?" he asked, backing away from her. "Don't tell me you're actually still going to go on a raid."

"We've been planning this raid for months," she told him. "It's been daily briefings and planning and strategic sessions and training. I've seen the team through every step of the way. Some of them are just kids that have never done anything like that before. They need me there. I owe it to them to be there."

"You owe it to them? Flack fumed. "A group of fucking strangers? You feel you owe them something?"

"They're not strangers. They're my team and I…"

"You're right, Sam. They're your team. But you know what? That's all they are. I'm your husband and that is my baby in there and I honestly can't fucking believe you'd put yourself and my baby at risk by going on fucking raid!"

"It's my baby, too," she reminded him. "Our baby."

"And you value your team more then our baby? You don't think you owe it to me and your kids and our unborn baby to stay safe and come home at the end of the day?"

"Of course I do," Sam said, her voice calm and composed despite the anger and vehemence in his husband's voice and eyes.

Someone needed to have self control in a situation like that. And she'd learned after sixteen years, that playing peacemaker instead of attacking back, was her safest bet. If she wanted to survive an argument mentally and emotionally unscathed, it was best to just keep quiet. Her husband's coping skill, to avoid being hurt, was to lash out and say mean things to hurt her before she got the chance to do the same to him. It was something she'd grown accustomed to, learned to shrug off, and to put her foot down about if she had to.

"Then you're going to go into work tomorrow and tell them you're leaving in two weeks," Flack told her.

Sam shook her head.

"How can you even argue about this?!" he snapped. "How can this be even open to discussion! You're pregnant and you want to go on a goddamn raid!"

"I can't let my team down, Donnie."

"No. But you can let me and your kids down, is that it?"

She shook her head.

"You know," he snorted and shook his head. "One thing that's never changed about you, Samantha? You've always been a selfish bitch."

"I'm selfish!" she fought back. "You have the nerve to call me selfish, Don! For the fifteen years that we've been married, it's always been about you! Your career and your climb up the NYPD ladder! Your big busts and your public image and you struggling to come out from underneath your father's shadow and you making a name for yourself as the department golden boy. It's been all about you! And you know what? That was fine with me! I didn't care! Because I was proud of you and I stood behind you a hundred percent no matter what you did or what decisions you made! Even when I stopped being me and started being known as nothing more then your wife!"

"That's the biggest bunch of bullshit I've ever heard," he scoffed.

"It's the truth"! she argued. "Who was the one on the back burner for fifteen years, Donnie? Who was the one that was there for the kids the most? Who was the one stuck here picking up the pieces when you left?!"

"Don't hold that over my head, Samantha! I didn't leave willingly and you goddamn well know it! I didn't even want to separate! It was you! You called the fucking shots in that! Because you felt like the maid and sometimes sex partner or some crazy ass crap like that! Because you said it was best for both of us to find out who we were as individuals and that being apart would hopefully help us realize that what we had was worth fighting for. Do you remember saying all of that? Or did you conveniently forget so you could turn it around and make me out to be the bad guy?"

"Of course not, Donnie. I…"

"You asked me to leave. Actually, scratch that. You told me to leave. And I left because it was what you wanted! I went to counselling because it was what you wanted! I stayed away from you because it was what you wanted! So don't play this bullshit with me!"

"I'm not trying to play anything with you! I am trying to get you to see my side of things for a change! I just want you to listen to me for once!"

"I am listening to you! I'm listening to you tell me you're going to put my baby at risk because you feel the need to play super cop one last time!"

Sam threw her hands up in surrender. "You know what, Donald? You're impossible. I love you but you're fucking impossible!"

"I am asking you to think about someone other then yourself, Samantha! If not me, then our baby! Why is it so hard to get that through your head? Why do you have to be so f…"

* * *

The sound of feet racing up the basement stairs halted Flack before the profanity, or the rest of his sentence, could escape from his lips.

"Hi mommy!" Liam cried happily, as he nearly tripped over the top step before bounding into the kitchen. Slipping and sliding as his socked feet hit linoleum floor. Dangerously close to colliding with cupboards or the stove until his father caught him by the back of his Rangers sweatshirt. The kid was a walking, talking disaster waiting to happen. Out of all of the Flack children, Liam was definitely the one with the most Ross in him.

"Hey, sweet pea," she greeted, as Flack released their son. Bending down to place a kiss to the top of his head as Liam wrapped his arms around her thighs.

"You're really late," Liam commented.

"I had a lot of work to do," Sam told him, running a hand over his dark hair. "How come you're still up?"

"Daddy said I could stay up until you got home," Liam said. "That I didn't have to put pyjamas on and stuff until you got home from work."

"So he wouldn't have to give you a bath and get you dressed himself?" she asked, shooting her husband a foul look.

"Oh I'm sorry," Flack snorted. "I guess I got caught up cooking dinner, cleaning up, helping five other kids with homework and listening to Kieran's crap."

"Are you crying mommy?" Liam asked, looking up at her, his head cocked to the side, eyes filled with curiosity and concern. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm fine," she assured him. "How was your day? Did you have fun at school?"

Liam nodded. "Uncle Danny picked me up. He's going to take me to the Blessing of the Bikes on Saturday. And he said that after we can go to McDonald's and have lunch and then I can ride my bike in Central Park. And maybe go to the zoo. But only if you and daddy said it was okay."

"That sounds fine," Sam told him. "If it's okay with your dad though."

"Can I daddy?" Liam asked hopefully, turning around and leaning back against his mother's legs and looking up at his father with his huge golden brown eyes.

"You gonna be good for your Uncle Danny?" Flack asked. "No taking off on him? You gonna listen to everything he says and not give him a hard time?"

"I promise I'll be good," Liam vowed. "Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye."

"Then you can go out with Uncle Danny on Saturday. But I'm telling you kid, he comes back and tells me anything bad…"

"Boom to the moon!" Liam finished, giggling as he held up a fist. "Can I have a snack? I'm hungry. Can I have a snack and something to drink?"

"Go upstairs and put your pyjamas on first," his father said.

"Why can't I have a snack first?" Liam asked.

"Because I said to go and put your pyjamas on first," Flack replied.

"But I'm hungry now," his son argued.

"And you'll still be hungry in ten minutes. So go upstairs and put some pyjamas on."

"Will you help me daddy?"

"You know how to put your own jammies on," Flack reminded his son.

"I forgot how to do it," Liam told him.

His father arched both eyebrows and stared down at him.

"I did!" Liam insisted. "I forget things sometimes, daddy!"

"Liam, go upstairs and put your pyjamas on. Okay?"

"Can't you come and help me pick some out daddy?"

Flack sighed heavily and shook his head. "Upstairs. Now."

Liam pouted dramatically and crossed his arms over his chest and stomped out of the kitchen.

"Something is seriously wrong with that kid," Flack said to his wife, as she turned her back on him and opened the fridge. "Before supper he wanted me to come and wipe his ass for him after he took a crap. How come he can do it fine at school but he gets home and it's a huge issue?"

"Because he's a kid and kids are weird," Sam reasoned, taking out the container of milk and pouring some into her now empty water cup. "Well, our kids are weird at least."

"It's gotta be the Ross in them that make them like that," Flack joked.

"Yeah…blame me for all the problems in this house," she said. "That's typical for you."

"Sam, I meant it as a joke. Just 'cause you're all hormonal already, don't jump down my throat, okay? And I'm sorry that we were arguing. Last thing I wanted to do with you tonight is argue after the day we had. Just you coming home and telling me this after the day we've had with Kieran…"

"You can say what it is, Don," she said, sipping her milk as she closed the fridge door and turned to face him. "You can say it. I'm pregnant. We're having a baby. It's not a hideous, horrible thing, you know. And I'm sorry if you thought I was personally attacking you. It's just you start being mean and then I can't control what I say."

"I guess that's something we never could stop doing after sixteen years," he said. "Hurting each other."

"It's just the way we are. The way we cope with things. We do it to protect ourselves. It's just part of us. It doesn't mean we hate each other or we don't love each other. And if you want me to quit right away, then that's fine. I'll do it."

"Why? So five years down the road you can hold it over my head?"

"No. Because I love you and respect you and I don't want anything happening to this baby. Is that good enough of an answer?"

He gave a small smile. "I know it's hard for you. Making a decision like that."

"I want you to know that I'm doing it for you and for our kids. Because you're right. I think it would be better for them if they had one of us at home. Maybe it will straighten Kieran out a bit."

"Maybe," Flack sighed. "But Mac's coming over tomorrow to spend the day with K. Maybe he can knock some sense into the kid. Kieran respects him and idolizes him. So maybe Mac's the one person that can get through to him."

"He loves and respects you," Sam told her husband. "You're his father. And the two of you need to find some common ground. Spend some time together or something."

Flack shook his head. "He wants nothing to do with me. He says I don't understand how he feels or what he's going through. That I think everything he says or does is stupid. That I'm way too strict. You think I'm like that?"

"I think you have a tendency to be a little too iron-fisted," Sam admitted. "Especially when it comes to him."

"I just want him to have more options with his life then I had. And if he keeps doing shit like fighting and drinking underage and worrying about girls, he's going to end up not achieving anything. And I want more for him, Samantha."

"And I think he wants more for himself," she said. "But you need to let him make his own decisions and then support him a little more if things blow up in his face. Instead of putting him down and telling him I told you so. I know you try hard, Donnie. I know you just want what's best for him. But how is he ever going to learn anything if he doesn't fuck up every once in a while. I mean, you were fifteen once. You made mistakes."

He nodded. "And my father made me pay for them. Which do you think is worse? The way my father was with me? Solving everything with his fists? Or the way I am with Kieran? I know I'm not the greatest father in the world, but I'm a hell of a lot better then my old man."

"Your dad can't exactly defend himself either," Sam pointed out. "And maybe if you got a grip on all these regrets you have in regards to him…"

"Don't go psycho-analysing me," Flack snarled. "Why do you do that? Try and be a therapist or a shrink when I need you to be my wife? That's fucking annoying."

"So is leaving the toilet seat up after sixteen years of nagging you about it," Sam told him, grinning behind the rim of her cup.

He smirked. "You're a damn smart ass, you know that? And thank you. For agreeing to stay home. It means a lot to me, Sammie."

"I know. And hopefully, it will solve a lot of the issues around here. To be honest, I'm actually tired of getting up and going to work every day. I think it's time to go."

"That shitty of a day?" he asked.

"Just a lot of crap to deal with," she said, finishing her milk and carrying the empty cup to the sink to rinse it out, "I can't stand some of the people. They're driving me crazy."

"I told you working for the Feds would drive you insane," he teased, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"As much as I hate to admit you're right…"

"Doctor say anything else?" he asked, placing a hand on her hip and pulling her in front of him.

She shook her head and laid her hands on his sides and her head on his chest. "We'll find out more once I get in to see my OB," she responded.

"I can't believe you can be that far along but not suspect anything," Flack said, wrapping his arms around her.

"Why would I? I had my tubes tied. I just thought no period meant that menopause was catching up. Same with the little bit of nausea and the dizziness I've had for the last couple of weeks. And I just figured I was putting on weight because I'm getting old and things aren't exactly where they used to be on my body."

"Do you feel anything? I mean like movement or anything?"

"Nothing that made me think I was pregnant," she said. "When you're not looking for it, you don't notice it, I guess. Surreal, huh?"

He nodded. "You can say that again."

"Surreal, huh?"

Flack frowned and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Stop being such a Ross," he said. "And you wonder why Liam is the way he is."

"One of them had to be like me," she reasoned.

"All done daddy!" their son announced as he came bouncing into the kitchen.

"So what do you want for a snack?" Sam asked, breaking away from her husband to address her son. Her eyes widening at the sight before her. Liam, with the top to his Cars pyjamas on backwards, and his dark hair greasy and sticking straight up. Pink cream smeared across his forehead and on his ears and the back of his neck. The overwhelming scent of roses filling the kitchen.

"What the hell is in your hair?" Flack inquired. "And what's that smell?"

"It's that stuff that mommy's uses," Liam answered. "I put it in my hair."

"Why?" his father asked. "That's moisturizing cream. Not hair gel. And what were you doing in our room? You know not to go in there."

"I want to smell like mommy," the little boy said.

"You and me," Flack ordered. "Upstairs. Now. You're getting a bath."

"Why?" Liam wailed. "I like it!"

"Well I don't. You can't go to bed with that in your hair. You're getting in that tub. Let's go."

"But don't I smell pretty daddy? I wanted to smell pretty."

"Boys don't smell pretty," his father informed him, grabbing a hold of the back of Liam's pyjama top. "Not in this house anyway. Let's go."

"I just wanted to smell like mommy!" Liam argued, digging his heels unsuccessfully into the kitchen floor to prevent his father from dragging him out of the room.

"Mommy's a girl!" his father informed him, scooping his son up into his arms. "You don't smell like a girl, you hear me? What is wrong with you?"

Sam laughed and shook her head as she watched them disappear from the kitchen. Grinning at the sound of Liam's insistence's and his father's arguments echoing through the house.

What a family, she thought with a sigh, and moved to the plate of food on top of the island. Lovingly prepared and wrapped up, waiting for her to come home. She peeled back the edge of the Saran and carried it to the microwave, setting the timer for three minutes.

"Where's dad?" Kieran asked from behind her, causing her to jump.

"Don't sneak up on people like that," Sam scolded him. "You get that from your father. And he's upstairs giving Liam a bath. Your brother decided tonight was a good night for using rose scented moisturizing cream as hair gel."

"Kid's a moron," Kieran declared. "But not like that should be surprising around here."

"Are you feeling any better?" she asked.

The fifteen year old shrugged. "Why are you so late?" he inquired.

"I had an interrogation I needed to do and I had to get the paper work done before I could leave. Why? Are you my keeper?"

"I just thought maybe you went out or something," her son said. "You know, with some guy."

Sam frowned. "What's that suppose to mean?"

Kieran held up the cordless phone in his hand. "Some guy keeps phoning here to talk to dad. About you."

Her eyes widened. "Did your dad talk to him?"

Kieran shook his head. "I answer it and I tell him that dad isn't around. He's called five times now."

"He's just some jack ass that can't take no for an answer," Sam told him. "He's just calling your dad to cause problems."

"Yeah?" Kieran asked, as he placed the phone on top of the fridge and kissed his mother's cheek softly. "Well I had a little talk with him."

"What did you say?" she asked.

"Told him to piss off. And that if he ever called here again trying to screw up my parents, I was going to kill him."

Sam stared after her son as he calmly walked out of the kitchen.

Wondering how a simple kiss could transform itself into something so much more.

And completely unwanted.

* * *

"We have to figure out when we're going to tell the kids," Flack commented, as he and Sam sat in bed. It was after midnight and the house was in darkness and silence. The kids had long retired for the night and the dogs had been let out for their last business of the evening and now lay curled up together at the foot of the bed.

"We probably should wait a bit," Sam said, as she flipped the page on the reports she was anxious to complete before the morning. "Until we find out exactly how far along I am."

"How far along to you think you are?" he asked, flicking off the television. Tossing the remote onto the nightstand, he rolled over onto his side and laid a gentle hand on her stomach.

"Probably three and a half months," she replied. "If not a bit more."

"Only leaves us five and a bit months to get things done around here," he concluded. "I figure that the baby can just sleep in here with us and when he's older we can move him in with one of the other kids."

"I don't think any of our kids will be up to that idea," she said, dropping one hand from her report in order to comb her fingers through her husband's hair. "And why are you saying he?"

"Wishful thinking, maybe?" he grinned. "I mean, one more boy and it breaks the tie and swings things onto the male side of things."

Sam rolled her eyes.

"Another girl in the house? Way too much estrogen floating around if you ask me. You have any idea how tough it is living with so many women?"

"And do you have any idea how hard it is living with so many men? All the testosterone in this place?"

"Another little boy would be nice," Flack said, rubbing her stomach in slow, soft circles. "A Donnie Jr."

She arched an eyebrow. "You argued every boy we had not to give him that name. And the Jr is usually the first born boy."

"So what? We can name our kids in whatever order we want. I just think it would be kind of cool to have a son named after me. A Donald Flack the third. What do you think?"

"That you're completely mental," she said, and pushing his hair off of his forehead, pressed a kiss between his eyes.

"I just figured, with my dad gone now, it would be nice to name the baby after him. That's all."

Sam smiled. "We'll think about that, okay? Once we have the amnio and find out for sure if it's a girl or a boy, then we can pick names."

"I've got a girl name picked out," Flack told her.

She looked down at him. "You do?"

He nodded. "Wanna hear it?"

"It's not something really old school and boring is it?"

Flack shook his head. "I was thinking about it earlier. About what I'd like my daughter to be named if we had another girl. And the names just popped into my head. Zoe Sabrina Laura."

"Zoe?" she asked. "Where did you come up with that?"

"It was one of the names I thought was cool when we were picking out names when you were pregnant with Mikayla. I just never mentioned it to you 'cause I thought for sure you'd hate it. I think it sounds pretty neat with our last name. And let's face it, it's hard to come up with names that sound okay with Flack."

"Told you that you should have changed your last name to Ross," Sam commented.

"You wish," he snorted. "But don't you think it sounds nice, babe? Zoe Sabrina Laura Flack. Sounds nice. Do you like it?"

She smiled and nodded and kissed him softly. "I think it sounds beautiful," she said. "And if it's a boy?"

"Donald Joseph Flack the third."

She sighed.

"I also like the name Gavin," he told her. "After Moran."

"Andrea would be touched," Sam said. "Sometimes it's really hard to believe he's been dead as long as he has."

"Ten years," Flack sighed and rolled over onto his back. "Sometimes it feels like ten days ago."

Sam nodded in agreement.

"Is it wrong that I felt worse about him dying then I did about my own father?" Flack asked, his voice quiet and troubled.

"You were closer to Gavin then you were your father," Sam reasoned. "When you're dad was shitting all over you after you joined the department, Gavin was the one who took you under his wing. He was more then just a training officer."

"He was like a dad to me. When I was having problems, whether it was with the job or with some girlfriend, he was always there for me. No matter what. He never looked down on me or laughed at me. Always gave me advice. Whether I wanted to hear it or not. And never let me get too full of myself. Always shot me down if I needed it."

"He was an amazing friend to you," Sam said, reaching out and picking up her husband's hand, entwining her fingers with his. "And I know you took it really bad when he died. That it still bothers you."

Flack nodded. "Bothers me the most when I think about how quick everything happened. Seems like Andrea and him were just telling us about the cancer and then BOOM. He was dead."

"Six months is pretty quick," she sighed. "But it was pancreatic and he didn't want, or have, any chemo or radiation."

"I don't blame him. I'd be the same way. I wouldn't want any either. That shit just makes you feel worse. I figure if God gives me the big C, it's for a reason. That obviously it's my time to go. Why the hell should I prolong it if I'm just going to feel like shit?"

"Because it gives you a chance of survival. And if not that, then more time with your family."

"I wouldn't want you and the kids seeing me like that. I swear Sammie, I ever get sick like that? Promise me that you won't keep me at home. That you put me in a hospital and let the professionals take care of me. 'Cause I wouldn't want you or the kids to be saddled with that kind of burden."

"What burden?" she asked. "You're my husband, Don. You'll never be a burden."

"I don't want you going through that," he told her. "Just promise me, Samantha. That you won't do that to yourself."

"I think you're being slightly morbid talking about this," she scolded him.

"Promise me," he insisted.

Sighing, she closed up her reports and tossed them onto the nightstand. "I promise you," she said, and kissed his hand. "But something like that goes both ways, you know. So you have to promise me something, too."

"Anything," Flack vowed.

"You have to promise me that if anything ever happened to me. Like an accident. And it leaves me a complete vegetable and the only thing that's keeping me alive is machines, you have to promise me that you won't do that to me. That you won't prolong the inevitable. That you'll just let me go. Because I don't want to live like that."

"I wouldn't want you to live like that either," he told her. "But I wouldn't be able to let you go that easy, babe."

"Even if I wasn't me, anymore, Donnie? If there was no possible way I was ever going to breathe on my own again? If I had no quality of life left? You'd let me live like that just because it would be too hard for you to let me go?"

"I just…" he sighed heavily. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Don't you think we need to…"

"Write it down," he said. "Write it down with your living will that you have. Write it in a journal. I don't care. I just don't want to talk about it, okay? 'Cause we talk about stuff like that and it gets me all emotional. And the only thing I want to be emotional about right now is our baby. Okay?"

She smiled and nodded. "Okay," she said, and laid their joined hands on her stomach. "It's hard to believe, isn't it." It was more a statement then a question.

"A little," Flack admitted. "Now that I've come to grips with the whole getting knocked up when your tubes are tied thing, I think I'll be alright with it."

"You think?" she asked with a frown.

"I know I will be," he corrected himself. "It's amazing Sam. That it happened the way it did. It's obviously meant to be if it happened just like that. This baby was meant to be here. We were meant to have him."

She cleared her throat and stared at him.

"Or her," Flack said with a grin. "Him or her. Doesn't matter to me. As long as the baby is healthy and has everything where it should be and isn't like…" he caught himself before the words slipped out.

"You can say it," she said softly. "It's not a horrible thing to say bad. As long as this baby isn't like Declan."

Flack sighed heavily. "He's my son, Sammie. He's my son and I love him no matter what."

"I know," she said, trailing her fingernails of her free hand down the inside of his forearm. "And I also know how you're feeling and what you're thinking. Because I'm thinking and feeling the same things."

"I just couldn't go through all of that again," Flack admitted. "It nearly broke me at first and it took me so long to come to grips with it and even now there's times I don't completely accept the disability. My son, yes. The disability, no."

"What do you we Donnie?" she asked, tears sparkling in her eyes. "If the tests show that this baby has it too. What do we do?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I honestly don't know. You're too far along to do anything about it and even if you weren't, I'd never want you to do something to a life we created together. And neither of us could live with ourselves giving our baby up."

"I just want everything to be okay," she whispered.

Flack looked up at his wife. "Don't cry baby," he said, and reaching up with his free hand, brushed tears off of her cheeks. "Everything is going to be okay. We have each other. And together, we can deal with anything. We've proved that tons of times. Right?"

She nodded.

"Come here," he said. "Lie down and let me hold you, okay?"

"Okay," she sniffled, and letting go of his hand, slid herself down onto her back before rolling onto her side facing him.

"Me and you, babe," he said, kissing her temple and gathering her into his arms. Holding her as tightly as he could. "It's always been me and you and it always will be."

She smiled as she tucked her head underneath his chin and held onto him with all of the strength in her body.

"I told you a long time ago that no matter what problems you had, what baggage you were carrying, that I was a big strong guy and I could help you carry it all," Flack said. "Do you remember that?"

"I remember," she said.

"I meant it babe, every word. All you got to do is fall into me and trust me and everything will be okay. No matter how big or how small. Just trust in me and in us, and it's all good."

"You promise?" she asked in a meek, frightened voice.

"Have I ever let you fall before?"

Sam shook her head.

"I'm not going to let you fall, Sammie. As long as I live, I promise you that."

She smiled against him and relaxed in the warmth and security his strong arms and his familiar scent provided her with.

_Me and you, _she thought. _Forever. _

_Regardless of what anyone says, or thinks._

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! So please R and R folks! Makes my day!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Laplandgurl**

**muchmadness**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Delko's Girl 88**

**wolfeylady**

**ImaSupernaturalCSI**

**New-york-babee**

**Bluehaven4220**

**Forest Angel**

**Soccer-bitch**


	74. Trust and truth

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND ALL THE FLACK KIDS.**

* * *

**Trust and truth**

"Slip inside the eye of your mind  
Don't you know you might find  
A better place to play  
You said that you've never been  
But all the things that you've seen  
They slowly fade away  
So I'll start a revolution from my bed  
'cause you said the brains I had went to my head  
Step outside, summertime's in bloom  
Stand up beside the fireplace  
Take that look from off your face  
You ain't ever gonna burn my heart out  
And so, Sally can wait  
She knows it's too late as we're walking on by  
Her soul slides away  
But don't look back in anger  
I heard you say."  
-Don't Look Back in Anger, Oasis

* * *

Mac Taylor could hear the arguing from the moment he stepped out his SUV. He had parked the vehicle behind Flack's, who, in favour of seeing his wife off to her own job that morning, had opted to work from home. Scagnetti, as Flack's immediate supervisor, had always been good about letting the young Inspector spend more hours in the home office than the one down at One Police Plaza. Especially when any of the children were sick and stuck at home or had vacation time off of school. The beating Kieran had laid on Dean Truby's nephew and his subsequent suspension had caused incredible friction within the house.

When Mac had called that morning to let Flack know what time he'd be there at -and requesting to keep his visit a secret from Kieran. He didn't want the fifteen year old to think he'd been set up and his 'grandfather' was there to ambush him - he could hear the tension and fury in the younger man's voice. Flack was about ready to strangle his first born, and Kieran was doing everything possible to infuriate his father. Whether it be smoking in the backyard -while Flack didn't approve of it, he had the nasty habit himself and told his son if he was going to do it, do it away from the house- or on the phone or internet with his girlfriend when both were completely off limits, or having a smart, foul mouth, Kieran was pushing every possible button. And without outside intervention, the kid was cruising for a bruising.

"I don't care Kieran!" Flack's voice bellowed from inside of the house. The front door and nearly every window in the house was wide open, enabling nearly the entire neighbourhood to hear the yelling and the door slamming. "Your mom and I told you that you're grounded! Two weeks! As long as you're suspended from school, your ass obeys all the rules!"

"But dad!" Kieran argued. "Alessa needed to…"

"I don't care what she needed to do!" his father yelled back. "Grounded means grounded you little shit! It means no phone, no internet, no Xbox, Game Cube, PSP and whatever the hell else you have! It means you park your ass in this house and you do exactly what I say! Understand me?!"

"Why are you being like this, dad?!"

"Why am I being like this? Are you fucking kidding me, Kieran?! Why am I being like this?! Maybe it has something to do with the fact you beat the shit out of someone and put them in the ER, maybe.."

"I told you he said some things and I…"

"And you knocked the hell out of him and put him in the hospital! There's no goddamn excuse for that! And now I have a lawyer on my ass! Because the kid's parents may not be pressing charges against you, but they're threatening to sue me! Personally, I'd rather see your ass in jail for awhile than have to shell out that kind of money!"

"Don't be such a prick, dad!" the fifteen year old screamed.

"What did you call me!" Flack roared. "What the fuck did you just call me?!"

"You heard me!" Kieran yelled back. "I called you a prick! 'Cause you are! You never listen to me! You never pay attention to me! It's always about Declan or Liam! It's never about me! It's never been about me!"

"What are you going to cry about it now?! You gonna cry, Kieran?! Are you going to sob like a baby 'cause for once you're finally paying for something you've done?! Because you're finally learning what it's like to be held accountable for something?!"

"None of this never would have happened if you hadn't have been a rat and fucked over Dean Truby!"

Silence fell in the house just as Mac headed up the front steps. He paused with his fingers curled around the handle of the screen door, preparing himself for what lay ahead of him.

"What did you say, Kieran?" Flack's voice was low and sinister.

"I didn't…I didn't say anything…" his son stammered.

"Repeat what you just said. You were man enough to say it the first time. Go ahead, say it again."

There was no response from the teenager.

"Get out of my face, Kieran," his father ordered.

"I didn't mean it, dad!" he cried. "I didn't mean it…"

"Kieran…"

"I didn't mean it!" the fifteen year old insisted. "I didn't mean it and I'm sorry!"

"Get the hell out of my face now!" Flack roared.

Mac heard the thundering of footsteps as they pounded up the stairs. Followed by a door slamming. Sighing heavily, he cautiously let himself into the house. Thanking his lucky stars that he'd been blessed with two girls instead of the headaches and ulcers that boys seemed to create. He was sure that Tiana and Chelsea would cause their fair share of problems as they got older, but he was pretty sure he'd be able to handle them a lot better then a teenage boy like Kieran Flack.

He found the older Flack pacing the living room. Casual in a pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt and bare feet. One hand on his hip and the other over his eyes. Both hands trembling with anger. His chest heaving.

"Take it easy, Flack," Mac laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Not worth getting yourself worked up like this."

Flack snorted. "Not worth getting myself worked up like this? You didn't hear the things my kid just said to me."

"Actually, I did. I think anyone in a five block radius heard it. And you need to go somewhere and cool down. Go out in the backyard and get some fresh air."

"Have a few stiff drinks and call up the guys in the little white coats to come and get me and lock me away," Flack laughed dryly as he slipped his glasses back onto his face. "'Cause I am this close, Mac…" he held up his hand, his thumb and forefinger a half an inch apart. "…to either a mental breakdown or going up there and laying the beating of a lifetime on that kid."

"And what's that going to do?" Mac asked. "Other then earn yourself a visit from Child Protective Services? He's fifteen years old. I had a smart mouth at fifteen. And I know for a fact that you did, too."

"You didn't know me then. So unless you've been talking to my old man…"

"I know what you're like now," Mac said. "I worked with you for over two decades. And in two decades, your mouth got worse and worse. So I can just imagine that you weren't exactly an innocent, angelic alter boy back then."

Flack grinned and shook his head. "I was an altar boy actually," he laughed. "But innocent and angelic I was not."

"We all had smart mouths as teenagers," Mac said. "We've all, at one point in our lives, cursed out our parents and called them awful names. Maybe not to their face in order to spare us a beating or two…"

"Kid's got balls," Flack sighed. "I'll give him that. If I ever said that shit to my dad? My dad would have tanned my ass five times over. No warnings, no nothing. With K, no matter how much I yell and scream at the kid, nothing seems to straighten him around. Yet I can just look at the other ones a certain way and they know I mean business."

"He's stubborn and strong willed," Mac said. "He's not afraid to stand up for himself, or what he believes in. Who does that remind you of?"

"His mother?" Flack asked. "You ask me, that's her to a tee."

"I was thinking more along the lines of you," Mac told him. "But come to think of it, you and Samantha are a lot alike personality wise. So it shouldn't be any surprise that Kieran is the way he is. He's got a huge dose of attitude from both of his parents. It's just getting control of that attitude while he's young. So he doesn't get himself into deeper water then he already is."

"I seriously don't know how much deeper he can get, Mac," Flack said, shaking his head. "He messed that kid up something fierce. They're not going to press charges but the parents have contacted a lawyer about suing for damages."

"Have you called your own lawyer?"

Flack nodded. "He said that my best bet, if I do get served on the matter, is to counter sue for libel and slander 'cause of what the kid said."

"Misplaced hero worship on his part maybe," Mac reasoned. "Probably has never been told the whole story about his uncle. All he knows is that Kieran Flack's father helped put his uncle in jail. He probably doesn't know that this uncle of his was also a cold blooded murderer who stole drugs from an NYPD raid and was selling them on the streets."

"Probably not. But that doesn't give him the right to say shit like that to my kid, Mac. He's just damn lucky he didn't mouth off about Sammie. Because you know the bond between her and K. K would defend his mother to the death, no ifs, ands, or buts."

"And he'd do the same thing for you, Flack. You're his father."

"I'm just some insensitive prick that doesn't care about him," Flack snorted. "Never mind that I almost died trying to get him back to his mother. Never mind that I'd gladly lay down my life for that kid. All he sees me as is the asshole who doesn't listen to him or understand him."

"Have you ever tried listening to him?" Mac asked. "I know teenagers can be damn hard to understand at times…"

"I have tried everything with him. Everything. But the second I disagree with something he says, he just goes off the deep end. Accuses me of being unfair and judgemental and not being happy about anything he does."

"Are you disagreeing with him or are you criticizing him?" inquired Mac.

"What's that suppose to mean?" Flack asked defensively.

"Do you say to him, 'Kieran, I disagree with you and this is why'? Or do you say 'that's the biggest bunch of bullshit I've ever heard'?"

Flack thought about it for a moment. "I guess it's a lot of both," he admitted reluctantly.

"What you need to do is spend some time with one. One on one, father and son time. A chance for the two of you to do something together. No other kids fighting for your attention. No cell phone and work responsibilities interrupting you. Just you and Kieran."

"He doesn't want to spend time with me, Mac," Flack said. "He thinks I'm a prick. You heard him."

"I also heard him, near tears, say that it's always about Liam or Declan. That it's never been about him. He wouldn't just say that if he's not feeling it. And I think the two of you spending some time together, would do both of you a world of good."

Flack nodded solemnly. "You're probably right," he said quietly.

"Excuse me?" Mac asked, a smirk on his face as he brought his hand up to cup his ear. "What did you just say?"

Flack grinned.

"Could you repeat that?" Mac teased. "Because I must have imagined something. I thought for sure that was a 'you're right' that slipped out of Don Flack Junior's mouth."

"I didn't say you were right," Flack laughed. "I said you're probably right. There's a difference."

Mac chuckled and laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "You and Samantha have done a hell of a job with all of your kids. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise. No one said that raising children was an easy feat. Especially teenagers. And you've got four of them under one roof."

"Insane," Flack said, shaking his head. "Absolute bat shit insanity when you think about it that way. I just…I want my son back, Mac. That little boy that smiled and giggled all the time. That chased his shadow and loved to run around in circles until he got dizzy and would fall down. Just for one day, I wish I could go back to when he was a baby. Or a toddler. Spend some more time with him. I never spent enough time with him or Sam. I missed out on a lot of important things. 'Cause of the job. His first steps, his first word, his first day of school. Moments I can't get back, you know? I always think, if I'd just given less to the job and more to him and Sammie, maybe things wouldn't be this way. Maybe Sam and I wouldn't have had the problems that we did. If I'd just told her I loved her more and appreciated her more…"

"We all have regrets, Flack," Mac told him. "It's been twenty five years since September eleventh. And even though I moved on with my life, marrying Stella, having two children, there's still a part of me that misses Claire terribly. And sometimes, when I'm in one of my moods and she crosses my mind, I think about how I should have convinced her to stay home that day. I had the day off and I remember thinking the night before that I should talk her into calling sick and spending the day with me. I never did. And look what happened."

"You had no idea what was going to happen, Mac," Flack said. "It just happened. No rhyme or reason to it. It just did."

"Just like you had no idea the problems that you and your wife would have in the future. No one knows what's going to happen day by day, let alone year by year. And that's a good thing. Because if we knew what was laid out of us ahead of time, we'd be too afraid to take chances, to try something new. And how boring would life be if we lived it that way?"

Flack arched an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side as he observed Mac. "That's pretty deep," he said. "Do you lie awake all night and think about stuff like that or does it just pop into your head?"

Mac grinned. "When you're retired, you have a lot of time to sit and think about things," he joked. "How are things at the department?"

"Same shit, different day. Budget cuts, complaints against the department, scheduling problems, you name it and we're dealing with it. I'm just glad I can work from home every so often. Feels less stressful when you're away from this office. And there's this intern," Flack shook his head. "She's a royal pain in my ass. Won't follow dress code, won't listen to a thing anyone has to say. And I don't know if it's just her personality and she flirts with everyone, but she makes me nervous as all hell whenever she's around me."

"Have you mentioned it to her? Maybe asked her to stop being so friendly?"

"What's that going to do?" Flack asked. "Seriously. I insinuate the wrong thing and I'm getting a sexual harassment complaint dumped on my head. That I do not need. If I just ignore her, avoid being alone with her, then I have nothing to worry about. 'Cause I seriously do not need shit like that in my life, Mac. You know what Sam would do if something like that ever happened? If some woman ever accused me of being inappropriate with her?"

"You mean other then believe you over a complete stranger?"

"She'd freak, Mac. Absolutely freak. And she doesn't need to be getting upset. Especially now."

Mac's eyes narrowed at the last two words that came out of Flack's mouth. "Especially now?" he asked curiously.

"We've just got some things going on. Between us," Flack explained. "Good things. Really, really good things and I don't want anything screwing that up for us. For our entire family, actually."

"You want to elaborate just a bit?"

Flack sighed. "We haven't told anyone else. We haven't even told the kids yet. We're still figuring out how to tell them. That and we're waiting to get Sam into the specialist to make sure everything is okay."

Mac waited patiently for an explanation.

"You remember how we were going to that fertility specialist? To see if it was remotely possible that Sam was able to get pregnant? That if the menopause wasn't too far gone we were going to get the tubal ligation reverse and then see what next step was the most beneficial for us?"

Mac nodded.

"Turns out we didn't need it. Sam's body went all psycho some time in the past four plus months and decided to either undo it's own tubes or scar tissue form a whole new tube…."

Mac arched an eyebrow.

"I know. Sounds pretty damn far fetched, doesn't it? Well something happened. 'Cause the fertility specialist called her yesterday and told her that there wasn't anything he could do for us. Because her blood work and urine test showed that she's already pregnant."

The older man's eyes widened in surprise.

"I know," Flack laughed. "Pretty surreal, huh? I nearly shit myself when Sam told me. Certainly not what you expect to happen seven years after your wife gets her tubes tied. But I went on the 'net afterwards and there's tons of stories of this kind of thing happening. Even a decade later."

"And both of you are happy with this unexpected turn of events?" Mac asked.

"Beyond happy," replied Flack. "I can't even describe to you how I feel about this. Just that it's incredible and it obviously happened for a reason. An unexpected blessing."

"Congratulations," Mac said, and embraced the younger man warmly. Long ago their private relationship had far surpassed simple handshakes and pats on the shoulder.

Two decades of working together and nearly fifteen years of their families spending holidays and birthdays and vacations together, not only had Mac Taylor and Don Flack formed an incredible respect for each other, but an impenetrable bond. Not only had Mac been a mentor of sorts and the man who'd saved Flack's life, but he had become a father figure of immeasurable proportions.

"We're excited," Flack said, a genuine smile from ear to ear. "I mean, we never thought this was going to happen. We thought we'd have to get the reversal done, probably pay for in vitro a couple of times over. Who knew she was already pregnant and things were going to be so easy?"

"If I've learned anything in the past sixteen years since I hired Samantha, it's that when it comes to you two, anything is possible," Mac chuckled. "I'm happy for you, Don. For both of you. A new baby is always an exciting time."

"I just worry about our ages, you know? Like I'm forty six. Sammie's forty nine tomorrow. We're no spring chickens, Mac."

"Stella was your age when Tiana was born and I was already a year older than Samantha," Mac reminded him. "And we've managed so far. We even had another baby and I was already into my fifties."

"I know that. It's just…" Flack sighed. "Declan. We were young when he was born. I was only thirty two. All my life I thought kids with Down Syndrome were only born to parents over forty. Then it happened to us in our early thirties. Our chances then were one in eight hundred. Now with Declan and our ages, it's one in three. And that's a little…"

"Frightening?" Mac finished.

"Just a little," Flack admitted. "And I love my son more than life itself. You know that. There's nothing I wouldn't do for him. Whatever he needs, I get it for him. But to do all that over again? I don't think I could do it."

"Have you and Samantha decided what you're going to do if that's the case?" asked Mac.

The younger man shook his head. "We just know that we're going to have every test imaginable. After that, if there's a problem…" Flack shrugged as his voice trailed off.

"Try not to think the worst and try to expect the best," Mac told him.

"We haven't told anyone else. Not even the kids. So if you don't mind…"

"You're secret is safe with me. So it's okay if I take Kieran out for a while?"

"You can try," Flack sighed. "He doesn't even know you're coming. He's up in his room and if you think you can get through to him…"

"I'll try my best. What you need to do is cool down a bit. Re-think the way you're going about things with him. Because obviously Don, it's not working."

"Obviously," Flack smirked. "You know, Sam said the same thing. About me and K needing alone time."

"Well great minds do think alike," Mac said with a grin. "He's fifteen, Flack. Think back to what you were like at fifteen and ask yourself if you were any different."

"I couldn't talk to my old man like that. I would have been handed my ass. Now kids are taught in school to call the cops if their parents lay a hand on them. And people wonder why the hell teenagers are the way the are."

"Kieran's going to be okay," Mac assured him. "He just needs some guidance. Someone he can confide in. And if he sees me as the one he can do that with…"

"He loves you, Mac. You know that. You're a grandfather to him. If he's going to listen to anyone, it's going to be you."

"Let's hope so," Mac said, and headed for the kitchen door.

"If he gets smart, I give you permission to go all Marine Mac on his ass," Flack called out.

Mac smirked at the younger man before disappearing into the next room.

_Good luck,_ Flack thought. _'Cause you're going to need it._

* * *

Less than an hour later, Mac Taylor found himself sitting in a window booth at Flannigan's, a family style restaurant in downtown Flushing, Queens that was famous for their all day breakfast and what was touted as the 'best damn cheeseburgers in all five boroughs'.

As they waited for the waitress to bring their orders, Mac nursed a black coffee, three sugar while Kieran sat across from his, using a straw to stir is impossibly thick chocolate mint flavoured milkshake. A pastel green concoction that had been introduced at St. Patrick's Day but the owners had kept around because of it's incredible popularity.

The teenager hadn't spoken more than a handful of words since they'd left the house together. They'd walked as opposed to taking the car. Mac had thought maybe the twenty-five minutes it took to get to Flushing's downtown core from the Flack house would have been enough time to get his 'grandson' to open up. Mac had tried gentle coaxing. Telling the boy that whatever he said was strictly between them. It wasn't going to get back to his parents, and Mac wasn't going to judge him or criticize him. In fact, if K didn't want him to speak, he wouldn't. Just as long as he talked about what was going on in his head. Mac had gotten nowhere. Kieran had just continued to walk with his chin to his chest and his hands shoved in his pockets. Too proud and way too damn stubborn to let anyone even attempt to help him.

Just like his father.

They sat there together in the quiet restaurant, listening to dishes clattering and the cooks talking in the back kitchen and the waitresses filling the salt and sugar shakers at empty tables. and the occasional ding of the old fashioned cash register on the counter by the front door. An overhead speaker system piped in soft music. Instrumental versions of the hits of today and yesterday.

And as Mac sipped his coffee and watched his young charge from across the table, he realized -and not for the first time in fifteen years- how much Kieran Flack did take after his father. Personality aside, Kieran was a near spitting image of his dad. And sitting there, with his blue eyes downcast, Kieran looked so sad and so alone. A mirror image of what his father had looked like over 17 years ago when Mac had arrived at the twelfth precinct to arrest Dean Truby. The look that had been on the elder Flack's face at that moment as he watched it all go down. The hurt and the disappointment and the profound sadness. He'd looked like a lost little boy stuck in a grown man's body.

The same expression that his fifteen year old son now wore on his handsome, boyish face.

"Do you want to tell me what's going on?" Mac asked, finally breaking the silence.

"What do you mean?" Kieran asked in return, his voice a near whisper.

"I mean do you want to tell me what's going on with you lately," Mac replied. "I get home yesterday and my daughter tells me about this massive fight you were involved in at school. I called your place to check on you and had a long talk with your dad…"

Kieran rolled his eyes at the mention of his father.

Mac glared at the teenager. A silent reminder that attitude of any kind was not going to be tolerated in the least. "He told me some very disturbing things Kieran," he continued. "That you injured this boy so bad that he needed to be taken to the hospital. Where apparently he's going to be spending at least a week."

Kieran shrugged.

"Do you think that's funny?" Mac asked. "Does it make you feel like a big man to know you hurt someone to that degree?"

"He deserved it," Kieran replied simply and took a sip of his milkshake.

"He deserved being put in the hospital?" Mac asked, trying to keep the anger from creeping into his voice.

The fifteen year old nodded.

"He deserved you breaking his orbital bone and his nose and tearing his sinus cavities? He deserved busted ribs and a massive concussion and a shattered jaw?"

Kieran nodded again.

Mac nodded slowly as he let the information, or lack there of, absorb. "You want to tell me what he did that you feel warrants being knocked around like that?" he asked.

"I don't want to talk about that," Kieran replied.

"Well let me make something very clear to you, Kieran," Mac felt the frustration bubbling inside of him. "I told you're dad that I was going to try and talk some sense into you. And we can sit here all day playing this back and forth game and you can be evasive all you want. You're going to tell me yourself what this kid said to you or I'm calling the principal myself and getting to the bottom of it. Either way, I'm finding out. So you can either make the situation worse by playing these games with me, or you can man up and tell me yourself. What's it gonna be?"

Kieran sighed heavily and went back to stirring his milkshake.

"You may think that it makes you tough and makes you all grown up to manhandle someone like you did. But it takes a tougher man and more mature man to admit when he did something wrong. To own up to his mistakes. To be able to turn the other cheek and solve things with his mind and his words instead of with his fists."

"My dad always taught me to stick up for myself," Kieran informed his grandfather. "To not let anyone push me around."

"I doubt he meant you were to put someone in the hospital," Mac said. "And there's sticking up for yourself and there's going overboard. And you went way overboard."

"You have no idea the stuff he said to me," Kieran told his grandfather.

"It doesn't matter what he said," Mac said angrily. "It matters how you reacted. Which was damn poorly."

Kieran sighed. "I knew you wouldn't understand. You're just like my dad sometimes."

"Your dad is worried about you, Kieran. And so am I. Do you realize what you've done? Do you realize how doing something so stupid and reckless could affect your future? Your father wants nothing but the best of you and you seem hell bent on going in the opposite direction. Don't expect me to sit here and condone what you did. I don't care what this kid said, you should have been the bigger man and backed down. You should have walked away."

"I tried to Papa Mac!" the teenager cried. "I tried to walk away! He's been on me for months and I tried handling it in a better way! I told the teachers he was picking on me and they didn't do anything about it! They told me to suck it up. Be a man about it."

"And your parents are going to make sure the school board knows about that, trust me. But that doesn't mean what you did was right, Kieran."

"He called my dad a rat. Said that he was a shit off cop and a disgrace to the badge. And that he should have done the department a world of good and just died in that explosion. And that I was a waste of space being born and that I deserved what that pervert did to me! I wasn't going to put up with that shit!"

"If you were going to hit him, why not one punch? One punch to just shut him up? Why did you have to go to the extremes that you did?"

"I don't know!" Kieran exclaimed. "'Cause I do stuff like that sometimes! I get so pissed off that I just snap and lash out. Half the time I don't even know what I'm doing. It's like I become this completely different person. That I'm not even inside myself. I know that sounds stupid but it's true. And afterwards sometimes I don't even remember why I did it. Or even that I did do it!"

"Have you ever told your mom and dad that you feel that way?" Mac asked, a number of anger related disorders springing to mind as Kieran spoke.

"Mom and dad know that I get pissed off easily. That things make me snap. Little things sometimes. Mom just says that I'm just like dad and dad just says I'm just like mom. And that I need to knock it off before he knocks me out. He just doesn't get it. He doesn't understand anything!"

"And why do you think he doesn't understand, Kieran?"

"I don't know," the boy huffed. "'Cause he's a massive asshole?"

Mac frowned. "Listen to me very, very careful, Kieran. I love you. You know that. But I also love your father and respect him tremendously. And you'll show him some respect and never, ever talk like that about him in front of him, or in front of anyone else, ever again. Understand me?"

Kieran nodded and looked down at the table once again.

* * *

The waitress brought over their foods. Double cheeseburgers with the works with heaping side orders of fries and gravy. She did little more than smile as she set the foot down and headed off to tend to other duties.

"I think there's some things that we need to talk about," Mac told him. "That you need to hear the whole story about. And the first and foremost thing, is what happened the night that you're father put his life on the line to get you back from Dean Lessing."

"I already know about all of that," Kieran said, and bit into his cheeseburger.

"Well let's see if the version you have in your head is the same version I'm about to tell you," Mac retorted angrily. "Your father agreed to meet Dean Lessing that night, using the ruse that he was there to say goodbye to you. That he was handing you over to Lessing so he could turn you into a soldier. Because as far as Lessing was concerned, you were nothing short of miraculous because you were the off spring of the man who'd survived his first experiment. Your dad managed to convince Lessing to let you go in exchange for himself. Your father was supposed to put you in your car seat and say goodbye to you and then give word to the Swat team to move in. Only he never got that chance. Do you know why?"

Kieran shook his head.

"Because Dean Lessing realized it was a trick. Because your dad had agreed to bring your mother along. It was one of Lessing's demands. That both your parents be there. Only your father had to commit your mother into the hospital because she was so devastated with what had happened to you. And when Lessing found out that the undercover officer in that truck wasn't your mother? He told your father to say goodbye to you and get down on his knees with his hands behind his head. Because he was going to execute your dad right in front you."

Kieran swallowed noisily.

"Your father fought with Dean Lessing to save not only himself, but you and your Aunt Lindsay who was pretending to be your mother. Your dad took a hell of a beating that night. It damaged his eyesight permanently. He had busted ribs, a massive concussion just to name a couple of injuries. And he was shot. I bet you didn't know what part, did you?"

The fifteen year old shook his head.

"Your Aunt saved your father's life that night. She shot Dean Lessing. Only the bullet passed through him and hit your dad. It wasn't a serious wound, but it damn well could have been. And then what Kieran? Then what would have happened? You would have had no father and your mother wouldn't have had a husband. Would you have wanted that?"

"Of course not," Kieran whispered.

"Your father did all of that for you. And for your mother. And for you to sit here in front of me and disrespect him like you have been? That I will not tolerate. Your father is a hell of a cop and an even better man. And you should be hoping and praying that you fill even half of his shoes one day. Your father loves you Kieran. He's always loved you. You're his first born. And he wants so much for you. And all you're doing is self destructing and ruining your future. Don't you see that? Don't you realize how much he cares about you?"

Kieran nodded. "I know my dad loves me," he said. "It's just some times he acts like he doesn't like me very much."

"And do you think you've been acting as if you like him very much?" Mac asked.

The teenager shook his head.

"The two of you need to sit down and talk about things," Mac said. "Just you and your dad. Find some common ground. Tell him about how you're feeling."

Kieran looked at his grandfather as if he'd lost his mind. "You don't talk to my dad about feelings. You just don't. Dad doesn't talk about stuff like that."

"And how do you know that, Kiearn? Have you ever tried talking to him about stuff like that?"

He shook his head.

"I think you should give your dad a chance," Mac suggested. "I think you should sit down and talk to him. Man to man. You'll be pleasantly surprised, trust me."

The two lasped into a comfortable silence. Eating their meals as Mac occasionally glanced across the table at the young man lost deep in thought.

"What are you so angry about Kieran?" Mac asked at last. "When it comes to your dad. What are you so angry about?"

"I don't know…I just know that I'm pissed at him. And I have been for a really long time."

Mac wiped his mouth with a napkin. "You must know what you're pissed off about."

"Not really.." Kieran said, munching on a ketchup coated French fry. "Well…I guess there's one big thing…"

"And that is…."

"I'm angry that dad left us," Kieran admitted. "I'm angry that he left and made my mom so sad. I'm angry that he kept telling me that he'd come and get me and take me to live with him and he never did. That's what pisses me off. That he didn't want me. That he didn't want any of us. He just walked out like we didn't matter to him. Like he didn't care."

"How old were you then Kieran?" Mac asked.

"I don't know…I guess I was about five."

"You were just a little boy," Mac told him. "You couldn't have possibly known what was going on in your house between your parents. Your father never stopped loving or wanting you or your siblings. It killed him to walk away from not only his children, but his wife. But at that point in time, it was the smartest thing for him to do. Your mom and dad were going through some tough times. They needed to spend some time apart to learn what mattered most to them. To learn how to get along and have a strong, successful marriage. They never stopped loving one another. And they never will. Didn't your dad come to see you every chance he got? Didn't he show up on Christmas Day and your birthday? Didn't he spend as much time with you as he possibly could?"

Kieran nodded.

"Don't ever doubt that your father loves you. Or your mother. He loves her with every inch and fibre of his being. She made him into a man. I've known your dad a long time, and when your mother came along, I noticed the transformation in him almost immediately. He smiled more, he laughed more. His eyes lit up whenever she walked in a room. Everything he felt was laid bear for the world to see. Exactly the way it is now. The way he looks at your mother? The way he feels about her? That's special, Kieran. And your mother loves him just the same."

"Sometimes I wonder why," Kieran admitted. "They fight so much. And dad says some nasty things to her."

"And your mother gives as good as she gets, trust me. They're an explosive combination. But they love one another. And they love all of you. And they've done damn good raising you and your siblings despite the fact neither of them had great parental role models growing up."

"I know grandpa was really mean to dad growing up," Kieran said. "And my grandma on my mom's side, well she's just a mean old witch. I hate the way she treats my mom. It pisses me off. 'Cause every time she calls, she gets nasty and then mom starts to cry and I hate seeing her like that. And I know that my mom was…" he took a deep breath and lowered his voice. "…molested when she was a kid."

"Your mother told you about that?"

Kieran nodded. "When she and dad told me about what happened to me. She told me that it had happened to her too. That her birth dad did it. And not just once either. Lots of times."

"Unfortunately," Mac said.

"People like that should be shot and pissed on," Kieran declared and sipped his milkshake. "Mommy didn't deserve that. And I didn't either."

"No one deserves that," Mac said. "Do you ever have any memories about it?"

The teenager shook his head. "I don't remember anything. Is that normal?"

"You were just a toddler. It's not a surprise that you don't remember."

"Will I ever?"

"I doubt it," Mac told him. "You were just little."

Kieran nodded and bit into his cheeseburger. Chewing quietly before swallowing. "Am I weird, Papa Mac?" he asked.

Mac frowned. "Why would you think that?" he asked in return.

"Because of what happened to me. Because of what that guy did. Am I weird? Like, am I going to end up being gay when I'm older 'cause some guy did that to me?"

"No," Mac answered confidently. "You're not weird and it does not mean you're going to turn out gay. Why would you ask that?"

Kieran sighed heavily. "Something happened. A couple of months ago. And I'm kind of weirded out by it."

"And what was this something that happened?" Mac asked.

Kieran took a long sip of his milkshake. "A friend of mine…we were just hanging out….playing video games and stuff. And he kinda, sorta kissed me."

Mac's eyes widened.

"I didn't kiss him back or anything!" Kieran exclaimed. "'Cause I don't swing that way, you know. And I kinda laughed it off after it was over and everything. And now when I'm around him, it's really weird. 'Cause I'm always worried he's going to do it again."

"Did you tell your friend that you didn't like it?"

Kieran nodded. "He knows I'm not like that. I mean, back then I was with Addie and now I'm with Alessa and me and Alessa have a normal relationship and all that."

"Normal as in…"

"We have sex and stuff. Like full out sex."

Mac coughed noisily. "Do your parents know about any of this?" he asked.

The fifteen year old shook his head. "Well, dad knows that Alessa and I are having sex. I told him and he took me out and bought me this huge stash of condoms. And I use them. And I hide them from mommy. She'd freak out for sure. And as far as my friend goes? They don't know anything about that. My dad would shit himself if he knew that Aiden was gay."

Mac's eyes widened for the second time in the conversation.

"And never mind what Uncle Danny would do," Kieran continued. "It would probably put Uncle Danny in an early grave. It's why Aiden drinks as much as he does. 'Cause he's struggling with coming out. I told him it doesn't matter. People aren't all anal about being gay in this day and age. It's not a massive thing. I don't see anything wrong with it. I'm still his friend whether or not he's into the Johnson or into the…"

"I get the picture, Kieran," Mac said, sipping his coffee.

"Do you see why I can't talk to my dad sometimes?" Kieran asked. "He'd totally lose it over some of this stuff."

Mac nodded in agreement.

Goddamn the secret lives of teenagers, he thought.

It was definitely the stuff ulcers and grey hair was made of.

But, he contemplated, as he and Kieran quietly enjoyed their meals, if he was able to get through to Kieran in some small way, to make him realize that the world wasn't out to get him, then Marine Mac Taylor had completed the first part of his mission.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers! Please, please R and R folks! Makes my day!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**Hope4sall**

**muchmadness**

**Laplandgurl**

**wolfeylady**

**Soccer-bitch**

**HighQueen Reicheru**

**Forest Angel**

**New-york-babee**

**Bluehaven4220**

**Delko's Girl 88**


	75. This is MY life

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND BABY KIERAN**

**SPECIAL WELCOME TO: LEGOLASSS**

**APOLOGIES AHEAD OF TIME IF THIS ISN'T THE GREATEST CHAPTER EVER. I'VE BEEN DEALING WITH A CROUPY BABY WITH A CASE OF STREP THROAT, AND A PARTNER THAT JUST RETURNED FROM DC TODAY. THANKS TO ALL OF YOU FOR YOUR KIND WORDS AND SUPPORT!**

* * *

**It's MY life**

"I've spent so much time believing  
That in this life you try to give all you can take  
When all along I've been needing was to find one good reason  
To give myself  
really give myself away  
Every smile that lights my face  
Every teardrop every trace  
Every secret in place  
belongs to you  
Anything that's good in me  
all I ever want to be  
Every drop of every dream  
belongs to you  
Oh the me that I remember always thought you had to keep it all inside  
Get in trouble for being tender  
so you never say surrender  
But it took you to finally prove me wrong  
I'm letting go  
I'm letting go now  
Of everything I've ever held unto  
Every place I've ever been  
Every chance I'll get again  
Every secret every sin belongs to you  
Anything that's good in me all I ever want to be  
Every drop of every dream belongs to you  
It all belongs to you."  
-Belongs to You, Emerson Drive

* * *

Flack could hear the excited shrieking and raucous giggling the moment he stepped off of the elevator and onto the seventh floor. Despite the loud talking and excessive volume of televisions, radios and conversations going on in various apartments on the floor, Kieran could be heard above it all. Laughing and 'singing' along to the theme song of whatever program was playing on the t.v. while banging and crashing various toys and carrying on a conversation with his mother. It was pretty much one sided on Sam's part. Nearly having to yell over the noise as she attempted to restore calm. Using such threats as the neighbours talking about what a bad, noisy baby he was, and that the superintendent was going to get mad and come upstairs and kick them out and they'd have to live on the street. Words that were completely lost on the nearly sixteen month old. Kieran neither understood, or took the threats seriously and continued on his merry way. Causing utter hell in the process.

To Flack, it was just the average noise of his daily life. What awaited him each night when he came home from a long and trying shift. His nerves on edge from dealing with the scum of the earth and getting little to no respect for doing it, all he had to do was stand at his front door and listening to the activity inside to feel rejuvenated. To put the toils and troubles of the day behind him. To turn what had been a permanent scowl into a broad smile. His adorable, precious son just enjoying life to the fullest, filling the home with laughter and love. And driving his mother insane in the process. And as he paused at the door to fish his keys from pocket of the suit jacket draped over his forearm, he could hear his wife moving around the kitchen as she prepared dinner, and their son running around the living room.

"MOMMEEE!" Kieran bellowed. "BOB ON! BOB ON!"

"Bob the Builder's on?" she asked.

"YEAH!" came the excited response. "BOB ON!"

"Well maybe you should be quiet so you can hear it," Sam suggested.

"Uh-uh," Kieran responded. "No 'iet, no 'iet! NO 'IET!"

"Kieran!" she shushed him noisily. "Knock it off. You're giving me a damn head ache."

"DAMN!" he shrieked and giggled. "DAMN MOMMY!"

Sam gave an exasperated sigh.

Flack grinned and slipped the key into the lock.

"Daddy's home, Kieran!" Sam called in a happy voice to the toddler crashing and banging in the other room. "Daddy's home."

"DADDEEE!" Kieran squealed. There was a loud clatter as he dropped whatever toy he had in his hand, and the sound of feet scampering across the hard wood. "DADDY'S OME! DADDY'S OME!"

Flack slowly and carefully let himself into the apartment. It was Kieran's common practice -if he was still awake when his dad arrived home- to rush to the door in greeting. And that evening was no different. No sooner did Flack get the door closed behind him, his toddler son came barrelling out of the living room and launched himself at his father's legs.

"DADDEEE!" Kieran cried, his arms spread wide.

"Hey, buddy," Flack greeted, scooping his son up effortlessly with one arm and showering the little boy with kisses on his cheeks and head. "You have a good day?" he asked. "You been a good boy for mommy?"

"Me good!" Kieran exclaimed, planting a noisy, wet kiss on his father's lips. "'ook, daddy!" he pointed to his face. Where there were Blue's Clues stickers plastered across his forehead and a black nose and whiskers drawn on his tender skin with eyeliner. A sticker graced the top of each hand.

"Who did all of that to you?" Flack asked. "And why?"

"Mommy!" Kieran squealed on his partner in crime. "'at, daddy! 'at!" he informed his father, then gave a valiant effort at meowing. "Ippers!" he giggled. "Ippers!"

"Okay…I get it. You're pretending to be a cat, like Slippers."

Kieran nodded and beamed broadly.

"Can you do me a favour?" Flack asked, as he placed his son on the floor and held out the carefully and beautifully wrapped bouquet flowers. "Can you give these to mommy while I take off my shoes and stuff?"

"Mommy?" Kieran asked, and taking the item offered to him, wrapped both arms lightly around it.

"Go and give those to mommy. Then come back here and I'll give you a surprise."

"Sa-pize?" Kieran's blue eyes sparkled excitedly. "Me Sa-pize?"

"Yep. A surprise just for you, But first you go and give those to mommy."

"O'tay," the little boy chirped and turned and toddled into the kitchen, while his father lingered behind to toe off his shoes and hung up his jacket. "Mommy!" Kieran called. "Mommy 'ook!"

"What do you have there, baby boy?" Sam asked, as she stepped away from the pot of carrots, baby corn and peas boiling on the stove. "Are those for me?"

"Daddy!" Kieran told her.

"They're from daddy? Can I see them?" she inquired, prying the flowers from her son's grasp.

The little boy nodded. "Fowers," he announced.

"Pretty flowers," Sam agreed and tore open the mauve and silver stripped paper to reveal a gorgeous assortment of pink and white champagne roses. A single purple one nestled in the middle. She smiled brightly at her husband as he journeyed into the kitchen, setting a plastic bag down on the counter before loosening his tie and unbuttoning the cuffs of his dress shirt before rolling the sleeves up to his elbows. "Baby, they're beautiful," she gushed. "Thank you. I love them."

He returned the smile and kissed her softly. Pressing his lips to her temple, he laid a gentle hand on her ever growing baby bump and pulled back to look at her. Smirking at the sight of the nose and whiskers that adorned her face as well. "You too?" he asked. "What did I miss? How come you two are walking around dressed as cats?"

"We were watching The Aristocats," Sam told him. "I thought it would be cute to get into character. And what are the flowers for? Just because?"

"It's a special occasion today, he responded, rubbing her stomach.

She frowned as she looked down at the flowers cradled along her forearm. "It is?"

"You mean you honestly don't remember what today is?" he feigned hurt.

"Well Valentine's Day is long past and my birthday was four days ago. It was two years since we met last month so it's not that, and our anniversary is in December…"

"It's been two years," Flack informed her. "You seriously don't remember?"

"Maybe the babies are sucking my brains out," Sam sighed. "But nothing is coming to mind."

"Two years since he was conceived," Flack nodded down at Kieran and ran a hand over his son's hair. "I can't believe you didn't remember?"

"I can't believe you do," she said with a small laugh. "Do you have all of this stuff written down somewhere?"

He tapped a finger tip to his temple. "I commit all the really important stuff to memory," he told her.

"Which explains why I can ask you to take the garbage down to the chute and ten minutes later you're still sitting on the couch," she teased.

"No. That's just because I have selective hearing. Anything to do with house work just goes in one ear and out the other. You like the flowers though? I got that one purple one put in there to symbolize K. Pretty damn romantic if I do say so myself. Definitely one of my finer moments."

"I think they're beautiful," she said, and accepted a long, soft kiss. "How was the rest of your day?" she asked, laying the flowers down on the counter before moving to the fridge and grabbing the simple glass vase that sat empty on top of it.

Flack shrugged. "You know how it is, same crap, different day," he grabbed the plastic bag and opened it up. "Look what I got for you, Kieran," he said, as his little son stood with his arms circling his dad's thigh, looking up with huge blue eyes. "Look what daddy bought for you today."

"Mine?" Kieran asked, letting go of his dad's leg and reaching up as Flack pulled a Little Tikes police car from the bag. Already out of the packaging, the batteries already in enabling the sirens to blare and the lights to flash.

"Yours," his dad confirmed. "Another toy to drive your mommy insane with."

"Oh joy, oh bliss," Sam sighed. "What did daddy buy you, Kieran? Is he spoiling you as usual? What did you get?"

"Dis!" Kieran held the toy up for her to see. "Caw."

"Police car," Sam told him, pressing down on the lights mounted on top of the roof to turn the sound effects on. "What does daddy do for his job, K?"

"Daddy peas-man," the toddler answered quickly and confidently, staring down with wide, interested eyes at the toy in his hand.

"What does mommy do?" Flack asked.

Kieran shrugged. "Mommy mommy," he replied.

"Mommy's a science nerd," his father told him, receiving a glare and slap on the shoulder from his wife as he went to the fridge and opened it and took out a can of root beer. "She plays with test tubes and beakers and petri dishes all day."

Sam snorted and rolled her eyes. Laying a hand on the back of Kieran's head, she gently moved him along so she could pull open the oven door to check on the tuna steaks she had placed in the oven twenty minutes before.

"So what else did you guys do today?" Flack asked. "Other than making yourselves look like cats and watching movies?"

"We were lazy today," Sam replied. "We stayed in our pyjamas until afternoon and had a nice, long nap together."

"So while I'm out chasing bad guys, you two are living the good life," Flack concluded. "Something not quite right about that. I think I should take a couple of days off and sleep until noon hour and stay in my pyjamas all day."

"Well get pregnant with triplets and you can do just that," Sam teased him. "I think I've earned my right to hang out and do nothing. I've only put on nearly seventy pounds and have massively swollen ankles and the worst heart burn and nausea known to man. All because of you and your demon sperm."

"Hey, me and my demon sperm get the job done, don't we? Four kids in less then two years? We're goddamn miracle workers if I don't say so myself. Think if you'd hooked up with Messer or Hawkes that they'd be able to knock you up three times at once? I think not. That was all me, baby. All me."

"At least we didn't have to take fertility drugs or anything," Sam said, rubbing the small of her back. "My luck, I would have ended up pregnant with octuplets like that crazy woman last year who already had six kids under the age of seven."

"Now that's just wrong," Flack declared. "Fourteen kids. That's abnormal. No one in their right mind has that many kids. I'm surprised she wasn't committed after that. I thought for sure she wanted to have that many so she could sell them and make huge money. 'Cause no one wants that many kids for themselves."

"Not someone remotely normal," Sam and grimaced. "God…someone is sitting right on my bladder and someone else keeps nailing me in the ribs with their big feet. What the third one is up to, I have no idea."

"Chilling out and taking it easy," Flack concluded, looking down at Kieran sitting at his feet, running his new car along the floor. "The boy is probably just hanging out. Letting the girls cause all the issues. Like girls do."

"We don't know for sure that the ultrasound technician was right," Sam told him, leaning back against the sink and stroking her stomach in slow, smooth circles.

"Hey, I saw a penis, okay? There was no denying that. And I only saw the one and nothing on the other two babies. I am telling you, it's two girls and one boy. Don't underestimate my baby guessing ability. I was right about K from the second you told me you were pregnant. I said a boy and low and behold."

"Well as long as it's not three boys," she sighed. "'Cause that I could not deal with."

"I don't know how I'm going to deal with having two girls," Flack said, sipping his pop. "I know nothing about girls. What am I suppose to do with girls?"

"Same thing you do with boys. Change them, feed the, burp them…."

"I mean when they're older. When guys start getting interested in them and they want to wear makeup and need training bras and start their periods. When all they want to do is talk on the phone with boys and go out on dates and wear their school kilts so short they barely cover their ass. I mean, I can't cope with that stuff. I'm a guy."

"Well first off, they're not even born yet so you getting stressed about things that are about thirteen, fourteen years away is just silly," his wife told him. "Second, by the time all that happens, you'll have raised them for over a decade and you'll know what to do with them. It'll just be old hat by then."

"I am telling you right now, babe, I am setting the ground rules early on. First, no wearing make up until at least sixteen…."

Sam arched an eyebrow.

"Second, no phones in their rooms. And most definitely no cell phones or not private lines of their own. Three, kilts stay below the knee at all times. And four, as far as guys are concerned? No dating until they're in college. Better yet, until they're out of college."

Sam laughed. "Well I hate to burst your bubble, but you are way out of touch with teenage girls."

"I don't care what other teenage girls are doing. That's what my girls are going to be doing."

"Okay…well I agree on the no separate phone line in their rooms. But I like the idea of cell phones to keep an eye on them."

"Keep an eye on them?" Flack laughed. "And whose going to be shelling out the massive phone bill when all they do is text message their friends?"

"And the kilt thing?" Sam continued. "We can make sure they're where they should be when they leave the house, but trust me, Donnie. The second they're around the corner, they're rolling the damn things up. I went to a Catholic high school. I know all the tricks."

"So they go to boarding school then," he said. "That way they don't turn into evil, dirty little Catholic school girls like their mother."

Sam frowned.

He grinned and pressed a kiss to her temple. "And the dating thing?" he asked.

"We can't stop them from being interested in boys," Sam replied. "And we can't stop boys from being interested in them. I say no dating until they're at least sixteen."

"I was thinking more along the lines of twenty-six," Flack declared.

His wife arched both eyebrows and stared pointedly at him.

"Twenty-five?"

She shook her head.

"Look, I'll go as young as nineteen and that's it. No way are my baby girls going out with guys before that."

"You are so delusional, Donnie," she sighed heavily, and pushed herself away from the counter. "Could you do me a favour? While you're fantasizing about all the nights you'll have on our front porch, a shot gun in your lap waiting for your daughters to come home from dates?"

"If it has anything to do with dishes or scrubbing the toilet…"

"I know. I know. House work causes your allergies to act up."

"Smart ass," he grumbled.

"Would you take Kieran out in the living room and play with him? So I can finish dinner?"

"I suppose…" Flack said and sighed exasperatedly. "You know how much I just hate spending time with my son."

"Okay Mr Sarcasm," she smirked. "Just take your ass on out of my kitchen, okay?"

He held a hand up in surrender. "Are we eating those damn frozen veggies and tuna things again?"

"What do you mean again? We haven't had them since last week."

"Last week is still fresh in my memory. And when you say steak babe, I'm thinking meat. Red meat. Medium rare. With like fried onions and mushrooms and a big ass baked potato."

"Well take your dreams of steak sides out into the living room," she suggested. "And pretending when you're eating supper that you're eating beef."

"I'm making the damn grocery list next time," he grumbled. "Come on, K," reaching down, he took his son under the arm and pulled him to his feet. "Let's leave mommy to her happy homemaker best."

"You are cruising for bruising, Donald," she warned her husband, as he and their son headed out into the living room.

"I am just having some fun with you. Just 'cause your hormones are all out of bloody whack and you can't…"

"And whose fault is that?" she asked.

"That's right. Everything that happens around here is my fault," he laughed. "I will be so glad when you're not pregnant anymore. So I can have my wife back."

"Just to let you know ahead of time, we're never having sex again unless you wear about half a dozen condoms!" she called.

"Yeah…right," he responded with a hearty chuckle. "And by the way?" he poked his head back into the kitchen. "Steak sides? Who do you think I am? Danny Messer?"

She smirked and shook her head. "You are so mean to that man," she sighed.

"Love him like a brother," Flack declared. "Even if I do want to kill him half the time."

"You couldn't live without him, Don. Admit it."

Flack nodded in agreement. "Life would definitely be dull," he said.

"DADDEEE!" Kieran called from the living room. "Otty! Otty, daddy!"

Flack frowned and looked at his wife. "We need a translator for this kid."

"OTTY!" Kieran shrieked. "DADDEEE! OTTY!"

"He's telling you he needs to go to the potty," Sam informed her husband. "He's only got pull ups on. So unless you want a mess to clean up on the hardwood floors…."

"He's miraculously potty trained?" excitement crept into Flack's voice and eyes. "Since when?"

"He's not trained per say. He's just starting to be able to tell us when he needs to sit on the potty. When he got up this morning, he was dry so I stripped off his diaper and sat him on the potty. He went pee. And you know how the potty plays music and the lights flash when he goes?"

Flack nodded.

"Well he got a huge kick out of that so I decided put him in the pull ups and take my chances. Only two accidents all day."

"That's my boy," Flack praised. "Acting like a big kid already."

"Well you'll he having a puddle to clean up if you don't get to him in time," his wife told him.

"I'm on it," he said and disappeared into the living room. "Okay, big guy," she heard him say to their son. "Show daddy what you can do."

"Go otty!" Kieran cried. "Pee-pee otty!"

Sam grinned and went back to preparing dinner. Listening to father and son carrying on a mostly one sided conversation about big kids and not needing diapers soon and being able to stand up and go pee before long. The end of the talk punctuated by the music on the Fisher Price potty.

"Me otty!" Kieran shrieked in sheer happiness.

"That's amazing little man," his father gushed. Pride evident in his voice. "You're a big boy now. You're not a baby anymore."

In the kitchen, Sam smiled to herself. It was a bitter sweet moment. Her first born, whom she'd fought so hard to bring safely into the world, was growing up before her very eyes. And inside of her, were three new lives that were depending on their parents to take care of them and love them.

She only hoped and prayed, that they were up to the challenge.

* * *

"So Danny and I are going to take a trip into Queens on the weekend," Flack commented, two hours following dinner, as he lay on his side in the middle of the living room floor in a pair of NYPD sweats and a ratty t-shirt. One eye on the ancient episode of ER playing on one of the satellite channels, and his other eye on Kieran sitting next to him. The toddler's hair was still damp from his bath and he was clad in a pair of NHL pyjamas as he played with a light up, musical shape sorter.

"You guys are going to go see the house?" Sam asked, as she relaxed on the couch in her own pyjamas. Stretched out with a copy of The National Enquirer resting on her stomach. She loved evenings like this. Quiet, unassuming nights shared with her family. The supper clean up long completed, no other house work to catch up on. Time to just relax and take it easy.

Flack nodded. "There's lots that's going to be need done before we can move anything in there. I need to put some extra insulation in the attic and I want to sand down the back deck and paint it and put sealant on it. And I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to get an electrician to come in and make sure all the wiring is safe and up to standards. And I want to get a better look at all the windows. Especially in the room we want to use for the babies."

"Have you ever thought of just hiring a contractor to take care of all of that stuff?" she asked.

Flack looked at her as if she was crazy. "You have any idea how much that would cost us? We're lucky Danny's got a cousin whose an electrician. If stuff needs to be done to the wiring, we'll get a massive discount. And Scagnetti's got a friend of the family that does plumbing and says if we need any work done, to let him know."

"I hope that this house doesn't have that much wrong with it," Sam sighed. "It looked fine when we went to look at it and put in our offer."

"We only saw what's on the outside of the walls, babe. Who knows what things are like behind the scenes. Don't worry about it. Whatever needs to be done, I'll take care of it. Okay?"

"All I ask is that you paint our bedroom. The other rooms are fine. But I can't sleep in a room with puke green walls."

"I promise you that when you come home from the hospital with them babies, the place will be like a palace. I'll have it looking like a million bucks."

Beside him, Kieran gave a frustrated yelp and threw himself face down on the floor and began to whine.

"What's going on, buddy?" Flack asked, sitting up and gathering Kieran and the shape sorter up and placing both between his legs. "What's pissing you off?"

"DIS!" Kieran cried, holding aloft a yellow plastic star.

"Well what are you trying to do with it?" his dad asked, scooping up the other shapes on the floor beside them.

"DIS!" his son exclaimed, and tried shoving the star into the shape of a circle.

"That's not going to work big guy," Flack said, his voice calm and quiet. "You can't put that one in there."

"DIS!" Kieran attempted to push the shape through the wrong hole once again.

"Here," Flack took the star and set it aside and gathered a circle, a square and a triangle into the palm of his hand. "Try these ones," he said, offering the toys to his son.

"Dis?" Kieran asked, sniffling noisily and blinking back tears as he plucked a square from his dad's hand. "Dis?"

"That's a square," Flack told him. "It goes here…" he said, laying his large, strong hand over his son's tiny one and directing Kieran towards the right opening on the toy. The shape sorter lit up and its lights flashed as the toddler deposited the block into it's proper hole.

"Dis?" Kieran asked, grabbing a hold of the circle and holding it up.

"That's a circle," his dad replied. "It goes in this one here," he pointed to the proper opening.

"Here?" the toddler asked, his hand lingering over the hole.

Flack nodded.

Kieran dropped the circle into it's spot and clapped noisily when the toy's music sounded and the lights flashed.

"What about this one?" Flack asked, holding out the triangle. "Where does this one go?"

His son took the object from his hand, studied it for a moment with his tiny head cocked to the side, then placed the triangle into the appropriate slot.

"Me!" he squealed happily, clapping his hands when he was rewarded with music and lights and his parents praising him.

"Let's try the ones on the other side," Flack suggested, flipping the shape sorter over to reveal three new slots. A heart, a cross, and a star. Then gathering up the matching blocks.

Sam smiled and settled against the pillow wedged between her back and the arm of the couch. The triplets had, by the grace God decided to give her a reprieve for the past hour and a half. Aside from the occasional twist and turn, they had put their elbows and feet to rest for the time being. She was growing irritable and more and more tired as the days went on. There were mornings that she could barely get out of bed without feeling winded, nor walk to the bathroom without her back aching and her ankles swelling to twice their size. She was definitely looking forward to the whole ordeal being over and done with. Although the thought of spending a month or so in the hospital was daunting, she knew it guaranteed her the proper rest and the proper medical care both she and the triplets would need.

For now, she pushed all thoughts of hospital stays and child birth and the time her babies would spend in the NICU afterwards aside. She stretched out her legs and sipped at a mug of decaf tea her husband had prepared for her and flipped through her magazine as she listened to the two most important men in her life co-existing peacefully in the middle of the living room floor. Her husband possessing the utmost patience for their toddler son as he taught Kieran -slowly and surely- what shapes belonged where. It was hard to believe that this man, who away from home was so assertive and aggressive and downright intimidating, could be so soft and gentle behind closed doors. She had seen, in one day alone, her husband manhandling an out of control perp, and twelve hours later, walk the floors of the apartment soothing a colicky baby. Bleary eyed and exhausted yet fully in control while she herself was a near hysterical mess.

She had lucked out the day she had met him. She couldn't have picked a better man to marry or have a family with. And she thanked God every day that her husband had picked her to spend the rest of his life with.

She looked up from her magazine as Kieran gave an ear piercing shriek, followed by a full out belly laugh. His face glowing with pure delight as his father tossed him in the air and caught him effortlessly over and over again. One of his all time favourite games.

"Who needs to go to the gym," Flack said, his rich laugh mingling with his son's much higher pitched giggle. "I can just lie here and to presses with him and I get an awesome work out. He's getting damn heavy."

"It's because all he does is eat," Sam declared.

"Definitely your father's boy," Flack told his son, as he settled a breathless Kieran on his stomach.

"And did you see the size of his feet?" Sam added. "Honestly, Donnie. His feet are massive. Look at those things."

"He just takes after me," Flack told her, as he picked up one of Kieran's bare feet and studied it. "He's got your funny looking toes though. The big toe that turns up and the others that curve into the one beside it."

"Are you trying to say that my feet are ugly?" Sam asked, her eyes skimming an article on the train wreck that was Britney Spears.

"No," he replied. "I am trying to say that they're funny looking. I love you no matter what. Funny looking toes and all."

She grinned and flipped her page. "That answer just saved you from a lifetime on the couch," she declared. "You know, I watched this really screwed up show earlier today. You remember that guy Joshua Jackson?"

"Pacey from Dawson's Creek? Played Charlie in the Mighty Ducks movies, too. What about him?"

"Well I think he was part of the FBI. But to be honest, it was so screwed up, I couldn't tell you exactly what this show was about. I don't know if it was about aliens or mutations or what the hell. But it was plain screwed up."

"What was it called?"

"I think it was called Fringe. Shows you how much I was paying attention. But seriously, it was messed up. And I used to love him when he played Pacey."

"This show wasn't on CBS was it?" Flack asked, as he tickled his son's toes as he played a game of This Little Piggy with the toddler. "Because they've been showing a lot of shit lately. And every time you watch something on CBS, you get those weird dreams."

"It was on Fox," Sam told him.

"Christ, even worse," Flack grumbled. "And this little piggy went wee, wee, wee, wee all the way home," he sing-songed to his son, tickling Kieran all the way from the top of his foot to the inside of his chubby thigh.

Kieran roared in laughter and tumbled sideways off of his father's stomach. Unharmed and unfazed, he breathlessly pulled himself up onto his feet, then threw himself stomach down on top of his father's chest.

"Please be careful you two," Sam said, looking up from her reading and over to where her husband and toddler son were rough housing in the middle of the living room floor. Kieran loved to wrestle and play fight. And his father was always willing and able to oblige. "The last time you two carried on like that, someone got kneed in the family jewels."

"No harm, no foul," Flack told her. "Didn't do any permanent damage. Not that I know of anyway. I guess we'll know when we're trying to have our next baby."

"Our next baby?" Sam laughed. "You're delusional. These three are our last."

"Please," he said. "We won't be able to stop at four and you know it."

"We're stopping at four whether you like it or not," Sam informed him, sipping her tea.

"Never," Flack declared, as he and Kieran collapsed onto their backs beside each other on the floor, their chests heaving with exertion. "I think he's going to be ready for bed soon," he told his wife. "I wore him out."

"Whatever helps him sleep through the night," Sam sighed. "I was thinking that maybe we should…."

Her sentence was cut off by a loud knock at their apartment door.

"You expecting someone?" Flack asked, as he rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself up onto his feet.

"It's probably Danny or Lindsay needing to borrow something," she said in reply.

"They have keys and usually just let themselves in," Flack reminded her, as he gathered Kieran up and settled him alongside of his mother. "Be careful, K," he warned. "No kicking mommy in the tummy."

"Mommy baby," the toddler said, laying one hand on his mom's stomach before shoving the thumb of the other hand in his mouth.

* * *

Flack yawned noisily as he headed through the living room and into the small foyer. Flicking on the hall light before unlocking the dead bolt and sliding the chain across and opening the door. A frown covering his face at the sight of Chester Lake standing on his door step.

"Flack," the other man greeted with a polite nod.

"It's kind of late for a visit," Flack said. "Especially an unexpected one."

Lake checked his watch. "It's only quarter after eight."

"We've got a little kid. Quarter after eight is late for us."

"I was just hoping that I could talk to Sam for a few minutes. We haven't exactly been on the best of terms since our disagreement over Sara a couple of days ago. And there's some things that I want to talk to her about."

"You couldn't call her on the phone?" Flack asked. He admitted, and only to himself, that the thought of his wife at one time being intimate with the other man, and bearing his child at such a young age, made him incredibly uncomfortable. And that he had found it hard to work alongside of Lake ever since Sam had broke the news to him. "Or stop by the lab tomorrow?"

"I changed my mind about things," Lake replied. "I talked to Sara earlier and…well there's just some things I need to talk to Sam about."

Flack sighed heavily and reluctantly stepped aside and opened the door wide as he motioned for the other man to step inside.

"Hope I'm not keeping you guys up or anything," Lake said, as he toed off his shoes.

"I was just going to put K to bed and get some paper work done," Flack told him, locking the door back up and heading out into the living room.

"No rest for the weary," Lake commented.

"You've got a visitor, Sammie," Flack told his wife.

She looked up from stroking Kieran's hair. The toddler nearly asleep, cuddled in tight against her. She blinked at the sight of Chester Lake standing in her living room. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I need to talk to you," he replied. "About Sara."

She nodded slowly.

"I'm just going to put him to bed," Flack said, as he carefully picked his son's tiny body up into his arms.

Lake waited until the other man left the room before taking a seat at the end of the couch. Several minutes passed before he spoke. "How are you feeling?" he asked Sam, as she shifted her position, her feet brushing up against his thigh.

"Fat and uncomfortable," she replied, snapping her magazine shut and tossing it on the coffee table.

"Well you look good," Lake told her. "Not too much longer to go, I guess."

"Long enough," she sighed. "So?" she asked. "Why are you here? Why did you just decide to show up on my door step?"

"Like I said, it's about Sara. I've been doing a lot of thinking since we talked the other day."

Sam arched her eyebrows as she sipped her now lukewarm tea.

"I know that I was a little harsh and that I…"

Lake paused as Flack, carrying a lap top computer he'd snagged from the master bedroom, journeyed back into the living room.

"Don't let me interrupt," Flack said with a polite smile and took a seat in the reclining chair next to the couch. "You want to talk to my wife, do it in front of me. I live here, too."

"I just thought maybe talking about past personal stuff might make you uncomfortable," Lake commented.

"It was nineteen years ago right?" Flack asked with a shrug of indifference. "What Sammie did back then doesn't bother me. What bothers me is an ex boyfriend showing up at the apartment where she lives with her husband to talk about the past."

"Donnie, please," Sam begged. "Don't get upset."

"Whose getting upset?" he asked, powering up his lap top. "I'm just stating the facts."

Sam sighed heavily and shook her head. "Go ahead, Chester," she said.

"Like I was saying, I've been thinking a lot about what we talked about when we met for lunch the other day. And I realized that I may have been a little harsh."

Flack coughed noisily.

Lake glanced over at him.

"It's dry in here," Flack said. "Ignore me."

"I shouldn't have reacted like I did," Lake continued. "When you expressed interest in meeting our daughter…"

Flack looked over at the other man, not liking the way like stressed the words OUR DAUGHTER.

"…I never should have reacted like I did," Lake said regretfully. "You have ever right to be concerned about Sara and want to meet her. You made the decision you did….we made the decision we did based on what was best for her. We never would have been able to give her a proper home. We were babies ourselves and we never would have been able to take care of her the way she deserved. We did the right thing by giving her up. And we're lucky that she went to a great home. That she has parents that love her as much as they do."

"It was better for her to go to someone else who could properly provide for her," Sam said. "I don't regret the decision I made."

"And you shouldn't," Lake assured her. "And she understands why we gave her up. She has no hard feelings against either of us."

"You talked to her?" Sam asked.

He nodded. "After I sat back and thought about what went down between us, I called her up and told her that I'd talked to her birth mother. And that you wanted to meet her."

"And?" Sam inquired.

"And she thought that it was a great idea," Lake told her. "And she asked me if she could have a picture of you. And your name and phone number. So she can call you and the two of you can get together. I told her that you were married and had a little boy and triplets on the way. She's excited about maybe being part of their lives."

Flack cleared his throat noisily.

Both Sam and Lake looked over at him.

"What?" Flack asked innocently.

"So does that sound like an okay plan?" Lake asked Sam. "I mean if you don't feel comfortable handling things that way…"

"It's fine," Sam assured her. "You can give her one of my business cards. And I think there's some pictures around here somewhere. Donnie can find one for you."

Flack didn't move from his seat. Or look up from his typing.

"Donnie?" Sam asked.

"What, babe?" he inquired.

"Could you find a picture of me for Chester? A recent one?"

"Right now?" Flack asked incredulously.

Sam smiled sweetly and nodded.

He sighed heavily and sat his lap top down on the floor before climbing out of the chair reluctantly. Journeying over to the entertainment unit on the far wall, he pulled a family photo album from off on of the shelves and flipped through it before selecting a photo of Sam taken at Kieran's first birthday party. Snapping the album closed, he carried the photo over to the couch and dropped it in Lake's lap before returning to the recliner.

"Now do you two need me for anything else?" Flack asked, settling the lap top on his thighs once again.

Sam glared at him.

Lake cleared his throat noisily, embarrassed and uncomfortable with the thick tension that now hung in the room. "This is perfect," he said, picking up the photo. "I should get going. I'll get a hold of Sara tomorrow and give her everything."

"I'll walk you to the door," Sam offered.

"It's okay," Lake assured her as he stood up. "Stay off your feet. I can see myself out."

"Well someone needs to lock the door after you leave," she said, staring pointedly at her husband.

Flack sighed once again, placed the computer on the coffee table and stood up. "After you," he said to Lake, motioning for the other man to go ahead of him.

"Talk soon," Lake said to Sam, leaning down to lay a gentle hand on her stomach before leaving the room.

No words were spoken between the two men as they headed for the front door.

"Thanks for giving me just a little bit of your spare time," Lake said to Flack, as the latter unlocked the front door and yanked it open. "I'm sure it just burned your ass to be sociable."

Flack smiled politely. "Have a nice night, Lake," he said simply.

Lake snorted and shook his head and stepped out into the hallway. "You know," he turned back suddenly and stuck his foot in the door before Flack could close it. "Just because Samantha and I had a history, doesn't mean I'm trying to bust up your marriage. And if you had a strong marriage and you trusted your wife, you wouldn't be so self-conscious about any guy that so much as looks her way."

"Fuck you, Lake. This is my house. That's my wife. Whose pregnant with my kids. Who gave birth to my son. And you come here talking this kind of shit to me? Piss off and get the hell out of here."

"Maybe if you treated her a little bit better, you wouldn't have this paranoia about her taking off on you."

"And maybe if you had respect for me and her, you wouldn't be talking this kind of crap. So do me a favour, get the hell out of here before I show you a seriously lack of respect by kicking your ass."

"One day, Flack, one day she's going to wake up and realize she deserves better. She's going to wake up and realize she's better off without you."

"Yeah? And will this be the same day you realize how pathetic this whole unrequited love thing you got going on for her really is?"

Lake laughed dryly. "Think about what I said. You can't treat her like this forever and expect her to always stick around."

"Good night, Lake," Flack said, forcibly shutting the door. Fighting off the urge to step out into the hallway and lay a beating of a life time on the other man.

He locked the door up tight and turned off the lights before journeying back into the living room. Gathering up the lap top, he sat down beside his wife on the couch.

Sam stared long and hard at him.

"What?" Flack asked irritably.

"Nothing," she sighed and stood up. "I'm going to bed."

"You do that," he said. "And while you're at it, think long and hard about what you're getting yourself into."

She paused in the doorway. "What's that suppose to mean?"

"I hope you know what you're doing," he told her. "Getting mixed up with stuff from your past like this."

She snorted. "Make sure you lock up and turn off all the lights," she said, and turned her back on him and disappeared down the hall.

Flack sighed heavily and briefly closed his eyes.

Hoping to God that the past wasn't going to come back and haunt them

Or destroy them.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! But please, please R and R folks! Makes my day!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

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**Bluehaven4220**

**New-york-babeee**

**ImaSupernaturalCSI**

**wolfeylady**


	76. Intentionally unannounced

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER SAMANTHA AND KIERAN FLACK**

**A/N: PLEASE VISIT MY PROFILE AND CAST A VOTE ON MY POLL! NOT SURE WHERE IT WILL LEAD ME, BUT WE'LL SEE….**

* * *

**Intentionally unannounced **

"I got miles of trouble spreadin' far and wide  
Bills on the table gettin' higher and higher  
They just keep on comin',  
there ain't no end in sight  
I'm just holding on tight...  
I've got someone who loves me more then words can say  
And I'm thankful for that each and every day  
And if I count all my blessings, I get a smile on my face  
Still it's hard to find faith...  
But if you can look in my eyes  
And tell me we'll be alright  
If you promise never to leave  
You just might make me believe."  
-Just Might (Make me believe), Sugarland

* * *

"Kieran Shaun Donald Flack!" Sam's voice reverberated throughout the entire apartment. "Get back here right now!"

"NO!" the defiant toddler screamed back in response. "NO MOMMY!"

Flack's eyes snapped open at the sounds of morning chaos erupting outside of the closed bedroom door. Stomach down, face smothered in his pillow, he listened to various objects being tossed and scattered around the living room and the pounding of big feet and the patter of little ones as mother and son stomped across the hardwood floors. A loud crash, followed by Kieran's shrieks of anger and frustration and his mother scolding him, prompted Flack to abandon sleep and raised his face from his pillow. Propping himself up on his elbows, he cast a glance over at the bedside clock.

Thirteen minutes after eight and the already the last day of April had arrived with a vengeance. Both inside the cramped apartment and out. Excessively bright, warm sunshine poured into the room as a stiff breeze tousled the curtains. Birds sang merrily, traffic roared by on the street below and pedestrians on the sidewalk laughed and chattered noisily. Normally, the sounds of happy and cheerful every day life were a welcome relief compared to the often dark and vicious nature so often associated with the city. But the noise, no matter how pleasant, was none to appetizing or welcome to someone who'd barely managed to clock four and a half hours of sleep.

He heard the scampering of tiny feet as they raced down the hallway towards the bedroom. Then a soft thud as Kieran either sat or laid down in front of the bedroom door.

"Don't you make me come and get you!" Sam yelled, the volume of her voice giving away the fact she was standing at the end of the hall. Just outside of the living room. "If I have to come and get you…"

"DADDEEE!" Kieran pounded on the door with some kind of dull, heavy object. "UP DADDEEE! UP!"

Flack sighed heavily. Rolling over onto his back, he rubbed at his blurry, burning eyes. His allergies -which seemed to be to just about everything under the sun every time the warm weather arrived- were already acting up in full force despite the cocktail of antihistamines he'd swallowed down before climbing into bed following yet another long, tedious shift. He yawned noisily. The noise disturbing the cat sleeping, and snoring, next to him. Slippers regarding him through tiny slits in her eyes, yawned herself and stood up. She gave a massive stretched, flipped him in the face with her tail, and proceeded to turn a complete circle before lying down once again. Curling herself into a tight ball, purring contently.

"Get over here right now, Kieran!" Sam hissed. "Daddy's trying to sleep! Get over here!"

"NO!" Kieran bellowed. "NO MOMMY! BAD MOMMY!!"

The pounding at the door started up once again. Accompanied by a nerve grating scratching noise as the toddler scraped his fingernails against the wood. Flack shifted onto his side and looked over at the door, grinning at the sight of one tiny hand, its fingers wriggling, shoved under the door frame and poking into the room.

"You can not run around the house naked!" Sam informed their son. "You need to come with me and get a diaper on."

"NO!" Kieran argued. "NO 'IPER."

"Well a pull-ups then," his mother said. "But you can't be going around with your noonie hanging out."

"My noonie!" Kieran informed her.

"I know it's yours. But you can't show it to the entire world. And if you don't come with me and get a pull-up on, I'm going to call the police and have them come over here and take your noonie to jail. Do you want that?"

"Peas-man," Kieran said.

"Right. The policeman. And he'll come here and take your noonie and you'll never get it back. Is that what you want?"

"Want daddy!" the toddler cried, hammering on the door.

"Daddy's sleeping," Sam informed her son. "When mommy goes to work in a half an hour, then you'll get to spend all day with daddy. Just right now come and get a pull-up on and finish your breakfast."

There was a rustling noise as Kieran stood up. Finally relenting to the higher power. But not before giving a heavy, overly dramatic sigh.

Just like his mother, Flack thought with a smirk as he lay on his back once again, a forearm over his eyes.

"Don't be giving me looks like that young man," Sam huffed, as the sounds of their footsteps headed away from the bedroom door. "Don't be giving me none of that Flack attitude."

Flack couldn't help but laugh at that. A laugh that because of the congestion in his nose and throat, turned into a hacking cough that could wake the dead. Of course, indulging in a nearly pack and a half day smoking addiction didn't make the cough any better. He was still struggling in vain to kick the nasty, filthy habit. His cut off date was when his wife went into the hospital for the last month of her pregnancy. Before the triplets came home, he was determined to do whatever it took to get himself healthy again. The patch, the gum, hypnotism, he didn't really care. Whatever worked.

"DADDEEE!" Kieran cried happily, as the noise of the cough fell on his tiny ears.

"Please, Kieran, don't…"

But Sam's warnings and pleads fell on deaf ears. Flack heard the patter of his son's small feet as Kieran raced to the bedroom once again.

"DADDEE!" he called, smacking the door. "UP!"

"Kieran, give me a break here, child," Sam begged. "Just come with me…"

"It's okay, babe," Flack called to her. "Just let him in. I'm up anyway."

He wanted to add, "How in the hell can someone sleep in a place like this in the first place?", but held it back. Clearing his throat noisily, the door swung open, hitting the wall behind it hard enough to chip paint as Kieran bulldozed his way inside. Flack sat up, ready to greet his son cheerfully, until all words and thoughts were tossed aside as a horrific, excruciating pain shot through his entire stomach. Long past were the occasional pulls and knots he felt in his gut when he either moved or stretched the wrong way. What had been an occasional thing had become a common occurrence in the past two weeks alone. A burning sensation that brought tears to his eyes and bile to his throat.

He squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his chin to his chest as he brought his hand to his stomach. Willing the pain away. Silently praying and pleading for some relief.

"Kieran," Sam's voice was quiet and full of concern. "You sit nicely beside, daddy. He's not feeling good right now and he needs you be nice and quiet. Okay?"

"O'tay," the toddler agreed.

His eyes screwed shut, Flack heard the rustle of sheets and felt the mattress move slightly underneath him. He was aware of movement in the bedroom as his wife disappeared into the bathroom. He heard the squeak of the cold water tap as it was turned on and then off again a moment later. He picked up on the sound of the medicine cabinet being slid open and then shut and the rattle of pills in a plastic bottle. He felt warm breathing on his bare arm and a soft, small hand on his back.

"Daddy?" Kieran's voice, tiny and frightened. Despite only being sixteen months old, the fact that there was sudden tension and worry in the room wasn't lost on him. Children picked up on things like that. And reacted to them. Albeit badly for the most part.

Flack cracked an eye open and looked down into that innocent face and those big blue eyes.

"Dwink?" Kieran asked, holding up his Elmo sippy cup. Half full of lukewarm apple juice. The object he'd been using to hammer on the door with. "Dwink, daddy?"

"Here," Sam said, as she hurried out of the bathroom, a glass of water in one hand, two small pills in the palm of the other. Oxycontin. Not as strong as percocet, but equally as addictive. "Did it just come on you?" she asked, as she stood at the side of the bed, offering the pills and the glass to him.

"Just now," he confirmed, gritting his teeth, the simple act of reaching out to pluck the meds from her hand causing him discomfort. "I guess I sat up too quickly."

"You really need to get that checked," she commented, her voice and eyes filled with concern.

"I'm going for tests next week," he reminded her, popping the pills into the mouth before taking the cup from her and swallowing the medication with a huge sip of the ice cold water. "What more do you want from me?"

"Maybe we should take you to the hospital," she said.

He snorted at the sheer absurdity of her suggestion.

"It could be something really serious," she fretted. "What if it's something life or death, Donnie? What if it comes on again only this time you end up unconscious or…"

"I'm fine," he assured her. Both embarrassed, and irritated, by the way she loved to fawn all over him when he wasn't feeling well.

It was up to him to take care of her. Not the other way around. She was the one that was painfully pregnant. Having a hard time getting around on the best of days. Her ankles constantly swollen and her back always aching. She didn't need to be worrying about him. Or wearing herself thin by taking care of him.

"I hardly doubt everything is fine," she said. "You wouldn't be having pain like that if everything was fine."

"It's going away," he assured her, his eyes closed once again, his hand rubbing his stomach. "Give it a few minutes and it will be gone completely."

"Maybe you shouldn't be watching Kieran today," she commented, reaching out to comb her fingers through his short hair. "I can either call in sick and tell Mac what's going on or I can either call your parents or ask Lindsay is she doesn't mind taking Kieran for the day. I don't think she had anything major planned and it will give you a chance to rest."

"I'm fine," he repeated forcefully.

She sighed. Relegating herself to the fact that the more she worried and the more she pressed, the more he would push her away. And the nastier he'd get. So instead of carrying on with the questions or the slight scoldings, she simply sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out and rubbed his arm and his shoulder soothingly. Preferring to be a source of comfort as opposed to dumping the extra stress her sometimes incessant nagging and bitching caused, onto him.

"Daddy 'ick?" Kieran asked as the minutes ticked by. He'd done a phenomenal job of staying still and quiet. But five minutes to a child seemed like a lifetime. Especially one like Kieran who often found it impossible to stay still for thirty seconds.

Sam looked over at him and placed her finger over her lips.

"Shhhh…" Kieran said, as he brought his finger to his own lips. "Daddy 'ick," he whispered.

She brought her two hands together, as if praying, brought them to the side of her head and laid her cheek on them. Indicating for him to lie down.

"No sweep," Kieran shook his head.

"Just lie down and be quiet for a little while," she said. "Until daddy feels better. Can you do that?"

The toddler nodded and leaning back against his mother's rumpled pillows, stuck the thumb of one hand into his mouth, as he used the other hand to offer his apple juice to cat. "Ippers dirsty?" he asked in a quiet voice. "Ippers dwink?"

"Kieran, please," Sam whispered. "Shhh…"

"Ippers dirsty," he informed his mother.

"I'm sure she is. But she doesn't want your apple juice. Now just lie there and be quiet, okay?"

"O'tay," he said with an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes as he stretched out one long leg and bending it at the knee, brought it up to his stomach and began taping his sippy cup against his toes.

* * *

Silence fell on the bedroom once again. Minutes passed by. The pain in Flack's stomach began to subside and his breathing and skin colour returned to normal. Sweat glistened on his forehead and trickled from his temples and down onto his cheeks and neck. Sam slowly and carefully pushed herself up from the bed and went into the bathroom room more. Where she wet a face cloth with cool water before returning to the bedroom.

"Are you sure you're okay taking care of K today?" she asked, as she held the face cloth to her husband's forehead.

"I'm okay," he replied, and reached up to take the cloth away from her. "I can do that, you know."

"I know," she said, and pushed his hand away. "But maybe I want to do it. Is that such a crime?"

He shook his head, smiling at her as she wiped the sweat from his brow and face and then laid the face cloth across the back of his neck.

"You'd make a decent nurse," he told her, bringing his hand up to cover hers on the back of his neck.

"You're just saying that because you want to see me in some sexy little naughty nurse get up," she teased.

"Well now that you mention it…" he grinned.

"In case you haven't noticed my dear, I'm fat. Huge. As big as a house. There's not enough material in the world to make a nurse's costume to fit me. For now, I have to stick to wearing tents to cover my ginormous ass and boobs."

"You're not fat," he informed her. "You're pregnant. There's a difference. And I think you're crazy hot in your maternity clothes."

"That's because you're a strange, perverted man who gets turned on by pregnant women," she laughed.

"Not by all pregnant women. Just one. And it's not so much how you look when you're pregnant. Although you're amazingly beautiful and sexy when you are pregnant. It's knowing that those are my babies in there. That I had some part in creating them. That's the hottest thing of all."

"I swear you'd be happiest if I was barefoot and pregnant constantly," she declared. "And how can you even think about that kind of thing while you're sick?"

"I'm not sick," he told her. "And the pain's gone away. And even if it wasn't, I'm just hurtin' a bit. I'm not dead."

"Well that's a good thing," she said and kissed his rough, unshaven cheek. "I can still call your parents or ask Lindsay to…"

"Don't worry about it," Flack told her, finishing the glass of water. "I'm fine now. The hillbilly heroin will kick in soon and I'll be as good as new."

"But you haven't slept very much in the past couple of days," she reminded him gently. "You need sleep Donnie."

"I'll sleep later," he told her. "I'll take a nap when K does. I'll go to bed early tonight. I don't spend enough time with him as it is. I just want to have a nice day with my son. Take him to Central Park. Go to the zoo. Have some McDonalds. Stuff like that."

"You can't do that on Sunday?" she asked. "When we're both home and we can both take him out just in case…"

"I am fine, Sammie," he responded. "Honestly. I wouldn't be telling you it was okay if it wasn't. If I was concerned that I wasn't able to properly take care of him, I would tell you that. But I am more than capable of looking after him, babe. Don't worry so much."

"I do worry," she told him, removing the face cloth from his neck. "You're my husband. My everything. It wouldn't be normal if I didn't worry."

"You worry too much," he said, and collapsed onto his back. He turned his face sideways and reached and laid his hand on the top of his son's head.

Kieran looked over at his father and smiled brightly. "Hi daddy," he chirped.

"Hey, buddy. You being a bad boy for mommy?"

The toddler shook his head. "Never," he declared.

Flack chuckled.

"He's sounding more and more like you every day," Sam sighed, standing up slowly, a hand on the small of her back. "Not to mention he's got all of your mannerisms and facial expressions."

"Strong genes," Flack told her. "The Flack ones obliterated the Ross ones during conception."

She snorted at that. "I need to go and finish getting ready for work. Danny will be on our doorstep soon. He's my chauffeur today."

"At least I don't have to worry about you telling me you're taking a cab but you're really taking the subway," he said.

"That happened twice, Don. Twice. Get over it. You're okay with him while I.."

"If you ask me that one more time, woman…"

She held her hands up in surrender and made her way slowly to the bathroom. "I don't know why I bother putting make up on," she commented.

"I don't know why you do either," Flack said.

"Donald!" she cried. "That's mean!"

"I didn't mean it like that!" he assured her. "I mean that I don't know why you wear it because you're naturally beautiful, babe. I don't know why you put all that crap on your face."

"Because I look like I'm twelve years old without it," she said. "And I have to cover my freckles. I hate my freckles."

"Well I happen to love your freckles," Flack informed her, as he across his body to scoop their son up into his arms. He bent his legs at the knee and settled Kieran on his stomach, with the toddler leaning back against his thighs. "My baby boy has your freckles. Look how cute he is."

"It's okay for a sixteen month old to be cute," Sam told him. "Not so nice to be told you're cute at thirty-four."

"Sam, trust me, cute is the last word that comes to mind when I'm asked to describe you. Beautiful, alluring, sexy, stunning. Just to name a few."

"Well you're just more than a little prejudiced," she reminded her husband. But he could tell, by the tone of her voice, that she was smiling. "So you boys have a busy day planned?" she asked.

"Little bit of this, little bit of that," Flack replied, tickling his son's stomach, grinning broadly as Kieran let out a musical peel of laughter. "Go to the park, play on the swings, go down the slide. Feed the ducks."

"'UCKS!" Kieran cried happily. "DADDY'S 'UCKS!"

"Ducks," Flack laughed, stressing the D. "They're called ducks."

"'Ucks!" the toddler repeated.

"Sounds like you guys are going to have a lot of fun," Sam said. "I wish I was staying home and going with you."

"We wish you were too," Flack told her. "But we'll have to make it a guy thing. Play some pool. Grab some beer and wings. Go to the hottest bars and pick up women. That kind of thing. Maybe we'll even stop by and visit you or come and meet you after work."

"That would be nice," she said. "I like when my two handsome boys come and see me."

"And I was thinking that…" he stopped mid sentence, his eyes widening as he felt something warm and wet trickle onto his stomach and down his sides. Followed by the distinct smell of urine. Glancing down, he was filled with both disgust and horror as he realized his son had neither a diaper, or a pull up on. And that Kieran had, in fact, urinated on him. He looked up at his son. "You little…"

"Pee-pee daddy," Kieran chirped, stating the obvious.

"Yeah…no kidding. You just went pee-pee all over me."

The toddler gave a shrug. "Ooops," he said, and then giggled.

"Sam!" Flack bellowed. "What in the hell?!"

"What's the problem?" she asked, appearing in the door way, makeup brush in one hand, a small container of blush in the other. "Are you having pain again?"

"Yeah! A pain in my ass! Named Kieran! Your damn son just took a leak all over me! He hasn't done that since he was a baby!"

"Well I'm sure he didn't mean to do it, Donnie."

"I realize that! But why the hell didn't you put a diaper or a pull up on the kid?"

"He was giving me a hard time. I was chasing him all over the apartment. And I was going to put something on him when we came in here, but then you had that pain and I.."

"Can you just…" he closed his eyes and bit his lip. Forcing himself not to snap on her. "Can you just get me something to clean myself and him up. And a diaper or whatever? Please?"

"Give me a second here," she said, and finished dusting her cheeks with blush.

"A second? Are you kidding me? Babe, I've got piss all over me here! It's getting on our bed!"

"Take it easy, Donnie," she said with a sigh and disappeared into the bathroom. He could hear her rummaging around. Putting her makeup away before coming out into the bedroom with a box of baby wipes, a pull up and a handful of Kleenexes. "I've got to get going," she told him, dropping the supplies on the bed.

"What? Are you serious? What about cleaning him up?"

"There's wipes for both you and him. Once you've gotten both of you cleaned up, just strip the bed down and toss the sheets in the laundry basket and I'll take care of it when I get home," she told him.

"Never mind wipes!" Flack exclaimed. "I'm going to have to take a shower!"

"Well you were probably going to take one anyway," she reasoned. "So what's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that your devil kid just relieved himself on me!"

"It could be worse," Sam said, and leaning over the bed, dropped a kiss on the top of her son's head before covering her husband's lips with hers in a tender goodbye kiss. "He could have taken a dump on you."

"That'll be next!" Flack grumbled and picked Kieran up and set him down next to him on the bed. "Jesus," he huffed, popping open the lid on the wipes and yanking out a handful. "Does he hold it all night or something?"

"He was keeping it all in just for you," Sam said. "Give you a golden shower."

Flack smirked as he cleaned himself off.

"Okay. I've got to go guys. Danny will be here any minute. I love you, baby boy," she kissed both Kieran's cheeks, then pressed her lips to the top of Flack's head. "I love you, too," she said as she headed for the bedroom door. "Be good. Both of you."

"NEVER!" Kieran cried and cackled evilly.

Sam paused in the doorway to glare at the toddler jumping on the bed.

"He learned that from you," Flack informed her. "Evil laugh and all."

"You know, you're both lucky you're so damn cute," she declared, and slipped from the room.

Flack looked up at his son, then effortless caught Kieran as the toddler's feet became tangled in the blankets and he toppled forward. "She loves us," he said, pressing a kiss to his son's forehead.

"Love mommy," Kieran said.

"But you love daddy more, right?"

"Mommy," the little boy answered.

"You pee on me but you love her more?"

Kieran nodded.

"Guess I should be used to playing second best, huh? It's always been mommy for you. That's okay. Daddy loves her, too."

"My mommy," Kieran declared.

Flack grinned and cuddled his son close. "We wouldn't know what to do without her, would we." It was more a statement than a question.

And one he didn't care to experience first hand anytime soon.

* * *

Blowing her bangs off of her perspiration soaked forehead, Lindsay balanced an overflowing laundry basket on her hip as she carried a stack of mail in one hand and her keys, dangling from one finger, jingled noisily as she headed for her apartment. There never seemed to be any rest for the weary. She and Danny had been up until the wee hours of the morning, finishing up the paint job in the baby nursery they'd lovingly created together and then putting together the crib and changing table and decorating the room with the various accessories they'd purchased. Classic Winnie the Pooh wall hangings and bedding, a three foot high snow white teddy bear that sat on a rocking chair in one corner, impossibly small clothes hanging in the closet. Toys and books and baby supplies taking up every possible inch of space.

She wasn't physically giving birth the to the child, but she felt like its mother. Seeing Danny so excited and glowing with the utmost love and pride for his unborn baby, brought tears to her eyes. Although it wasn't a child that they'd created together, Lindsay was overwhelmed by the feelings of love and acceptance she had for that tiny little human being. Who hadn't made their appearance yet, but had transformed their lives beyond measure. It was an incredible thing to share. The planning and the preparations. The late night, sleepy chats about their child's future. The picking of names and the choosing of a nursery theme. Seeing Danny like that was unlike anything Lindsay had ever experienced before. It was a softer, kinder and gentler side that touched her deeper then she ever thought anything could. He was the love of her life. They'd both made mistakes and paid dearly for them. And what mattered the most was that they had found their way back to each other. They were planning for their future. For their forever.

For their baby.

Thinking of the child as **her **baby brought a smile to her face. Despite the seemingly endless loads of laundry and the house cleaning that awaited her the moment she stepped foot in the door, the mere thought of becoming a mother made her burdens lighter. She was excited and extremely nervous. And couldn't wait until she held that baby in her arms for the first time.

Her keys slipped out of her hand as she juggled with them and tumbled noisily to the floor. Muttering profanities, she set the basket of clean clothes on the floor and bent down to retrieve her keys. Behind her, the door directly behind her clicked open and Flack's deep, authoritative voice and Kieran's giggling and broken speech drifted out into the hall.

"Hey guys," she greeted, as she snagged her keys and stood up. She turned to face the two as Flack was wheeling the stroller out of the apartment.

"Ti M!" Kieran cried, kicking his legs and waving excitedly from his buggy. Using the nickname for her that Danny had taught him. A short form of Auntie Montana.

Both father and son wore backwards NYPD ball caps. But while Kieran was dressed in a pair of jeans and an orange, yellow and white striped t-shirt and a pair of brown leather walking sandals, his dad, scruffy and unshaven, wore a navy blue golf shirt, beige cargo style shorts, and his new infamous blue and white Adidas sandals.

"Hello handsome," she greeted, flashing him a huge smile as she crossed the narrow hallway and crouched down in front of the stroller. "Are you being a good boy?" she asked, using the signs for you, good and boy as she spoke.

"Never!" Kieran giggled.

Flack gave an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. Locking the apartment door, he dropped his keys into a flip top compartment on top of the stroller and snapped the lid shut. "That's his new word," he said. "And it's getting old fast."

"Say, oh daddy. You're getting to be so crotchety in your old age," she said to her nephew.

"That's because him and his mother are driving me insane," Flack declared.

"You'd be lost without them," Lindsay said as she stood up, despite Kieran latching onto her finger. "So where are you guys off to?" she asked.

"We're doing some guy things today," Flack replied. "Don't know if we're going to attempt the walk into mid-town or take the subway, but that's where we're heading. I've got to go to Babies R Us and put down the last payment on all that stuff I ordered. And make sure delivery is set up."

"Sam's going to be so surprised when she gets home from the hospital with the triplets and sees the nursery," Lindsay gushed. "I can hardly wait to see her face. You've got a lot of work ahead of you, daddy."

"Tell me about it. Three of everything to put together. I still have to put in an order for one of them triple strollers. It's insane. Monroe. Insane. At least Adam and Gavin Moran are helping me out with the painting and all of that."

"Danny is more than willing to pitch in," she reminded him. "You know that."

"You guys will have your own little one to take care of," Flack said. "I'm not taking away from that. I know how amazing and precious those first days and months are. Enjoy the baby. They're not tiny for long."

Lindsay smiled. "You sounded a little sad when you said that, Don."

He shrugged. "My baby boy is growing up. He's my first born. I remember bringing him home from the hospital with an IV attached to him. The feedings every three hours and bouts of colic and episodes of the croup. First time he rolled over, first time he sat up. First time he smiled. And the first time he said da-da, I swear I nearly bawled right there and then. And now he's walking and running and climbing. He drinks from a cup and feeds himself. And never mind using the potty. It's not a constant thing, but it's a massive leap for him. I remember all the baby things and I wonder where the last sixteen months went."

"Before you know it, it will be his first day of school and his first crush and his first broken heart."

He frowned. "Way to make me even more depressed, Monroe. Thanks."

"Just think, you've got three more on the way. Triple the excitement and milestones."

"And the grey hair," he laughed. Looking over top of her head as the sound of the elevator doors sliding open caught his attention.

Lindsay cast a glance over her shoulder, watching along with him as a young woman, no older than twenty, stepped out onto their floor, her head down, her waist length, raven black, rod straight hair falling in front of her face as she read information off of a piece of paper in her hands. She was short -no taller than five foot three- and slightly overweight, clad in a conservative knee length charcoal skirt and simple white blouse and black ballet flats. A knock off Louis Vuitton dangling from one arm. Neither had seen her coming and going before.

She went to the right, then doubled back after checking the number on some of the apartment doors and realizing she was going the wrong way. The closer she got as she approached them, they were able to make out her darker skin tone. She was of Native American descent and had a smooth, flawless complexion. And Flack knew, before the young woman even got within a foot of him, that she was coming to his door. The golden brown eyes and the freckles scattered across her pixie like nose were a dead giveaway to who she was looking for.

"Can we help you?" Lindsay asked politely.

"Apartment 703?" the young woman inquired.

Flack nodded.

She eyed Lindsay from head to toe, a slight frown on her face. "Are you Samantha Flack?" she asked.

Lindsay shook her head. "I'm Lindsay Monroe. Samantha Flack is my best friend."

"She's also my wife," Flack spoke up.

The young woman turned to him and gave a soft smile. "I'm Sara," she introduced herself, a trembling hand outstretched. She was nervous despite her cool exterior. "Sara Mitchell. I'm…"

"I know who you are," Flack said, shaking her hand politely.

"My dad told me all about you," she told him. "About how you work together. He said that he talked to Sam and she wanted to meet me and I've been trying for years to find my birth mother and when he came to me with her address and phone number I…" she took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly. "I'm sorry," she said sheepishly. "I'm just more than a little nervous. It's not every day that you're nineteen and meeting your step-father and little brother for the first time."

Flack cleared his throat noisily. Uncomfortable with the step father and little brother references. "So you just decided that coming here unexpectedly and unannounced was a good idea?" he asked, sounding more harsh than he'd intended.

Sara blinked. Taken back by his off handed demeanour. "Well I was in the neighbourhood so I.."

"We were just on our way out." Flack said, nodding down at the stroller. "We've got some important errands to run. Stuff like that."

"Well I don't want to keep you," Sara told him, a hint of annoyance, and slight hurt, creeping into her voice, and in her eyes.

Flack found it startlingly how alike, despite the Native American blood flowing through the young woman's veins, this girl was to his wife. The same eyes and nose, the same tone of voice and petite height. And judging by how easily Sara offended, the same level of sensitivity.

"Why don't you just tell me why you stopped by and I'll see what I can do for you," Flack told her.

"I just wanted to talk to her," Sara explained. "I just wanted to meet her. I was so excited when my dad said she wanted to meet me. I haven't been able to think straight or eat or sleep since he told me. All I've been thinking about is what I'll say when I meet her. How I'll act. What she'll say to me and how she'll act towards me."

"Well she's not here," Flack said. "She's at work. And I don't think if it's a good idea that you just drop in on her unexpectedly while she's working."

"Obviously I wouldn't do that. I just thought because I was in the neighbourhood and I got up the nerve, that I'd swing by and…" Sara sighed. "Look, I know this is really, really strange. Me showing up out of the blue like this."

Flack nodded, confirming her last statement.

"But I just want to meet her. I just want to see her and talk to her. She's my mom."

"And she's not here," Flack repeated. "Trust me, if she was, I'd unlock the door and tell you to go on in. But she's at work. And I'm running behind on things I need to do with my son. So if you've got a number she can reach you at or something…"

"I'll give her a call," Sara said. "I'm not home a lot so it's better if I do it that way."

"Whatever you want to do," Flack shrugged. "It has no bearing on me."

"Well, actually, it kind of does, don't you think?" the young woman asked.

"She's home all day tomorrow," Flack ignored the question.

"I'll give her a call tomorrow then," Sara said.

"You do that," he gave a stiff smile. "Have a nice day," he said dismissively.

She frowned slightly, but didn't respond. Instead she leaned over the stroller and ran a hand over Kieran's head and smiled gently at the toddler. "You must be Kieran. You're such a cutie," she gushed. "I've always wanted a little brother. All I have are sisters. It will be nice spending time with you and getting to know you."

"Me K!" the little boy chirped.

"And my name is Sara," she said. "I'm your big sister."

Kieran shook his head. "Baby sistah," he told her. "Mommy baby."

"Your mommy's having a baby?" she asked.

He nodded and held up three fingers. "Dis many!" he announced.

"Three babies! That's really exciting! You're going to be a great big brother. I can tell."

"Me big brudda," Kieran exclaimed. "Tree babies."

"You're very, very smart for your age," Sara praised. "I have to go now. It was nice meeting you. Hopefully I will get to see you again soon."

"Bye-bye!" Kieran blew her a kiss and waved to her as she journeyed back down the hallway towards the elevators. "See ya!"

She stopped and pressed the down button and waved goodbye to him.

* * *

The elevator came quick. And the moment the young woman stepped on and the doors closed behind her, Flack breathed an enormous sigh of relief. Turning to say something to Lindsay, he found her staring up at him, fury in her eyes, her lips drawn into a tight line of disappointment and disgust.

"What?" he asked.

"Did you really have to be so mean to her?" Lindsay asked. "You couldn't have been a little nicer? You couldn't have dug down deep and found some way to be pleasant. You didn't need to be so goddamn rude."

"I wasn't," Flack said. "I was indifferent."

"You were an asshole," Lindsay snapped. "And I've seen you be an asshole a lot in the years I've known you. And most of the time, the person on the receiving end of your bullshit deserves it. But she didn't. You were offhand and cold and a total prick."

"Tell me how you really feel, Monroe," Flack smirked. He checked to make sure he'd remembered to lock the door, then started down the hall.

"Don't walk away from me like that," Lindsay chased after him. "Don't take off because you know I'm right. Because it hurts to hear the truth."

"I'm not taking off. I'm leaving because I've got a busy day ahead of me and I…"

"You're running with your tail between your legs," she said. "Same way you do when Sam's right about something. Because you can't handle assertive and aggressive women. 'Cause everyone you've ever been with save from Sam bent over backwards to make you happy. They kissed your ass. And you can't handle it when a woman sticks up for herself and stands up to you."

Flack snorted and shook his head.

"I know how weird this must be for you, Don," Lindsay sympathized with him. "I know it must be really strange to find out you're the step-dad of a nineteen year old. You weren't even in high school yet when she was born. So I know that accepting her is really hard and awkward for you."

"I don't owe her anything," Flack told her. "I wasn't in Sammie's life way back then. I'm not her father. She was adopted out and she's had a great life. And now all of a sudden she wants to meet her mother? Why? Why does she want to meet her?"

"Because Sam gave birth to her. Because maybe Sara felt that something was missing and her heart and that her birth mom would fill that space."

"She's my wife, Lindsay. She's my wife and she's Kieran's mother. She's the triplets mother."

"And she's Sara mother," Lindsay reminded him. "As much as that burns your ass to hear it. That young woman is your step-daughter. She's Kieran's and the triplets half sister. There's no two ways around it."

"She doesn't need to be part of our lives," Flack argued, reaching out to press the down button for the elevator. "She's had a great life. She doesn't need to come and impose on ours."

"I highly doubt she's going to coming over for dinner every night and have sleepovers," Lindsay told him. "I don't think she's going become a permanent fixture."

"Good," Flack said. "Because I don't want her to be."

"Why not?" she asked. "Is it that bad of a thing? If she wants to be part of your family?"

"She's not part of my family. She's an illegitimate child Sam had as a teenager. Sam got knocked up and she gave her kid away. And that kid just can't show up nineteen years later and expect to be part of Sammie's life."

"Says who? Samantha said that? Or is that a decision you've come up with all on your own?"

"Sam's got other kids. She's got Kieran! And triplets on the way. She doesn't need Sara. She didn't want her nineteen years ago. Why should she want her now?"

"Because maybe Sam feels like shit for giving her up!" Lindsay snarled. "Maybe because deep down Sam never wanted to give her up. And maybe because Sam simply wants a relationship with her daughter."

"Well she can't have one," Flack concluded.

"What the hell is your problem?" Lindsay asked. "You said you were okay with her having a kid back then."

"And I am okay with it," he responded. "I don't care what happened nineteen years ago. I don't care what Sam did when she was fifteen. But what I care about is that mistake she made coming back and trying to take over our lives."

"You are such a selfish bastard," Lindsay huffed. "I can't believe you're being so cold about this! About her! She's a human being, Don. And yeah, Sammie made a mistake. Lots of people make mistakes. If you want to look at it this way, technically Kieran was a mistake. He was unexpected and unplanned. You two were barely involved when Sammie got pregnant. But it happened. He happened. And you love him with every fibre of your soul."

"He's my son," Flack said. "Sara is nothing to me."

"But she's something to Sam. Whether you want to admit that or not."

He sighed heavily. "I owe her nothing."

"You owe Sam plenty," Lindsay said.

"Look, she doesn't need to..."

"It's not up to you to decide anything for Sam," Lindsay angrily cut him off. "If she wants to have a relationship with her daughter, that's her business."

"I'm her husband!" Flack snapped.

"And as her husband, you should be putting your childish, petty bullshit aside and supporting her. Do you think it was easy for her Don? Think about it. She was fourteen when she found out she was pregnant. Fifteen when she gave birth. She lived in the projects with a monster of a father. Can you imagine how scared she was? Can you imagine how it felt for her to have to hand her baby over? Just to save it from a life like she had? Have you ever sat back and thought about how terrifying and heart breaking that all must have been for her?"

He sighed once more and shook his head.

"She has a chance to make things up to her daughter," Lindsay said. "Sara may have had an amazing childhood. But you can't tell me there's not a part of Sammie that doesn't feel guilty for having to give her up. And you being like this? Argumentative and nasty? Confrontational? That isn't making her feel any better about herself. She needs your support. She doesn't need your condescending, holier than thou crap."

He didn't respond. The elevator arrived and he said nothing as he stepped inside, pushing the stroller in front of him. "Are we done here?" he asked, finger lingering over the button for the lobby.

"Have a nice long think about what I just said," Lindsay told him. "All of it."

"See ya later," Flack said, and hit the button for the ground floor, followed by the one marked 'close door'.

Lindsay glared at him as the door slowly shut, separating them. Sighing heavily, she crossed her arms over her chest and stomped down the hallway towards her apartment.

Hoping that for the sake of everyone involved, that even a slice of what she had said, had gotten through that stubborn, rock hard head of his.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! I hope that you all continue to read and review! I love doing these stories for sheer entertainment sake and I hope you all continue to enjoy them!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**Hope4sall**

**Axellia**

**Laplandgurl**

**muchmadness**

**Delko's Girl 88**

**Wolfeylady**

**Forest Angel**

**Bluehaven4220**

**Soccer-bitch**


	77. Deal with it

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND ALL THE FLACK KIDS.**

**A/N: THIS IS A FUTURE CHAPTER. UPDATES WILL BE SLOWER ON THIS STORY AS I CONCENTRATE ON OB OG AND TWF. **

**THIS IS DEDICATED TO GREGROX. ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE ;)**

* * *

**Deal with it**

"So doctor doctor, won't you please prescribe me something  
A day in the life of someone else'  
Cuz I'm a hazard to myself  
Don't let me get me  
I'm my own worst enemy  
It's bad when you don't know yourself  
So irritating  
Don't want to be my friend no more  
I wanna be somebody else."  
-Don't Let Me Get Me, Pink

* * *

"Alessa's parents hate me."

Mac looked over at the young man walking alongside of him, somewhat startled by Kieran's sudden announcement. Save for a quick stop into a Baskin and Robins to order the teen a strawberry smoothie, the two had spent the majority of their half an hour walk home from the restaurant in complete silence. Mac had wondered how much of his stern lecture and brutal honesty had fully sunk into the solemn fifteen year old. And if Kieran's silence was because he was embarrassed and ashamed of himself for the way he'd been behaving lately, or if he was taking the time to let the full force of everything his 'grandfather' had said sink in.

"Alessa is the girl that you broke up with Addie to be with?" Mac asked.

He knew full well who the young woman was, and what kind of stock she came from. And he also knew the sheer emotional hell that Addison and her girlfriends -including Tiana - were inflicting on both Kieran and his new girlfriend. The name calling, the gossip, the filthy words that a still as of yet identified party had written all over Alessa's locker in a permanent marker. Tiana had been punished time and time again, yet she still took Addison's side in what was turning out to be an epic, nasty break up. Lines had been drawn between friendships, yet Kieran's popularity at school hadn't been tarnished. His true friends stuck by him a hundred percent, and were just as good as causing shit as Addie and her band of followers.

Kieran nodded and sipped his smoothie. "Don't tell me you don't know all about it, Papa Mac. The whole school knows about it. And so does everyone that Uncle Tim has under his clutches. Did you know that he came to the house and caused all kinds of crap with my mom? Started an argument with her right on the front porch all 'cause his precious baby girl is a whiny little bitch. I mean, most parents don't get that worked up over their kids getting dumped do they?"

"Not normally," Mac said. "We well bad for them and sympathize with them and call the ex every name in the book for hurting our kids, but we don't go over and raise hell at the parents' house."

"My mom was so pissed! I thought she was going to hit him! If he had have upset her even more then he did, I was going to go out and kick his ass. No one talks to my mom like that. And if my dad had have been home…" Kieran laughed dryly and shook his head. "If my dad have been home it would have been two hits. Him hitting Uncle Tim and Uncle Tim hitting the ground."

"Not everything is solved by violence," Mac reminded the young man.

"Maybe not. But no way would my dad let anyone talk to my mom like that. He loves her to much to just sit back and let someone shit all over her. He would have freaked out and handed Uncle Tim his ass twice over. No doubt."

"Your father always has had a fierce desire to protect your mother," Mac commented, taking a sip of black coffee from the take out cup he carried in his hand.

"Always?" Kieran asked.

"Always," his 'grandfather' confirmed. "From the very first day that your mother started at the lab, even before there was anything serious going on between her and your father, your dad was always watching out for her. He always wanted to keep her out of harms way, make sure that she was safe and well taken care of. We all used to joke that he had a Knight in Shining Armour complex."

Kieran grinned. The same boyishly charming, dimply grin he shared with his father. "I can see dad being all like that. He's like that now. He's always worried about her getting hurt and stuff. I think it's cause she's so tiny and he's so big. It's like he feels it's his job to take care of her, keep her safe."

"Maybe," Mac said with a nod. "And maybe it's also because he loves her to the ends of the earth and doesn't want anything bad happening to her. Especially with all of you kids. He doesn't want to ever have to lose her and have to take care of all of you without her. And your mom…well I don't think she always appreciates being treated like some fragile little thing."

Kieran laughed. "Yeah…she hates us big strong guys doing things for her or thinking that she's a weakling. And she's not. Trust me. My mom's small, but man, she's tough."

"I've seen it first hand," Mac said. "I've seen her take down perps twice her size and sit across the interrogation table from stone cold killers and not even blink an eye. And your father…well let's just say that he never saw eye to eye with her when it came to the job."

"He was always worried about her?"

Mac nodded. "She used to go on raids or out into the field to track someone down and he'd have a conniption fit. I remember this one time, when you were just a baby. It was a particularly brutal homicide. Two young men shot to death in a luxury SUV in the Bronx. Turns out the girlfriend of one of the young men had an axe to grind, got a new boyfriend and the two of them, along with the new boyfriend's brother decided to murder the old boyfriend. His buddy, in the passenger seat, was just collateral damage. Anyhow, it turned out that these two young men were armed to the teeth. And your mom…well your mom and your Aunt Jess didn't know that and decided to go and take these two into custody themselves."

Kieran's eyes widened.

"In the meantime, your dad found about how dangerous these two young were and he and your Uncle Danny headed to the same place. And when he saw your mom there…well let's just say he wasn't impressed."

"Did he freak on her?" Kieran asked, enthralled with story, blue eyes sparkling with excitement. "I bet he freaked on her."

"They had words," Mac confirmed. "Right there on the sidewalk before we all went in for the raid. I turned around and told your mom to stay back with the uniforms on the street."

"I bet she was pissed!" Kieran exclaimed.

"She was. I was just doing it for you. In case something went wrong, I didn't want both of your parents being up there and you ending up an orphan. In the end, these young men, and the young woman, were all dead. Suicide. They knew we were closing in and decided it was better to die then get caught. So I called your mom upstairs into the apartment and her and your dad almost got into it pretty bad in front of everyone."

"What happened after that?"

"I separated them for the rest of the day, gave them both a chance to cool off. I'm not sure what happened when your dad went home, but I think it's safe to say that they kissed and made up. You do have umpteen brothers and sisters, don't you?"

"Yeah…" Kieran gave that grin again. "Way too many if you ask me. I mean, I'd miss them and all if they weren't around, but that is just way too many kids. I think mom and dad like the whole baby making thing a little too much."

Mac laughed at that.

"It's true," Kieran said with a shrug and took another sip from his smoothie. "That can be the only reason, right? No one in their right mind has half a dozen kids. So that means either mom or dad really know what they're doing if you know what I mean."

Mac nearly choked on a mouthful of coffee.

"There's no way I'm ever having that many kids," Kieran declared. "No way. I can barely handle having all of them brothers and sisters. No way could I deal with having that many kids of my own. I bet you that's why dad has so much grey hair. We drove him that way."

"Now that wouldn't surprise me," Mac told him. "Do you ever want kids?"

"Not right now. Hell no. No way. That is the last thing I want anytime soon. Do you know what my dad would do to me if I got someone pregnant? He'd kill me. Slowly and painfully. Actually, he'd torture me slowly and painfully. And then he'd kill me. No thanks. I'd rather let him buy me a lifetime supply of condoms then have to face him and tell him he's going to be a grandpa before he's fifty. And my mom…" Kieran shook his head. "She scares me more then my dad does."

Mac laughed. "Well I'm glad you're taking precautions so that it doesn't happen anytime in the near future," he said. "But what I meant is do you ever want kids when you're older."

"I guess," Kieran shrugged. "I don't know…I've never thought about it. All I care about right now is hockey and trying to straighten things around so I can go to college. I know it's a long way off, but that scout from Notre Dame is looking at me and I don't want to screw that up."

"You've decided you'd rather go to college then join the academy?"

"My dad wants me to go to college," the fifteen year old said.

"That isn't what I asked you. I don't want to know what your dad wants. I want to know what you want."

Kieran sighed. "I'm only fifteen…I'm not ready to know what I really want to do when I graduate," he said.

Mac smirked. "Before your grandfather died you were gung-ho on joining the academy when you got out of high school. It was all you've ever talked about since you were ten years old and your dad brought you to the precinct and the lab on Take Your Kids To Work Day. I remember you sitting there at his desk, with that honorary badge Chief Sinclair had given you when your dad brought you in to meet him before shift. You were sitting there, listening to your dad talk to one of your guys with that badge pinned to your chest, and your were looking up at your father with the utmost pride and awe in your eyes. I'll never forget that image. To this day I remember looking at you and thinking about how much you looked like your dad. How much you were destined to be like him. How proud you looked of him."

"I've always been proud of my dad," Kieran said. "And I am in awe of him and I do want to be just like him…"

"But…" Mac pressed.

"But he wants me to be something completely different. He wants me to be like my mom. Go to college and get a degree. Go into something other then police work. And I keep telling him that I want to be a cop. Like him and grandpa. But he argues with me and says that I'm worth more then that. That I deserve better. And I don't know why he says that 'cause he's an amazing cop and all I want is to be like him. To be the next Flack in the department. That's all I want."

"And why do you think he feels that way?" Mac asked.

Kieran shrugged. "I don't know…he says that I don't get what being a cop is like. All the bad stuff a cop sees for crappy pay. Protecting people that don't appreciate it. He says I don't get all of that. But I do, Papa Mac. I do get that it's not an easy job. That I'd see some really awful, horrific things. That terrible things happen to good people and there's never answers for a lot of things. And I know that a lot of the murderers and people that molest kids and who do all sorts of evil shit don't ever get caught. I get all of that. And he doesn't realize that I'm not some stupid kid."

"Your father does not think you're stupid, Kieran. Far from it. He knows how smart you are. What kind of brain you possess. He's always bragging about how intelligent you are. But what worries him is that you have all those smarts, but very little common sense."

"What's that suppose to mean?" the teenager asked, clearly offended.

"It means that you don't think before you act. You react quickly and let your heart rule your head. The decisions you make, the things you do, you're not acting with your brain. And that's what worries him. Because in his job, reacting blindly or foolishly is the difference between life and death. And that's what he wants you to realize. Am I making sense?"

Kieran nodded.

"In a lot of ways you're just like your father. Physically and personality wise. Looking at you is like looking at a younger version of him. But in other ways, you're just like your mother. When she first started working for me, she jumped blindly into things. She always let her heart overrule her head. In both her personal life and her professional one."

"But personally it worked out for her, right? I mean, my mom and dad didn't know each other that long before she got pregnant with me. But she knew that dad was the one. Something was telling her that even though she didn't know him that long, that he was the one she wanted to be with forever. So if her heart hadn't of won out, who knows what would have happened. She might not be with my dad. And then none of my brothers and sisters would be here. And who knows? If she didn't feel that way about him, she might have gotten rid of me."

"I don't think that thought ever crossed her mind. She was having you regardless. Whether your dad stuck around or not. We're getting way off topic here. What I was trying to get through to you is that if you really want to be a cop and follow in your dad's footsteps, you'll have to learn to not act with this…" Mac laid a hand over his heart. "…and act with this," he placed a fingertip at his temple. "Your dad speaks from experience Kieran. Lots of experience. And so do I. You're young. You have lots of time ahead of you to learn things like that."

Kieran sighed heavily. "I just want him to be proud of me," he said. "I just want my dad to love me and be proud of me."

"Your father loves you to the end of time," Mac assured him. "And he is proud of you. He's loved you and been proud of you since you were still in your mother's womb. When you were struggling for a chance just to make it into the world. When you were just a tiny thing and fighting every step of the way. Everything that you and your mother overcame just to get you into this world. You're his first born. And there's nothing you could ever do or say to make him love you less."

"I don't know about that. Like I said, that knocking someone up thing might do it…"

"Which brings us back to how this talk originally started. You and Alessa. You made a comment that her parents hated you."

Kieran nodded. "They do," he said. "It's no secret. You should see the way they look at me when I go over to her place. She's invited me over to dinner a couple of times and they always look at me like I'm some poor kid she dragged in off the street. Like I should be in the kitchen eating off the floor or in the bathroom drinking out of the toilet instead of sitting at their expensive table touching their expensive silverware and even more expensive glasses and plates. Like they better lock up all they're shit so I don't try and steal it."

"I doubt they're that bad," Mac commented.

"Oh they are," Kieran said. "They treat me like shit. 'Cause I'm just some cop's son. They ask about my dad and you should see the looks on their faces. Like my dad is some piece of crap on the bottom of their shoes. I don't like it. I don't like anyone treating my dad like that. And Declan…I won't even tell you what they think about him."

"Have you told your parents about all of this?" Mac asked, pausing at the end of the Flacks' driveway.

"Naw…it'll just upset my mom. And if mom gets upset, dad gets upset. And then we all pay. It's just better I don't say anything."

"You shouldn't keep all of that inside Kieran. That's not healthy."

"I know…." he sighed. "It's just…Declan's still a sensitive subject sometimes. Mom gets really sad and angry when he gets picked on. And I don't want to see her like that, you know?"

Mac smiled and nodded and laid a hand on the young man's shoulder. "I know…because you're just like your dad and you want to protect her."

"Yeah…I do. She's my mom. We've been through a lot together. When my dad wasn't around, I was always trying to cheer her up and all of that. I hate seeing her cry. It really bothers me. And when her and dad fight…I swear sometimes, I could kill him for the things he says to her. I get so angry with him. Have you ever been that angry at someone Papa Mac?"

"My father was very strict," Mac admitted. "With both his kids and with my mother. And there were times…there were times he got out of hand with her and I vowed if he ever did it again, I'd kill him. I wanted to protect her. She was my mother and I hated seeing her get hurt. So yes…I have been that angry at someone. But your dad…your dad is a good man, Kieran. Who'd never hurt your mother or your brothers and sisters."

"I know…" the teenager said. "I know he'd never do anything. And if he did…well if he ever hit my mom, I'd have to kick his ass."

Mac didn't doubt that Kieran Flack would do it. Or at least give it a hell of an effort.

"I guess you want to come in and talk to my dad," Kieran sighed, finishing off his smoothie before lifting the lid on one of three garbage cans at the curb and tossing the empty cup inside. "Tell him everything that went down today."

"What we talked about today was just between the two of us," Mac told him. "Your dad doesn't need to know anything that was said. Except…"

Kieran sighed.

"I have to tell your parents about your problems with anger, Kieran. I won't tell them about Aiden or any of his problems. But you need learning to control your anger. You can't be going into this wild rages. You can't be blacking out and doing things to people like you did. You need help with that. And I can't sit back and let you self destruct like that. I have to, out of respect for your parents, tell them about that. Okay?"

"You promise you won't tell him about Aiden? Like you won't tell him that Aiden's drinking or that he's gay? 'Cause my dad will just snap."

"Aiden's problems are Aiden's business. But, as his best friend and knowing that he's in some kind of trouble, you should tell either your parents or your Uncle Danny and Aunt Lindsay. Before he seriously hurts himself."

"I don't want anything happening to him," Kieran said. "He's my best friend."

"Which is why he needs your help," Mac told him. "Tell your dad that I'll call him later, okay? I've got to get home to Aunt Stel and the girls. Before they think I ran away from home."

"I bet sometimes you want to," Kieran remarked. shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels as he stood at the end of the driveway and watched his 'grandfather' headed for his vehicle. "I mean, that's a lot of estrogen in one house. At least here it's kinda even."

"Watch it, kid, or you'll be having all girls when you're ready to have a family," Mac teased.

"Oh I hope not," Kieran declared, his head cocked to the side. "I'd rather die a slow painful death or gouge my eyes out with a dull spoon."

Mac chuckled and paused before climbing into his car and looked at the young man standing there. Hands in his pockets, head turned to the side. A pose Mac had seen the boy's father used countless times in the past.

"You be good," Mac told him.

"Now what kind of fun would that be?" Kieran asked, and giving a laugh -his father's laugh at that- turned on his heel and headed up the driveway towards the house.

Mac smiled as he watched the teenager go. Recognizing that confident, almost arrogant swagger from a mile away.

_Like father, like son, _he thought, and slipped in behind the wheel of his SUV.

And if Kieran Flack was indeed, exactly like his father, Mac knew one thing for sure.

That the kid was going to be alright.

* * *

Flack was thankful for the whiteboard mounted on the side of the refrigerator. His wife went to great pains every night before she went to bed, to erase the thing and then jot down the next day's date, all of their children's names, their after school activities and what time they were expected home at, along with the cell phone numbers of whatever friends they were supposed to be with. That afternoon, Reghan was at an after school drama club, Alannah had field hockey practice, Declan was going to watch a basketball game with some of his Circle of Friend's buddies, and both Mikayla and Liam were being picked up by their Aunt Linds for their once a week trip for ice cream.

Too many damn kids, he thought with a heavy sigh and snagged a red washable marker from a jar on top of the fridge. He crossed out Alannah, Reghan and Declan's names. The three had arrived home together half an hour ago and were currently holed up in their rooms doing homework. Kieran, in a better frame of mind then when he'd left the house earlier, had showed up at his father's office door after his afternoon out with Mac and cheerfully offered to do the laundry that was piled up downstairs in front of the washers. Flack had looked at his oldest child as if he'd gone completely insane, then simply nodded and gone back to his paper work. Kieran hadn't moved from the doorway and Flack hadn't looked up or even uttered a word. It was a test of wills. An epic battle to see who would crack first.

"I'm sorry about what I said dad," Kieran had been the one to break the silence. "I say stupid things when I get angry. I don't even know what I'm saying or even that I said them until it's too late. I didn't mean what I said about Dean Truby. I was just pissed and it came out."

"You've got to watch what you say, K," Flack had said in return. "Because one day, you're going to say something to someone and not get the chance to apologize. And then you'll regret saying what you did for the rest of your life."

"I know…which is why I wanted to tell you that I was sorry. 'Cause I never should have said what I did. And I wanted you to know that I'm really proud of you. I've always been proud of you. Not just 'cause you're a great cop but 'cause you're a great dad, too. And I wanted to say thanks for doing what you did to get me away from that Dean Lessing guy and taking me back to mommy."

Flack had nodded slowly, taking in his son's words.

"I just wanted you to know that I love you," Kieran had said, and disappeared from the doorway before his father had had the chance to react.

Those words brought a smile to Flack's face as he stood in the kitchen, staring at the whiteboard and wondering how in the hell he'd ever go from his days of declaring himself a life long bachelor, to being a domesticated husband and father to half a dozen kids.

_And one on the way, _he reminded himself. _Can't forget about number seven._

It sounded completely and utterly insane. Seven kids. In one house. Seven kids and only five pregnancies. In his single days, Flack had adamantly sworn off all thoughts of having a wife and children. When well meaning co-workers asked when he was going to find a nice girl to settle down and have a family with, he'd just laughed and looked at them as if they'd grown another head.

And yet here he was. Contemplating what to make his growing brood for supper and worrying if his wife was taking care of herself and the baby she had on board.

The sound of the screen door banging open echoed throughout the house and was soon followed by Liam and Mikayla's laughter and excessive chatter. Liam's excessive chatter, to be more precise. The kid was incapable of being quiet for more then five minutes at a time and ha inherited the Ross trait of rambling about both humorous and insignificant things.

"Hi, daddy!" Liam cried, as the soon to be seven year old rushed, full steam ahead, into the kitchen. Just as his father was exiting the room to greet his children in the foyer. Liam collided face first with his dad's legs and toppled backwards, landing flat on his ass.

"You are such a tool," Mikayla informed her little brother as she stepped over him to get into the kitchen.

"I'm not a tool!" Liam yelled. "You're a tool! And a poo-head!"

"Both of you stop calling each other's names. Don't start as soon as you get into the house," Flack scolded them lightly, then leaned over to kiss the top of his daughter's head. "How was school?" he asked, running a hand over her unruly hair.

"Okay…" she replied with a heavy sigh. "But Britney is still being a total witch! Just 'cause Kyle likes her and not me. She thinks she's so cool and so pretty and she's not."

"She's ugly," Liam declared from his spot on the kitchen floor. "And I think she smells bad. Like farts."

"Well if she's acting like that, then she's just as much of a tool as that moron Kyle is," Flack told his daughter. "They deserve each other. And what did I tell you about worrying about boys at your age?"

"That boys are stupid," she grumbled.

"No..that's what your mom told you. What did I tell you?"

"That I'm too young to be worried about boys," Mikayla sighed.

"Exactly. You've got tons of time to worry about guys liking you and having a boyfriend. You're eleven. Way too young to be thinking about that stuff. You need to be thinking about soccer and baseball and everything else that you love to do. Not about boys. Understand?"

She nodded and headed for the fridge.

"And what about you?" Flack asked his youngest, as Liam finally managed to pick himself up off of the floor. "How was school?"

"Awesome!" the little boy enthused. "It was the bestest day ever! You know why, daddy? You know why it was the bestest day ever?"

"Because it's Friday and every Friday is hot dog day at school?" Flack asked.

"That too! It's 'cause we played dodge ball in gym today. And you know what happened, daddy? Michael West? That stupid head that always picks on me 'cause of how small I am? Well he got hit right in the face with the ball and it broke his nose! There was blood everywhere! It was so cool!"

"You're mental," Mikayla told him, before snagging a cherry flavoured Kool-Aid Jammer drinking pouch from the fridge.

"He's either going to go into forensics like his mother or be a pathologist like Uncle Sid and Uncle Shelly," Lindsay said, as she appeared in the doorway, a Spiderman knapsack in one hand, and a Hello Kitty one slung over her right shoulder.

"Or a mass murderer," Flack concluded. "Could go either way I figure. He could go the law abiding and normal route, or the sick and twisted serial killer direction. The jury is still out on him."

"Is K home?" Liam asked excitedly. "Is he in his room? I need to show him something! It's top secret and I can't show anyone else until he sees it! Is he home, daddy? Is he in his room?"

"He's in his room," Flack confirmed. "But why can't you show me what it is?"

"'Cause I gotta show K first!" Liam informed him. "But this is for you daddy…" reaching into the pocket of his navy blue school uniform pants, he pulled out a folded and extremely wrinkled and tattered piece of paper. "You have to sign that!" Liam instructed. "So I can go to the zoo next Tuesday. Can you sign that daddy?"

"Why's it in such bad shape?" his dad asked as he surveyed the paper in his hand. Along with the many wrinkles and tears, it was also stained with what appeared to be mustard and ketchup.

"It's not my fault that it got smooshed in my pocket," Liam replied. "My pockets are too small."

"So why didn't you put it in your backpack?" Flack asked.

"Hmmm…" Liam cocked his head to the side as he thought of a suitable answer. "I don't know…sometimes my brain doesn't work properly. Will you sign it, daddy?"

He nodded and dropped the piece of paper onto the kitchen counter.

"Freaking A!" Liam cried ecstatically. "Thanks, daddy! I'm gonna go and see K. Bye Auntie Montanie!" he yelled his farewell to Lindsay as he hurried past her, snatching his backpack from her hands. "Thanks for taking me to Laughing Larry's!"

Flack stared pointedly at the woman standing in his kitchen doorway.

"I just couldn't resist," Lindsay defended herself, her cheeks flushing. "I know that Adam's been taking K since he was just a little guy and I know Danny took Liam and Declan there a couple of times before. And when Liam asked…what can I say? I've got a huge soft spot when it comes to that kid."

Flack held up his left hand and folded down all his fingers save for his pinkie. "Wrapped around it," he told Lindsay. "Completely."

"I can't help it," she sighed. "He's just so tiny and sweet and he has the face of an angel."

"He's a terrorist," Flack said. "We all know it except for you. And I can't believe that place is still in business. Laughing Larry died like ten years ago."

"Nine, actually," Lindsay corrected. "But apparently, this nephew of his that inherited it in his will is making a killing. He was telling me while we were there that profits have never been better. And it's not like he sells anything other then your basic practical joke crap. I guess in this day and age and all the trouble in strife in the world, people are looking for cheap laughs and will get them wherever they can. How did it go with Kieran today?"

Flack shrugged. "It started out pretty rough. We got into it a few times today. About his apparent selective hearing and his problem with any one in the position of authority. He's been told a hundred times. No Internet, no Xbox, no telephone. And what does he do? He gets caught talking on the phone to his girlfriend. Not to mention he's smoking out in the backyard. I can't stop him from doing it, but he's going to goddamn well listen when I tell him not to do it around the house. And his mouth?" he shook his head. "I think it's safe to say he never had it rinsed out with soap enough when he was younger."

"Actually," Lindsay said, as she dropped Mikayla's backpack on one of the empty kitchen chairs. "I think it's safe to say that he takes after both of his parents in the mouthy department."

Flack smirked. "Way to throw your support behind me, Monroe."

She grinned and held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers. Drawing his attention to the diamond engagement ring and thick yellow gold band gracing her third finger. "Been there for thirteen years now, Flack."

"I know that smart ass. And for thirteen years I've been callin' you Monroe still. So if you think I'm suddenly just going to start callin' you Messer, you've got another thing coming. But Kieran…I don't know what's going to happen with him. He went out with Mac today and I think Mac went all Marine on him or something 'cause K walked back into the house a completely different kid. Let's see how long that will last for."

"He's fifteen," Lindsay sighed. "He's not that little boy I used to babysit all the time. With his flashing Diego shoes and his Caillou doll tucked under his arm and his broken speech. He's not that toddler that used to get a kick out of flushing things down the toilet and chasing his shadow and spinning around and around until he fell over because he was so dizzy. He's a young man. He's tall, dark and handsome and he knows it. All the girls love him and he knows that too. But behind that whole cocky attitude of his, he's dealing with some pretty heavy teenage angst, Don. Issues with jerks at school, problems with his girlfriend and his ex girlfriend. He's smoking, he's drinking…"

"Whoa…whoa…" Flack held up a hand to halt her. "Kieran is not drinking. I mean, he's admitted that he's gone to parties where he's had a few beers and there's been a couple Sundays where he's come downstairs and I was pretty sure he was hung over, but he's not tipping back on a regular basis."

"He was caught with alcohol at school," Lindsay pointed out. "It was in his locker and…"

"And he says it wasn't his," Flack cut her off. "He says that he was holding onto it for a buddy."

"And you believe him?"

"I admit, K's got a smart mouth and he's got a hell of a temper that needs to be straightened around," Flack said. "And he doesn't concentrate enough at school and he has a bit of an attitude problem, but one thing that he doesn't do is lie. He's never been a liar. He lied once in grade one and he caught hell for it. Learned his lesson. He's always been up front with me and Sam about everything. So if he says that that booze wasn't his, then it wasn't his. End of story."

"So whose was it?" Lindsay asked.

"A buddy's. He won't tell me or his mother whose it was. But he's not lying about it. I'd know if he was lying. And chances are, his conscience would eat away at him and he'd crack and come clean. Kieran is not handing us a bunch of bullshit about this."

"I hope you're right, Don," Lindsay sighed. "Because I hate to think that you're turning a blind eye to all of this. The only person that's going to get hurt if you're ignoring this is Kieran. And I know you don't want that to happen."

"Thank you for your devine, all knowing parenting wisdom," Flack remarked dryly. "I keep forgetting that you're the perfect parents raising the perfect children."

She held her hands up in self defence. "I'm only saying that I'm worried about Kieran. He's my nephew and I.."

"And he's my son," Flack reminded her. "And I know how to handle my own son. So thanks for the lecture but until your kids turn into the poster children for perfection, I'd appreciate it if you kept your opinions and your criticisms to yourself. How do you know that K wasn't holding that booze for Aiden?"

Lindsay gave a laugh. "Are you insane? Aiden doesn't drink."

"Really? 'Cause I seem to remember a party that my wife had to pick both of our sons up at. And I also remember her telling me that Aiden was tanked and lost his breakfast, lunch and dinner in the backseat of her car."

"That was one time," Lindsay said. "One time does not mean he has a drinking problem."

"Aiden's the only one that Kieran would be willing to take the fall for," Flack told her. "He'd fight to the death to protect Aiden. And he'd never rat on him. Ever."

"Aiden does not have a drinking problem," she remained adamant. "That booze did not belong to him. And what does it really matter who it belongs to?"

Flack laughed and shook his head. "Not easy hearing shit about your own kid, is it? You can accuse my kid all you want but the second the tables are turned…"

"We can stand here and argue about this until we're blue in the face," Lindsay snapped. "The fact is, it was your son that nearly beat a kid into a coma and it was your son that got caught with the booze in his locker. Not mine. So obviously, something is being done correctly in my house more so than it is yours."

"Are you kidding me?" Flack laughed even harder at that. "Please tell me you're kidding me. Who died and made you God? Who decided to anoint you the Patron Saint of Parenting?"

"Daddy…" Mikayla sighed heavily as she got up from the table. "Don't be so hostile," she said as she grabbed her school bag and walked by him on her way out of the kitchen. "It's not very becoming of you."

Flack smirked. "You spend way too much time with your mother!" he called after her.

"Look Don," Lindsay waited until the little girl left the room before speaking. "No one is passing judgement on you. You and Sam have done amazing jobs with all of your kids. But Kieran…I love Kieran but he needs some help. He's got some issues and I worry that you're overlooking them."

"Duly noted," Flack said.

"There's no reason for you to get so defensive," Lindsay told him. "There's nothing wrong with the fact that your son is a little screwed up. Look what happened to him when he was really little. Look at how badly he took it when you and Sam separated. Maybe he just needs to talk to someone about all the anger he has inside of him."

"I've got it under control, okay? I've got names and numbers from Hawkes of some psychologists that deal with kids and teenagers. I've already made calls. I've already made plans to spend some time with him. One on one. There's nothing I wouldn't do for my son. And the fact that you question how I handle him…"

"I wasn't questioning you. I was just worried that…"

"Worried that I had my head up my ass. I know Kieran has problems. And I'm going to help him get to the bottom of them. He's my son. My boy. And I promised him when he was seconds old that I was going to carry him for the rest of his life. And there's no goddamn way I'm ever breaking that promise to him."

She smiled. "You're a good father, Don. A little strict and misguided at times…"

"I just want to do right by him," Flack told her. "I just want to get him whatever help he needs to be…" he sighed. "To be Kieran again. And I worry that maybe he's too screwed up and too far gone to be helped. I worry that some doctor is going to tell me that this is just the way he is and that he's only going to get worse."

"You know that's not going to happen," Lindsay said. "He just needs to get control of himself and his life. That's all. And with you and Sam behind him, he's going to be just fine. He'll get past whatever is bothering him and he'll be okay. You know he will be."

"I just don't want him ending up completely lost. I worry that we won't be able to get to him before it's too late. I never signed up for this. Parenting a teenager. Especially a teenage boy. I never signed up for this. Fifteen years ago I was sitting on my living room floor holding my newborn son in my arms and now…now I feel like he's a stranger to me. And I hate that."

"Maybe it would be good for both of you to talk to someone about how you feel," she suggested. "Because I know that you've got a lot of anger and regret inside of you. And it's not doing you any good keeping it all inside, Don. What happened to him with Doyle and Lessing, I know it was a long time ago. But I don't think you ever really dealt with that. That you ever talked about how you feel about what happened to Kieran."

"It's just something I don't like to talk about," Flack reasoned. "I don't like to sit back and think that he was…" he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I don't like to think about what Doyle did to him. I can't think about it 'cause it makes me sick to my stomach. And it makes me feel so guilty. That I wasn't able to stop it from happening."

"No one could have stopped it," Lindsay told him. "It happened. And it's a horrible, disgusting thing. But Kieran isn't defined by what happened to him when he was fourteen months old. He's an amazing, incredible young man who just needs a gentle shove in the right direction. That's all."

Flack nodded as he considered her words.

"And maybe you need a shove in that direction to," she added, rubbing his back softly.

He gave a small laugh. "Sam would agree with you. Although I think she'd say something more along the liens of a foot up my ass."

Lindsay laughed as well. "She loves you and adores you, you know that."

"I do," he said confidently. "And I love her. Wholly and completely. Sometimes it's really hard to believe that we've come this far. That it's been been almost sixteen years since I first met her on that bench outside of the crime lab. Since Danny tried to bust out his best game and failed miserably. Who would have thought that that smart mouth little Brooklyn girl would have made such an impression on my life, huh? That she'd be my wife, mother of my seven kids."

"Six," Lindsay corrected him. "There's only six. I know it's easy to miscount from time to time."

Flack just nodded and grinned broadly.

_If you only knew, _he thought.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing not only this, but my other stories as well. I'm having a great time with them, and I only hope that you're enjoying reading them as much as I am enjoying writing them! Thanks to all of my readers, reviewers and lurkers alike. Please R and R folks!**

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**Forest Angel**


	78. No refunds, no exchanges

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK KIDS.**

**THANKS TO MUCHMADNESS AND LAURZZ FOR ALERTING ME TO SOME POACHING. ONCE AGAIN, I MUST REITERATE THAT ALL OCS, STORY LINES ETC BELONG TO ME. AND THAT INCLUDES THE FLACK SHOOTING STORY LINE IE: FLACK IN A DRUG INDUCED COMA, INTUBATED BECAUSE HE COULDN'T BREATHE ON HIS OWN ETC THAT I BEGAN IN EARLIER CHAPTERS IN THIS STORY EIGHT MONTHS AGO!!!!. IF YOU'D LIKE TO BORROW SOMETHING, PLEASE ASK!**

**SO, OBVIOUSLY MY COMPUTER HASN'T EXPLODED. YET. SO CONFICKER HASN'T CAUSED TECHNOLOGICAL ARMAGEDDON FOR ME. YET. WISH ME LUCK! HOPE YOU'RE ALL SURVIVING THE WORM!**

* * *

**No refunds, no exchanges**

"I remember trying not to stare  
The night that I first met you,  
You had me mesmerized,  
And three weeks later,  
In the front porch light,  
Taking 45 minutes to kiss goodnight.  
I hadn't told you then,  
That I thought I loved you then

And now you're my whole life,  
And now you're my whole world,  
And I just can't believe the way I feel about you girl,  
Like a river needs the sea, stronger than it's ever been,  
We've come so far since that day,  
And I thought I loved you then

I can just see you, with a baby on the way  
I can just see you, when your hair is turning gray  
What I can't see is how  
I'm ever gonna love you more  
But I've said that before

And now you're my whole life  
Now you're my whole world  
I just can't believe the way I feel about you girl,  
We'll look back someday at this moment  
And I'll look at you and say  
And I thought I loved you then."  
-Then, Brad Paisley

* * *

Powering down her computer for the evening, Samantha sighed heavily and removed the flash drive from the docking station on her desk. Dropping it into the open, waiting briefcase sitting on the floor by her feet, she then pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger and leaned back in her chair. The moment she had opened her eyes that morning, things had gone increasingly downhill.

It had started wonderfully. A tender, loving moment between husband and wife. A moment that had actually been initiated on her husband's behalf by waking her up forty five minutes before the kids' normal rising times. She had been in the midst of a blissful sleep when she'd been stirred by feathery kisses being pressed against every inch of her face, neck and shoulders as a surprisingly gentle -and phenomenally skilled- had slowly and tantalizingly exploring her body. Intimacy problems long behind them, she'd responded quickly and eagerly.

Until her stomach rebelled against her. Just as her pyjamas had been peeled off of her quivering, aching body, a horrific wave of nausea found her shoving her startled and less than amused husband away from her as she sprung out of bed and rushed into the en-suite bathroom. Where she spent the next hour kneeling on a towel with her arms practically embracing the base of the toilet as she expelled not only anything she'd eaten in the past twenty four hours, but what had felt like her very insides.

When she'd finally managed to pull herself together and shower and get ready for work, she had gone down into the kitchen where husband -who used most Fridays to work from home- had breakfast already prepared for their brood, and all the kids washed up, teeth brushed and school uniforms on. Save for Kieran, who, at his sulky, brooding best at his normal chair at the table, was being ragged on by his sisters for getting suspended, and praised by Declan, who was awe struck by both the amount of damage done to his brother's face, and that he'd actually beaten a kid into oblivion.

Liam was terrified. Both by the fact that Kieran looked like he'd been hit by a Mac truck, and that, thanks to Declan, he believed his oldest brother had actually KILLED someone. And he refused to come out from his safe place: the cupboards underneath the kitchen island. No amount of begging and pleading or even yelling on his father's behalf was enough to budge the soon to be seven year old. Flack had relegated himself to simply preparing a bowl of Frosted Flakes, two pieces of buttered toast, a glass of orange juice, and then opening the doors and giving Liam his breakfast where he sat cowering.

Silence -which was something that had ceased to exist in the Flack house fifteen years ago at the arrival of the first bundle of joy- had fallen on the kitchen the moment Sam stepped into it. All eyes were on her. Confusion and curiosity on behalf of the kids, who weren't used to seeing their mother appear as if death had come knocking on her door early that morning. She felt like shit and she knew she looked it. Her stomach was in a seriously pissed off mood and showed no signs of behaving itself anytime soon. And while the Flack siblings had all exchanged worried glances, none of them had had the guts to comment on her appearance, or ask what was wrong. The miserable look on her ashen face had told them that now was not the time to be getting on her about what was ailing her. And it also told them to cut their shit off until they got out the door. To spare their mother an unnecessary grief.

It was the first time Sam had ever seen her kids that well behaved. Six in one room usually meant a lot of noise. Someone was always the brunt of the jokes and the teasing as the other five ganged up on them. The boys were always grossing their sisters out by burping or chewing with their mouths open or, god forbid, farting at the table. Mikayla hated when someone touched her food, and Declan got a kick out of terrorizing her by reaching across the table with his fork and mixing up everything that sat on her plate. There was never a dull or a quiet moment around that house. There was always screaming and doors slamming. Knock 'em down, drag 'em out fights taking place in every room. Mean names being tossed out and tears being shed. Mommy and Daddy always having to take turns playing referee and consoler.

For once it had been nice to not hear a thing from any of the kids save for the sounds of spoons clinking against cereal bowls or slurps while taking sips of juice. And when her husband had, without even uttering a word, offered her two pieces of dry toast he'd made for her and a glass of milk he'd warmed in the microwave, she'd both given him a kiss of gratitude, and chewed him out quietly for 'doing this' to her.

Flack had given that dimply grin, and laying a hand on the back of her neck, pulled her tight to him and placed his lips against her ear.

"The demon sperm strikes again," he had whispered, then pressed a kiss and chuckled heartily before going back to his own breakfast. A massive plate of eggs sunny side up and exceptionally greasy bacon. She'd taken one look at him dipping his toast into the yolk, and the side of the runny, gooey yellow liquid leaking out onto his plate had sent her scrambling, a hand over her mouth, for the small bathroom near the basement stairs.

A package of Gravol and a box of crackers she'd picked up at the bodega across the street from the DHS Manhattan headquarters had seen her -albeit poorly- through the long, exhausting day. It had taken all of her will power to get through interrogations of federal fugitives, staff briefings and a small video led training session she had to nearly hand lead a new agent through. She had planned on going into her boss' office at the end of the day and handing in her resignation both verbally and in writing, but her chronic all day sickness and a wicked headache had prompted her to throw her hands in the air and head down the hall to drop the bomb shortly after lunch.

Her notice had been a bitter pill for Neil, the young 'fresh out of college' boss who'd only been in charge for several months, to swallow. He had done little more than listen to her rambling explanation on why it was time for her to go. How she felt, being forty eight with a seventh baby on the way, that it was time that she put her family first and concentrated on being a wife and a mother. Her husband deserved that. He'd been after her for years to more attentive and interested on the home front, and he was making twice as much money as she was and climbing the NYPD ranks at a shocking speed. Her kids deserved having her around more. Kieran was obviously troubled and needed all the guidance he could get, and Declan needed more time spent on his various therapies. The two boys needed the most help, and she couldn't adequately give it to them while working **and **taking care of their siblings.

Neil had sat silent and emotionless for the entire ten minutes she'd talked. When she was finally finished, he had given a long, slow nod and leaning forward in his chair, clasped his hands tightly on top of his desk.

"Maybe you should have thought about the stress having a family would put on your career and not had so many children," he'd said.

Sam had literally laughed out loud. His comment had seemed so absurd that it had been impossible to accept that he'd been even remotely serious.

But he had been. The way he had remained stone faced had told her that he meant every single word that had come out of his mouth.

So she'd done the first thing that had popped into mind. She had stood up, tossed all her DHS identification and key cards on top of his desk and told him to shove her two weeks notice. She was leaving at the end of her shift.

It had slightly hurt when he hadn't chased her down or even attempted to convince her to stay. Sam had always thought she was a valuable member of the department, especially considering the amount of work that was constantly dumped on her and the requests from the Washington office to handle high profile interrogations. She had been entrusted to handle training of new recruits and had been given her own team after a relatively short period of time on the job. She'd even been sent to conferences around the country to fulfill public speaking engagements. So to realize that you were actually just as expendable as those below you was a harsh wake up call.

Her team members had taken it hard. The young women had shed tears and offered up profanity, while the men just shook their heads at the insensitivity that had been shown to her after all the blood, sweat and tears she'd put into the job, then had threatened to meet up with their boss after work and teach him a lesson. Instead of promoting an ass kicking or an assassination on Neil, Sam had suggested they all take off for a couple of hours. Grab something to eat and have a couple of drinks. On her DHS expense account before the boss got on the phone and cancelled her privileges.

She'd had a wonderful afternoon with her 'people'. She'd sipped virgin cocktails while the small group had shared tales of cases they'd worked on, run ins they'd had with the NYPD -"Especially a certain Inspector," one of the guys had said and gave Sam a playful wink while she and the rest of the table laughed- and talked about their hopes and their dreams for their individual futures. She had announced the news of her pregnancy. The guys had given their stiff, one armed hugs and simple congratulations while the girls had shrieked with excitement and burst out of their chairs to throw their arms around her. Then they'd ordered her the biggest slice of Turtles cheesecake possible and had the manager find a lone birthday candle to stick in the top of it. The only thing he'd had one hand was a sparkler. Usually reserved for Fourth of July birthdays, but he was willing to part with it for a helping of 'Congrats You're Having a Baby, Sorry You're Leaving Your Crap Ass Job' cheesecake.

She'd returned to the office feeling more angry than hurt and had gone straight to the photocopy room down the hall from her office, dumped a whole box of copier paper on the floor and carried the box down to her humble abode to use to pack all of her things in.

It now sat on the coffee table in the middle of the room. It held little more than colourful drawings the kids had made over the years and she'd never been able to part with, and framed photographs. One of each of the kids' current school pictures, one of all six, wearing identical outfits of white t-shirts and jeans as they sat in a tight group, on a patch of grass in Central Park. It had been a gorgeous, remarkably warm fall day and the kids, all with bright smiles on their faces -and Kieran with that hideous head of shoulder length hair and half of his face hidden by his bangs- were surrounded by leaves in shades of glorious reds and fiery oranges and golden yellows. The photo, taken at a rare moment of tranquility between the kids, had turned out beautifully and she'd never forget her husband's initial reaction when the photographer had brought the prints out to the house for them to look at.

Flack had studied the half dozen different shots laid out on the coffee table in front of him, a small, proud smile on his face, his blue eyes sparkling. And then he'd looked at her as she sat beside him and said:

"We have a lot of goddamn kids."

_Which just makes us certifiably insane for having another one, _Sam concluded, as she replayed his words in her mind.

* * *

And then, out of nowhere, she was hit with an emotional tide of memories of how close she had come to not having that seventh baby. Or Liam and Mikayla. How close she had come to having the love of her life ripped so cruelly away from her. All because a recently released perp, hell bent on seeking revenge against Mac Taylor for putting him behind bars and causing him years of torture and torment at the hands of other inmates, had decided to walk into what was suppose to be a secure crime scene and open fire.

St. Ignatius High School in the Bronx had been the sight of a blood bath. A student fed up with being picked on, had calmly walked in, two semi automatic hand guns strapped to his body and a rifle tucked inside a flowing black trench coat, chained all the exits closed and carried out a Columbine style massacre. Before turning the gun on himself in the middle of a blood soaked, brain mattered covered cafeteria. She could still smell the blood and see the bullet ridden bodies that lay in hallways, gymnasium change rooms, the lunch area and the library. Twenty-two students, including the gunman, had died that day.

Her husband had nearly been victim. Of another vicious, cold blood monster who had no value for human life and who'd hadn't even shown remorse at the trial over a year later when she gave a victim impact statement on behalf of herself and her four young children. He hadn't batted an eyelash or showed an emotion when emergency room doctors, surgeons and physiotherapists had gone into great detail regarding her husband's wounds, the months in a drug induced coma hooked up to a ventilator, and the half a year he'd spent open being released from the hospital, in a short term care rehab facility.

She could remember the very second that her life as she knew it nearly came to an end. When, while quietly and efficiently processing the library one floor above the cafeteria with Speed, Stella and Hawkes, they'd heard the sound of multiple gunshots, followed by sheer pandemonium -Carmen's screaming, tables and chairs being over turned and an officer returning fire- breaking loose. And she had known, the moment the walkie talkie clipped to the waist band of Speed's jeans had crackled to live and Mac's voice came through alerting everyone and anyone to the fact that there was an officer down and they needed immediate EMS response, that it was her husband. She'd been overcome with sudden and overwhelming feelings of dread, which had only been elevated when Mac called over the radio asking for Hawkes to come downstairs. ASAP.

Everything else that happened that afternoon was a blur. She could scarcely remember an ashen faced, blood soaked Danny coming upstairs and telling her he'd take her to the hospital. She could recall certain parts of his explanation to what had happened and how he'd fought in vain and used CPR to bring his best friend back to life. How the perp had been wounded when shot by one of the uniform officers and had been taken to the hospital. She remembered sitting, her entire body trembling and tears streaming down her face as a surgeon explained the extent of the damage that had been done. A bullet still lodged near the spinal cord. How dangerous it would be to attempt removal because a simple mistake could lead to complete paralysis. She heard the words 'possible brain damage due to lack of oxygen when vital signs were absent', 'long term care required', 'grave condition'. She'd been so distraught that nothing registered probably and she'd signed any paper that was shoved her way and then shown to the Intensive Care Unit where her husband lay so close to death, hooked up to machines, a tube down his throat keeping him alive.

It had been a long, long road. A priest had come and administered last rights three times in the course of a month alone. She had, through mind numbing grief, began to prepare for a funeral. While her brain had told her that this was the end and she needed to accept it, her heart wouldn't let her give up. She couldn't turn her back on him. On them. And she spent countless hours at his bedside, holding his hand and stroking his face and combing her fingers through his hair. Talking to him. Begging and pleading with him to just give him some sort of sign that he was going to be okay. Sam hadn't cared if she had to quit her job to take care of him herself. As long as he was going to make it.

Her sign came two months after the shooting. Two days following doctors orders to slowing reduced the amount of meds to bring him out of the coma, she'd been in her nearly permanent place by the side of her husband's bed, both her tiny hands clasping one of his hands, her forehead resting on the mattress. In the midst of a troubled, restless, nightmare plagued sleep when she'd felt something ever so lightly brush against the top of her head. At first she'd thought she was dreaming and ignored it. Until the touch became more firm, more insistent and she finally opened her eyes and lifted her head. And found herself staring into those beautiful blue eyes she'd fallen so quickly and easily in love with. Unable to talk because of the tube down his throat, Flack had look terrified. Frightened by the unknown. He had no clue where he was or how he'd gotten there or what had happened to him. And it would be another three weeks before memories of the shooting would being to surface.

The following eight months had been trying. It still broke her heart to think of the difficult decision she'd made to have him admitted to a rehab facility. She knew that with four kids under the age of four at home, there was no way she was able to fully devote herself to her husband's care and his extreme needs. And she could remember the many moments during visits to the home and at the therapy sessions she'd helped him through that he'd thrown things at her and screamed profanities and told her that he hated her for putting him there. How he'd never, ever forgive her for dumping him there and treating him like a worthless piece of shit. No matter how much she argued or how many explanations she gave him, he simply could not accept that he needed to be there.

She recalled the times he'd told her that he'd wished he'd died that day. When the exercises became too painful and intense -a thousand times worse than anything he'd experienced after the bombing he readily admitted- he would rant and rave about how he wished the perp had have killed him. He was far better off being dead than suffering the way he was.

But the times she remembered the most were those moments she'd crawl beside him in his bed and hold him as he cried from sheer pain and exhaustion. How he'd cling to her and beg and plead with her to take him home. How he'd tell her how much he missed her and loved her and his babies and just wanted to go home. Where he belonged.

Almost a year to the day of his shooting, Flack had been able to do just that. His strength hadn't fully returned and there were times he needed the aide of a walker to go for a walk around the block. Or times he didn't make it out of bed in time in the middle of the night to get to the washroom and he'd be disgusted with himself and embarrassed when his wife would have to help clean him up and change the sheets. Sam hadn't even blinked an eye. There was nothing she wouldn't do for him. Long ago she'd relegated herself to the fact that if she had to, she'd change his diapers or a catheter of colostomy back. That she'd wipe food and drool off of his face and feed him with a spoon if she had to. Not out of a feeling of necessity or obligation. But because she loved him and would lie down and die for him if the situation ever arose.

_Why the hell are you even thinking about this? _Sam asked herself, frantically brushing tears off of her face and opening her eyes. _You must be hormonal or something. You haven't thought about those things in years? Why now? Why torture yourself?_

Sighing heavily, she removed her hand from her face and reached for the bottle of water that sat on her now empty desk. Uncapping it, she took a long, refreshing swig. Finishing off the bottle and tossing it into the recycling bin that lay at the side of her work station.

She felt a slight fluttering sensation in her stomach and she instinctively laid her hand over the place her unborn child resided.

_Your daddy was spared, _she thought, rubbing her tummy in slow, smooth circles. _He was spared because he was destined for great things. Because without him, you and Liam and Mikayla wouldn't be here. And you're so blessed. Because you have such an amazing daddy who will stop at nothing to protect you and take care of you._

Of us, she corrected herself with a smile.

And as she leaned back in her chair and took one last look around her office, she realized that she was giving her career up for him. For the man that had accepted her and all the problems that came with her. Who'd made her realize what true love was really like. Who'd taught her that not all men were evil, sadistic bastards. And who'd given her six beautiful, amazing gifts and the incredible opportunity of being a mother.

And it was because of everything he'd done for his family over the years, the physical and emotional sacrifices he'd made, that she knew her decision to leave was the right one. That he deserved that much from her.

That she owed him that much.

* * *

It was almost six thirty in the evening when Samantha finally found herself stepping out of the front doors of the DHS headquarters in Manhattan, her purse slung over one shoulder and box of personal items tucked under her other arm and balancing precariously on her hip. Cursing the renovations being done to the underground parking lot that had forced her to park across the street in a ridiculously expensive city lot. Instead of just taking an elevator into the basement and walking less then a hundred yards to the prime spot she'd scored on her first day at the job, she had to either risk certain death by jaywalking through the insanity of Manhattan traffic, or trudge a block and a half either way to available stop lights and then do a complete circle to get to the lot that was directly across from her office building.

What used to be my office building, she thought. And immediately found that instead of feeling sad for leaving her career and many good people behind, or angry at the way her boss had handled news of her departure, she felt liberated. She liked the idea of not having to drive to and from Queens every day. Of not having to bear the horrific traffic or leave the house two hours before her shift to avoid any major delays or headaches. All of her kids were in school. She would have the whole morning and afternoon to herself to attend to things around the house, something that had sorely been lacking most days with both her and Flack working full time. And deep down, despite years of solidly upholding her independent streak, she was actually looking forward to her husband being in charge of taking care of the entire family for a change. She was actually enjoying the thought of him being in complete and utter control of everything.

Not that she'd ever tell him that he was in complete and utter control. Or that she enjoyed it when he was.

Setting the box of personal mementos on the sidewalk, she removed her sunglasses from the top of her head and slipped them onto her face. She inhaled deeply; letting the cool breeze tumbled through the air to invigorate her senses. She was prepared. A hundred percent. Prepared to begin the next stage of her life. One that in all honestly she knew she should have began years before. But her fierce stubborn streak and her refusal to allow any man, even her husband, tell her what to do, had prevented her from willingly giving up her career in favour of being a cook, maid and full time caregiver. She realized now how damn selfish her actions, or lack there of, had been. She had chosen to work instead of staying home with her kids simply because she wanted to spite her husband. That thought shamed her.

And made her wonder if Kieran was the way he was because she hadn't been around more. Because she couldn't swallow her pride and admit for once that she was wrong.

_It's all going to change, _she thought, as she bent down and scooped the box up once again. _From here on out, things are going to be different._

_I'm going to be different._

She turned left to head in the direction of the crosswalk at the corner of Lexington and East 56th. There was a Starbucks on the corner and she was dying for a Chai Latte to sip on the way home. And she was dying to get home. To break the news to the kids that not only had she quit her job and would be around for them starting immediately, but that they had a new sibling on the way.

"Moving out?" a familiar -and not so welcome- voice asked.

She glanced in the direction of the greeting, frowning at the sight of Jesse Palmer leaning casually against the bricks of the law firm next to the DHS headquarters. He was dressed 'down' in just a pair of baggy jeans and a plain grey t-shirt. His face sporting a days worth of stubble and his hair freshly buzzed.

"What do you want?" she asked coolly, confidently continuing her journey down the sidewalk.

"I wanted to talk to you," Jesse replied, quickly falling in step alongside of her.

"There is nothing to talk about," Sam told him. "I've got nothing to say to you and I don't want to hear anything you have to say to me. What part of leave me alone don't you understand?"

"I understand that you don't want anything to do with me. I get that. You're happy with the boring, predictable life you have. You're okay with not being anything more than someone's wife and mother to all kinds of kids. Slaving away and devoting yourself to a husband and children that don't even appreciate you."

Sam snorted and shook her head. "I'm not listening to this," she said. "Just leave me alone, okay? Go find some nice girl that will be interested in you just as much as your are in her. Why do you have to keep on me like this?"

"Why do you keep running away from me?" he countered. "What are you scared of?"

"Other then being afraid that I might kill you?" she asked. "I just want you to leave me alone. I don't know how to make myself any clearer than that."

Jesse stepped in front of her, planting himself firmly in her path and bringing her to a quick halt. "We shared something, Samantha," he said. "I felt something that night I kissed you. And don't try and tell me you didn't."

"I didn't," she told him. "I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"You kissed me back," he argued. "So you must have…"

"It was a moment!" she snapped. "A weak moment. Nothing more than that. It was just a kiss. Nothing materialized from it and nothing ever will. Just leave me alone and get on with your life."

"Something could materialize," Jesse said. "If you'd just let it."

"I don't want anything to materialize," Sam informed him angrily. "I don't feel anything for you. I felt nothing then. I was lonely and a bit tipsy. My husband and I were dealing with some issues and I reached out to the first person that showed interest in me. I was flattered that it was a younger man. You made me realize that I was still attractive and that men were still into me. It was an ego boost. Nothing more. I'm a married woman. I love my husband. He's my entire world. And you need to accept that and back off. Understand me?"

"There's no way that he can treat you the way I can," the young man confidently declared. "That he can appreciate you the way I do."

"Jesse, I'm only going to tell you this one more time. I am not into you. I love my husband. I love my kids. And there's no way in hell I'm leaving my family for you. For anyone for that matter. So do me a favour and just leave me alone and get on with your life."

"So that's it?" he asked, hands planted firmly on his hips, a scowl on his face as he regarded her. "One kiss and that's it? You're just brushing it off? Pushing me away like it was no big deal?"

"It was no big deal!" Sam exclaimed. "At least not to me! Now either get the hell out of my way or…"

"I called your place a few times last night," Jesse informed her. "I thought maybe it was time your husband and I had a little chat. About who is better suited for you."

She couldn't help but laugh. "You are so fucking delusional," she said. "Do you know how immature that is? Calling my husband to threaten him that you're going to walk in and take over his family? Do you realize how ridiculous you are?"

"I wasn't going to threaten to take over his family. I don't want his family. I just want you."

"You seriously need your head read," Sam told him. "Why don't you man up and show up at my house and say that to his face? Don't be a pussy and call him on the phone. Just show up on my doorstep and spew all this bullshit. You know what will happen to you then? You'll get your ass handed to you twice over. And you'll deserve it."

Jesse shook his head "I'm not scared of him. You think I'm scared of some dumb ass flat foot? You think that…"

"I think that you need to get the fuck out of my face!" she snapped. "I think you should be scared of him. Because he's not some dumb ass flat foot. He's an amazing cop and an even more amazing man and he's ferociously protective of those that matter the most to him. Especially his children and his wife. So if you value your pretty face, you'd turn around and walk away and not look back. Understand me?"

His eyes were locked on hers. Her voice was devoid of emotion and her voice was firm. Her words were meant to be harsh. Final. This was a woman used to laying done the law, both personally and professionally, and meeting little to no resistance. Years in the NYPD and then with DHS had given her a confidence second to none. An arrogance and strength far larger then the tiny body those traits existed in. A bitchiness and wrath so expertly hidden by that youthful face and that soft voice.

Finally he gave in. Holding his hands up in surrender, Jesse backed away from her slowly.

"Don't try to contact me," Samantha told him. "I don't work for DHS anymore. I'm doing what I should have done years ago and I'm being the wife and the mother that my husband and my kids want me to be. That they need me to be. And if you even think about calling my house again or showing up on my doorstep…"

"This is the last you'll hear from me or see me," he assured her. "Have a nice life, Samantha. I hope you're happy with the decisions you've made. 'Cause I'm not going to be waiting around when you realize you made mistake."

"I haven't made any mistakes. I love my life. And that life does not include you."

He nodded, and stuffing his hands in his pockets, turned on his heel and walked away. "You know, Sam…" he suddenly turned, speaking to her as he took slow steps backwards. "You better keep a better leash on your kid. The oldest one. He's got a smart mouth and someone's going to knock his teeth right out of his head one day because of it."

"Is this a threat?" she asked. "Did you just threaten my son?"

"Not a threat," he assured her. "It's more of a warning."

"You go anywhere near my son, and it won't be my husband you'll need to be afraid of," she promised.

Jesse gave a smirk and turned his back on her and continued down the sidewalk.

"Asshole," she muttered, and not taking the risk of running into him again, decided to turn around and go in the opposite direction. That intersection was further away, but the extra minutes spent walking were worth not having an unpleasant altercation on the street.

* * *

Shaking her head in disbelief, she turned on her heel. And nearly found herself colliding face first into another pedestrian. And no ordinary pedestrian. A tall, broad shoulder and powerful looking man in a pair of beige Dockers and casual brown leather shoes and a black golf shirt that was tight across the chest and around his biceps. So what if he was completely grey and he still wore the glasses that had been forced upon him at the hands of Dean Lessing? That man, with his familiar smell and his beautiful blue eyes and that boyish grin, was **her** man. And she'd never, ever want anyone else.

"Whose that tool?" Flack asked, nodding over top of his wife's head. Then without a word or without having to be asked, took the cardboard box she was attempting to balance on her hip and tucked it under one arm.

"That's Jesse," she replied.

While she'd been open and honest about the 'moment' she and the young man had shared and she'd also admitted about the startling age difference between herself and the Marshal, Flack had never known what the man looked like. And had never cared enough to ask for a description. All that matter to him was that she had told him what she'd done. And that she was genuinely remorseful. It was a kiss. Nothing more. She had backed away. She had come home to him.

"He wanted to talk," she added.

"About what? Him wanting to be Dustin Hoffman to your Ann Bancroft? Wanting to remake The Graduate? He still has that whole Mrs Robinson fetish going on, huh?" Flack teased.

"He's a little persistent," she sighed. "I told him, in no uncertain terms, to take a hike. I think he got the picture."

"Think so? You're harsh, baby. First you shatter his innocence, then you humiliate him in public?"

Sam frowned, then laughed at the grin that covered her husband's face. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I thought I'd come and surprise you," he said, and leaning over, kissed her softly. "You were pretty upset when you called earlier and told me what that Bill Gates wannabe said to you and how you'd just upped and quit, so I thought I'd swing by. Take you out on a date."

"A date, huh?" her eyes sparkled up at him.

He nodded. "It's only been what? At least a decade since we've been out on a date? Like a real date. Just the two of us."

"Try more like fifteen years," she laughed.

"Come on. It has not been that long and you know it. The triplets were just over a year old the last time we went out. Remember? My mom and dad stayed with all the kids and we went to Cape Cod with Mac and Stella."

"Okay…so twelve years ago. Almost thirteen. And speaking of kids…"

"I gave them supper and then chained them up in the basement," Flack told her. "They'll be okay for a few hours."

She frowned.

He blanched. Immediately recognizing the mistake he'd made with the tasteless joke and why he'd gotten the death glare instead of a laugh. It had taken a lot of poking and prodding on his behalf early in their relationship to get the full truth out of her about the sheer hell her birth father -or who she thought most of her life was her birth father- had put her and Adam through. And being locked in the basement for a couple of days had been the tamest punishment he'd ever doled out.

"I should not have just said that," he said, biting his bottom lip. "I'm sorry, baby. I never should have…"

She waved it off. While the pain still lingered under the surface when it came to the years of physical and sexual abuse she had suffered, she had long ago learned to not let simple things, such as her husband's comment about their children, upset her. She had met, in the end, the man who had been responsible for giving her life. And while now living in a different state, Lincoln Scott still remained a fixture in her life, as well as those of his grandchildren.

"So what did you really do with your hellions?" she asked, curling her arm around his waist as they turned and headed down the sidewalk.

"I ordered them some pizza and wings and told Kieran he was in charge for awhile," Flack replied, wrapping his free arm around her slender shoulders.

"You think that was smart?" she asked. "Considering he's grounded for putting a kid in the hospital?"

"We had a talk," Flack told her. "A good one after he came back from his outing with Mac. He's remorseful for what he did and he's accepting the consequences. I wanted him to realize that there's still part of me that trusts him, and a part of me that he can trust. I don't want to fuck things up with him anymore than they already are. He's a good kid, Sammie. He's just…" he sighed. "I don't know. A little screwed up right now. Nothing that can't be stopped though. He's going to be okay."

She smiled up at him. "You know, there are these times you're so sensitive and amazingly tender that I wonder if you're actually my husband."

Flack smirked and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Smart ass," he said. "And so you know, I'm taking him out Sunday night. Rangers are back in town. Playing Buffalo. I ordered some good tickets on line. I figure I'll take him out to dinner before the game. Spend some time with him."

"I think that's a great idea," she said. "Thank you…for putting forth some kind of effort, Donnie."

"He's my son, Sammie. My first born. I wouldn't just turn my back on him. You know that."

"I know…I just…get worried about you two sometimes. So? What kind of date are we talking about here?"

"I don't know. I figure I'll take you out to dinner, maybe go for a walk through the park afterwards. It's suppose to be a nice night. You used to love doing that when we were brat free. We don't have to rush. K's got everything under control and that Joseph kid that hangs out with Declan is stopping by later with some assignment's of K's that he never got back before he was suspended."

"You mean Alannah's boyfriend?" Sam grinned.

"Whose Alannah's boyfriend?" her husband asked, a frown on his face.

"Declan told me yesterday that Joseph and Alannah are boyfriend and girlfriend."

"Get outta here," Flack smirked as they stopped at a red light and he pressed the button for the cross walk.

"It's what he said," Sam said.

"Declan can't remember what he did ten minutes ago. Nor can he tell me the truth when I ask him twenty times if he brushed his teeth before bed or flushed the toilet after he took a leak. There's no way he knows if Lanni and this kid are boyfriend and girlfriend."

"He's not stupid, Donnie. He knows what it means when people are boyfriend and girlfriend."

"I know that. I'm just saying that he's probably full of shit. He also knows how to lie to get his brothers and sisters in trouble, Sam. He's a regular kid in that sense. He knows how to play his parents, too. He's sneaky and crafty just like the rest of them."

"That's because they all take after you," she teased. "And he seemed pretty believable about this."

"Lanni and Joseph are not boyfriend and girlfriend," Flack remained firm. "No way. First off, she knows I'll kill her if she has a boyfriend at her age. Second, Lanni's not into guys."

"That's mean!" she scolded.

"What?! It's true. She's not. I'm not saying she's into girls. Relax. I'm just saying that out of her and Reghan, Lanni's the one we least have to worry about. She's all about the sports. She doesn't have the interest or the time to be involved with boys."

Sam rolled her eyes. "Is it nice living in Egypt, Don?" she asked.

He frowned. "What's that suppose to mean?" he inquired.

"You seem to be quite comfortable in DE-NIAL," she told him.

"Very funny, wiseass. She doesn't have a boyfriend, okay? That guy is not her boyfriend."

"And if he is?" Sam challenged.

Flack thought about it as the light changed and they crossed the road. "Then I'll have to lock her in her room for a few years and castrate the guy."

Sam laughed. "You were not meant to have girls," she declared.

"Sure I was. Just not teenage girls. So what do you think, babe? Dinner sounds good?"

"I don't know…" she sighed and rubbed her stomach. "Your spawn has been punishing me all day."

"Which reminds me," he said, and removing his arm from around her shoulders, reached behind his body and pulled a small, white CVS bag from where he'd stored it in his back pocket. "Surprise number two," he said, holding the bag out to her.

"Little too late for birth control," she joked and accepted the bag from him. Opening it, she reached inside and pulled out a small vial of pills.

"You were pretty sick this morning and I know how bad the whole pregnancy thing gets, so I called your OB," Flack told her. "Got her to write a prescription for those Diclectin things. So you won't have to suffer."

She beamed up at him. "See?" she said, shaking the bottle of pills noisily. "You really do love me."

Returning the smile, he stopped walking and leaned down to cover her lips with his in a long, soft kiss.

"Only on days that end in Y," he told her.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I know it's been a while for this story. But now that my TWF muse has abandoned me, the VFB muse as returned! I hope all of you will return with it! I look forward to hearing from all of you!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Laplandgurl**

**EmSyd**

**ImaSupernaturalCSI**

**wolfeylady**

**Soccer-bitch**

**New-York-babeee**

**GregRox**

**Forest Angel**

**Delko's Girl88**


	79. Big K, Little L

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS.**

**A/N: DURING THE LAST YEAR, I HAVE MET SOME AMAZING FRIENDS. BOTH NON DL FANS AND DL SHIPPERS ALIKE. FANTASTIC SHIPPERS LIKE (AND NOT LIMITED TO) LAURZZ, MUCHMADNESS, IMASUPERNATURALCSI, A FROZENHEART412. WHO HAVE SUPPORTED ME AND MY STORIES EVEN THOUGH WE HAVEN'T ALWAYS HAD THE SAME VIEWS ON THINGS, SUCH AS DL. NOT ONCE HAVE THEY SLAMMED ME OR HATED ME. AND I THANK THEM FOR THAT. IN FACT, THEY WERE THE ONES THAT PULLED ME BACK ONTO THE GOOD SHIP DL! AND I AM REALLY LOVING IT AGAIN!**

**THERE'S JUST NO NEED FOR HATE. WE DON'T ALL HAVE TO LIKE THE SAME THINGS. I MEAN, HOW BORING WOULD LIFE BE IF WE DID?! THAT'S THE GREAT THING ABOUT FAN FICTION, WE CAN CREATE A NEW WORLD WHERE THINGS HAPPEN THAT WE WANT TO HAPPEN! AND IT'S EVEN BETTER BECAUSE IT'S ALL FOR FUN! AND IF WE DON'T LIKE SOMETHING, THAT'S WHAT THE CLOSE BUTTON IS FOR AT THE TOP OF THE SCREEN! WHEN PEOPLE GET HATED ON BECAUSE THEY DON'T LIKE DL…WELL THAT IS DOING DL A MAJOR DISSERVICE. BECAUSE THE HATE JUST TURNS PEOPLE OFF THE PAIRING EVEN MORE. AND THAT ISN'T WHAT WE WANT, IS IT?**

**MUCH LOVE TO ALL OF YOU,**

**BEG 75**

**AND CONGRATS TO MUCHMADNESS! ONCE AGAIN SHE'S THE WINNER OF AN IMAGINARY TRIP FOR BEING MY 900****TH**** REVIEW FOR THIS STORY! 900 ALREADY, WOW. THANKS TO ALL OF YOU FOR HELPING ME GET THERE!**

* * *

**Big K, Little L**

"I go to school, I write exams,  
If I pass, if I fail, if I drop out,  
Does anyone give a damn?  
And if they do, they'll soon forget cause it wont take much for me  
To show my life ain't over yet.  
I wake up scared, I wake up strange.  
I wake up wondering if anything in my life is ever going to change.  
I wake up scared, I wake up strange  
And everything around me stays the same."  
-What a Good Boy, Barenaked Ladies

* * *

"K!" Liam's shriek of frustration and anger reverberated throughout the entire house. Reaching his oldest brother's ears as Kieran, convinced his siblings were contained and under control in the house, lounged outside on the deck in one of the lawn chairs. Clad in a pair of olive green cargo style shorts and a tattered white t-shirt and a backwards NYPD ball cap on his heat, his bare feet propped on the glass table top in front of him and a cell phone pressed to his ear as he swigged a can of Coke.

A cell phone he'd had to snatch when Joseph had laid it down on the kitchen table on his arrival at the house. Once his buddy and Alannah had retreated to the basement to watch television and hang out with Reghan, Declan and Mikayla, Kieran had helped himself to the guy's phone and retreated outside. His parents had been successful in not only taking his cell phone away, but hiding it. In two separate place. His father had, right in front of Kieran's very eyes, taken the battery pack out of the back of the phone and then artfully stashed the two items in different locations somewhere in the house. Dad was sneaky. And far more intelligent than anyone ever gave him credit for. There had never been a successful moment that any of his children had successfully snuck anything past him. And none of the Flack kids suspected that moment to occur anytime soon. He tolerated no bullshit and they pitied whoever attempted to pull any. Dad was no nonsense. He didn't break. Tears and pleading and tantrums didn't work with him. They only served to get you into even more trouble.

Mom was the weak link. From an early age, Kieran had quickly learned that she was the pushover. He was three when he realized that all it took to get her to crack was a massive pout, a well rehearsed, "But please, mommy?" and a flutter of his dark eyelashes and a flash of his tear filled blue eyes. He had learned, and wasn't ashamed to admit it, how to manipulate her before he even started school. Mom couldn't say no. It just wasn't in her vocabulary. Trips to the grocery store or the mall had been a favourite outing of his because he had known that the louder he screamed, the more he whined, and the worse of a tantrum he threw, she was snapping under the curious, condescending stares and whispers of strangers and giving him exactly what he wanted.

He had had more toys then his parents had known what to do with. And each time they came home from getting groceries or from a simple walk down to the bodega at the end of their street when they still lived in the city, his dad would take one look at the brand new toy truck or car in Kieran's hands, or an action figure or Silly Putty he'd just had to have, and shake his head and accuse his wife of being too damn soft.

Kieran had successfully, on many occasions as a little boy, managed to turn his parents against each other and cause hell within the home. Of course, he hadn't realized what he was doing at the time. As a child, he hadn't known how badly it pissed his dad off that his mom was such a pushover. To Kieran, it had been nothing more than pure, childish selfishness. He knew mom wouldn't say no and that she was the one to go to when you wanted something. He knew what buttons to push to get her to break. He had learned how to avoid asking his father for anything, and to not pull the same kind of shit with his dad that he did with his mom. But he'd never done it to cause martial discord with his folks. And it hurt, even now, to think of himself as a seven year old boy cowering in his closet as he listened to his mother and father immersed in nasty shouting match in the living room.

He'd been on the cusp ten when he'd realized that he'd actually been using his mother. His grandpa Flack had called him on it on the eve of his tenth birthday. He could still remember his grandfather sitting in the basement, sipping a beer and watching a hockey game when Kieran -told by his father just moments earlier that grandpa wanted to talk to him- journeyed down into the basement of their own house.

"_Come here for a second," his grandfather waved him over. "I want to have a little chat with you, Sport."_

Sport. That had been his grandpa's pet name for him. Kieran was four when that started. The year that his parents had put him into organized hockey. He'd been on skates since before he could even walk. He'd seen pictures of himself taken during his first winter on earth. All bundled up in a red and blue snowsuit and a navy wool cap with NYPD printed across it in big white letters and navy mitts and scarf. A pair of bob-skates on his feet as he clung to a special metal frame that the on ice instructors at Rockefeller Center used to help out the little kids. Of course, the thing was still too big and K had had to hold onto one side of it while his dad, an amused and proud smile on his face, crouched down behind him and held the trainer steadily. Dad had kept that picture on his desk -first in a simple wooden frame and then in a frame that Kieran himself had made in kindergarten with popsicle sticks he'd covered in glue and then sprinkled silver and blue sparkles on- for the longest time. The frame had eventually just disintegrated and the picture had gone in one of mom's many photo albums.

Grandpa had shown up, unexpectedly, at Kieran's first ever hockey practice. It was an NYPD team. Consisting of both boys and girls. All between the ages of four and seven. Sons and daughters and grandkids of active, sworn officers within the department. Kieran had been prouder than a big in shit because his dad was one of the coaches. Because to K, his dad was the best dad in the entire world and there was no one that was a better skater or a better hockey player than his old man. He had idolized his father from the time he was old enough to remember. The sun and the moon had set on his dad. There was nothing he couldn't do.

The only person who'd come close to measuring up was Grandpa. And Kieran could remember, while in the middle of basic puck handling exercises -basic being the opportune word, considering most of the kids couldn't stay on their feet or hold a hockey stick properly- a shrill whistle sounding throughout the arena and then seeing his grandfather, a take out tray of hot beverages in one hand, a paper bag of goodies in the tucked under his arm at the boards at the far end of the ice, waving his dad over. He'd watched as his dad skated over and then stood, leaning on his own stick as he talked to his old man. Kieran could even remember to that day what his father had been wearing. Black tear away pants with white strips down the sides of the legs. Adidas. A black, long sleeved thermal shirt with a puffy black vest over top and an NYPD ball cap. His face had been scruffy and unshaven. Mom had complained about it when dad had went to kiss her goodbye. He'd laughed and teased her about how he thought she liked the bad boy look.

But it was after practice that had meant the most to Kieran. While all the other kids were in the dressing room getting changed, he'd gone, still in all his equipment, into the stands with his dad- both of them wearing running shoes in place of their skates- to where his grandfather was waiting for them. Grandpa had brought along two cups of coffee. One for himself and his son. And the largest hot chocolate, cooled down with milk, for his grandson. Along with donuts for all. The ones with the pink icing and sprinkles had been K's favourite as a kid. Something his dad had said he'd gotten from his mother. And he remembered how his eyes had widened when his grandfather presented him with the donut and hot chocolate.

"For my Sport," he'd declared, and affectionately tousled Kieran's sweaty hair. "You're going to be the next great one. Grandpa's Gretzky."

Kieran would never forget that moment as long as he lived.

Nor would he forget feeling slightly terrified of that moment in his basement on the eve of his tenth birthday, as he noticed the stern look on his grandpa's face. Or how he'd cautiously approached and stood in front of the Senior Flack with his chin tucked to his chest and his hands clasped behind his back as he shuffled his feet nervously.

"_You've got to listen to me Kieran Shaun Donald…" his grandfather began._

_The only time anyone used all three names was in dire situations. So he'd known right there and then that he was in serious shit._

"_You're going to be ten years old tomorrow, young man. And becoming a ten year old comes with a lot of responsibility. You're not just a single digit anymore. Understand what I'm saying?"_

_Kieran nodded._

"_I want you to stop what you're doing to your mother. Don't think I don't see right through the little games that you play. Don't think that your dad doesn't realize what you're up to. What you've been up to for a long time now. I know that your mom's a softie. She has a hard time saying no to you. That she'll give you whatever your little heart desires. And I also know that your dad…" he sighed. "I know that your dad can be a real hard ass. He's strict and he has a lot of rules he wants you to abide by. And sometimes you probably think that he's being mean. That he's doing it to piss you off. Right?"_

_Kieran nodded once again._

"_Your dad only wants what is best for you. He's only trying to raise you and your brother and sisters right. And sometimes his vision of right…well it can be a little fuzzy. And that's no fault of his own. It's a fault of mine. 'Cause I was hard on him from the time he was old enough to walk. I pushed him from the time he was just a wee little guy. And there were times that I could be mean to him. That I was mean to him. Because I thought that that was what he needed to be able to do great things when he was older. And you know what that did? That destroyed things between me and your dad. Almost permanently. And your dad…he's doing a hell of job with you. And you need to respect him more. Understand me? 'Cause he loves you and would do anything for you. And it's killing him to see what you're doing to your mom. Your mom is his wife and he'll do anything for her. So you need to stop your nonsense. Your causing them some issues, you know that right?"_

"_I know," Kieran reluctantly admitted._

"_Now your mom and dad, they love each other. They need each other. So you need to stop playing them off of one another. You need to stop using your mom against your dad. Am I making sense?"_

"_Yes, grandpa," he whispered._

"_Your mom and dad love you. I love you. And I just…I want to be able to come and see you and not hear bad things from your dad about you. That makes me heartsick. And I don't want to feel that way, okay?"_

"_Okay…" Kieran struggled to hold back a flood tears. "I'm sorry, grandpa."_

"_Come here…" Flack Senior wrapped an arm around the emotional ten year old and scooped him up effortlessly into his lap. "It's really tough growing up, isn't it. It's tough not being a little kid anymore."_

_Kieran sniffled and nodded and nestled his face into his grandfather's neck. Comforted by the soft fabric of grandpa's red and black plaid shirt and the familiar scent of Old Spice. _

"_We can't stay kids forever," his grandpa said with a sigh. "It would be nice, but that isn't the way things work. Now you promise me that you're going to smarten up. That you're not going to do things like that to your mom anymore. That you're going to do your chores and clean your room and finish your homework when you're told to. Promise me?"_

"_I promise," Kieran answered and wiped his eyes on his grandpa's shirt._

"_You're so unbelievably precious to your mom and dad. And to me and your grandmother. You'll never understand just how much your folks and your grandma and I love you and treasure you. And you'll always, always be my sport. Always."_

* * *

Now, as he recalled that moment years before, Kieran Flack felt embarrassed as a fifteen year old as he felt tears burning his eyes and a massive lump of emotion forming in his throat. He missed his grandfather. Terribly. He missed that constant face in the crowd at each and every sporting event of his young life. That firm yet guiding hand and calm demeanour that had helped him through many an emotional, tough pubescent time when his own parents just seemed to either not care, or were just too caught up with his brothers and sisters to listen to him. That one person he could turn to when his father was just too impossible to deal with.

Kieran took a swig of Coke to rinse away the lump in his throat, and was snapped out of his reverie by not only Liam's bellowing from the kitchen, but Alessa asking him over and over again on the under end of the phone if he was around or not. He'd snagged the cell phone and headed outside because he'd known using the home line while his siblings were around were too big of a risk. He'd left Liam, working on a school project in the middle of the kitchen floor and the others downstairs, and had sought solitude in the backyard.

"I'll call you back," he'd said into the phone, then hung up and tossed the cell onto the table top as the screen door was tossed open wildly and his baby brother stomped out, a furious expression on his face and his hands planted firmly on his hips. "What's up, squirt?"

"Daddy said there was lots of pictures of me to use!" Liam cried. "He said that there was lots in mommy's boxes! And I can't find any!"

Kieran fought back his amusement. His one main joy in life was causing his littlest brother unbelievable emotional torment. Liam was an easy target. He was overly sensitive and unfortunately, not the sharpest tool in the shed. He fell for practical jokes easily and had been the brunt of teasing and beatings from all of his siblings from the time he was old enough to somewhat fight back. He was small and for the most part, weak and defenceless. He over reacted to even the smallest situations, which always provided Kieran and the other kids with the biggest laughs of all. And the on going joke -it had been in existence for a couple of years now- was that Liam was adopted. It had all started because of Liam continuously questioning their father on the fact that he looked so different then the other kids. Why was he the tiny one? Why did he have golden brown eyes and fine brown hair with red highlights in it? Why was he so different when all the others had black hair and blue eyes and were tall and skinny?

So the 'rumour' began that Liam was adopted. It had actually been Alannah that had started it. But it was Kieran that went to great lengths to keep it alive and flourishing. It drove Liam absolutely wild each and every time someone so as much uttered the word. And Kieran had thought, the moment Liam had told their dad just before he was on his way out the door, that he wanted to start on his school project, that it was the perfect opportunity to pick on the youngest member of the Flack troupe. Liam, along with his classmates, had been given a large piece of Bristol board and told to cover it with pictures of themselves from the time they were babies until now. And to included photos of their siblings and parents. Dad had brought down the nearly dozen shoe boxes of pictures mom kept in the back of their closet, along with a baby book, and told Liam to go to town.

Only Kieran had gotten to the items first. And while Reghan and Alannah distracted Liam, Kieran had quickly and efficiently hidden the baby book in his own room along with all but two of the shoe boxes, and then had taken every picture of Liam as a baby and toddler out of the remaining containers. Then he'd gone out onto the deck and sat down and waited for the shit storm to hit.

"I already told you this a million times," Kieran said calmly. "There are no baby pictures of you. Mom and dad don't have any. They only have pictures of you when you came to live with us. When you were two."

"That's not true!" Liam huffed. "I lived here when I was a baby too!"

Kieran shook his head. "How many times do we have to go through this? You were never a baby. At least not with us. You were a baby with your real family. And when they didn't want you anymore they dropped you off at the unwanted, abandoned baby shelter and that's where mom and dad found you when they wanted one last kid."

"No they didn't!" Liam argued, valiantly holding back tears of hurt and rage. "Mommy and daddy did not find me at a shelter! They had me! I was in mommy's tummy just like the rest of you guys!"

Kieran shook his head and calmly sipped his pop. "Liam, I think I'd remember if you were ever in mom's tummy. And you weren't. I even went with them to the abandoned baby place. It was like those ASPCA commercials on t.v. You know the ones where people who want a pet go around looking at all those animals in their cages or the ones behind the glass? The baby place was just like that."

"You're just making that up!" Liam hollered. "You're just being mean, K!"

"I wanted mom and dad to pick this really cute red headed kid but they took one look at you and for some reason just had to have you. That's how you ended up coming to live with us."

"That's not true!" the little boy cried. "Mommy and daddy had me! They didn't pick me at the unwanted baby place! They had me! Daddy always says I wasn't adopted!"

"Think about it, Liam…" Kieran leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. "You look nothing like the rest of us. We all have black hair and blue eyes. We're all really tall. And you're…well you're this puny thing with brown hair and brown eyes."

"That's 'cause I look like mommy!" Liam informed him. "Daddy always says so!"

"Let me fill you in on a little secret," Kieran said. "Dad's lying. He's just doesn't want to hurt your feelings!"

"Daddy's not lying!" Liam screamed. "Daddy doesn't lie! You lie Kieran!"

"Fine…suit yourself…but it's about time you face the facts kid. You're not a real Flack."

"Yes…yes I am…" Liam's lower lip wobbled and the tears threatened. "My last name's Flack too…"

"Yeah…but you're not a real Flack. 'Cause dad didn't make you. He picked you at the unwanted baby shelter and him and mom adopted you. That's the only reason you have the last name Flack."

"NO IT'S NOT!" Liam screeched, the tears flowing freely down his cheeks. "I AM NOT ADOPTED! DADDY AND MOMMY HAD ME!"

Kieran shook his head.

"Yes they did," Liam sobbed. "They had me…I'm not adopted…mommy and daddy made me…that's why my last name is Flack too."

"Okay…believe what you want, squirt. But I wouldn't lie about something like that."

"I don't want to be adopted!" the soon to be seven year old wailed. "I want to be a real Flack!"

"Sorry…that's just the breaks kid."

"You're just being mean, K! You're just mean and ugly and I hate you!"

"Hey, I'm just ugly 'cause I got beat up. You're ugly all the time. What's your excuse?"

Liam stomped his feet furiously. "I'm going to call daddy and tell him you're on the phone! And then he's going to come home and kick your ass!"

"Yeah?!" Kieran removed his hands from behind his head, and leaning forward, snatched Liam by the front of his shirt and yanked him towards him. "You do that and I'm gonna kick your ass so hard mom and dad won't even recognize you when they get home. Or I'll bury you in that hole you were digging to China."

"I hate you!" Liam screamed, then nearly stumbled backwards when Kieran suddenly released his shirt. " I hate you and I'm going to ask uncle Danny! I'm going to ask Uncle Danny when he takes me to Blessing of the Bikes tomorrow. I'm going to ask him if I'm adopted. "

"Fine…ask him," Kieran shrugged. "But good luck at Blessing of the Bikes. Last kid Uncle Danny took ended up getting killed."

Liam's eyed widened in sheer terror.

"If I was you I'd say goodbye to all your toys and mommy tonight," Kieran continued. "Because you'll probably end up like that other kid."

"I HATE YOU!" Liam shrieked, and summoning up courage, raced towards his brother and landed a punch square in the fifteen year old's mouth. Hard enough to split open Kieran's lip and bring tears to his eyes.

"You little shit!" Kieran yelled, the chair flying up from underneath him as he bolted after his baby brother.

Liam shrieked in terror and raced for the sliding door, managing to slam the screen and the glass shut and lock it before his big brother could get a hold of him.

"Let me in Liam!" the teenager bellowed. "Let me in right now!"

He shook his head and stuck his tongue out. Then grabbed one of the kitchen chairs, pushed it across the kitchen floor to the fridge and climbed up on top of it. Snagging the cordless phone, he jumped down and rushed back to where his older brother was furiously pounding on the sliding door.

"Don't do it Liam!" Kieran yelled, as his baby brother held up the cordless phone with a proud smile on his face. "Don't you dare call dad! You call dad and I'll beat your ass!"

Liam ignored him, turned the phone on and hit the appropriate number on the speed dial. Then, a pleased, calm expression on his face, sat down facing the backyard and his furious brother, and patiently waited for someone to answer his call.

* * *

Twelve years had been way too long, Flack concluded, as he and his wife were shown to a quaint table for two near the back of Tavern on the Green's outdoor patio. It was a beautiful evening for sitting outside. The temperatures had been in the low eighties during the day throughout the entire week, and as dusk arrived, a slight breeze tousled the tree tops and soft, chamber music drifted through the open French doors of the restaurant and mingled with quiet conversations taking place around them.

It was hard to believe, as they sat there, Flack sipping a glass of white wine and Sam content with sparkling cider, how far they had come in the past sixteen years of their lives. How they had evolved from two perfect strangers meeting that day outside of the crime lab, to married for fifteen years with six kids. And another one on the way. How they'd battled through all the hard times. On his part it had been his anger management issues, a near dependency to alcohol and his possessive, controlling and bordering on emotionally abusive ways. For her, it had been a frightening mood disorder and her inability to 'let him in'. She had had a horrible tendency to close herself off. To hold back all over her secrets in fear that he'd hold them against her and leave. Counselling, both individual and together, had helped them deal with their issues. And had effectively made them stronger and happier.

Stable.

As they browsed their menus, each with an arm resting on the table top and their fingers lightly touching, he easily remember an evening fifteen and a half years ago where they had dined at that same restaurant. They hadn't been engaged long and she'd been almost six months pregnant with Kieran and much to her dismay, had looked much more. To Flack, she'd been absolutely breathtaking in a red satin Empire waist dress that he could still see, and feel under his fingertips all those years later. A dress that still sat, securely and lovingly put away in a zippered garment bag, in the back of their closet. He could still remember their flirtatious banter -something they'd perfected and still practiced to that day- and the way her eyes had sparkled in the flickering candlelight. He could still feel the weight of that Tiffany's box in his suit jacket pocket and the nervousness that tugged at him. It was his second chance at the whole proposal thing. The first time, in that cramped bathroom of his old apartment in lower Manhattan, had been spur of the moment. While he'd had the engagement ring and had ever intention of asking her to marry him, the reality that they were expecting a baby together had spurred him into action in the most unlikely, unromantic of places. And although she'd said yes without hesitation, he'd still wanted that perfect moment for her.

The carriage ride through the park, although definitely not his thing, had been perfect. Even if they had lucked out and snagged JJ Huntsville as their driver. New York City was a big place, and running into JJ, who Flack had questioned nearly two years before after the dead knight in Central Park -part of an elaborate suicide pact made by terminally ill young people who'd met through therapy- had offered JJ a wad of cash and his wallet for collateral, and then taken off with the carriage, hadn't been something Flack would have expected in a million years.

But it had been an amazing night. He had gotten his second chance at popping the question and three months later, he'd become a husband.

Sixteen years ago, Flack thought as he sipped his wine. Sixteen years in December. Where has the time gone?

Not that it really mattered to him. Those sixteen years, despite tremendous ups and downs, had been the greatest years of his life. And he was definitely looking forward to the next sixteen.

"You're thinking about the night you brought me here while I was pregnant with Kieran," Sam commented, her soft voice breaking into his reverie.

He smiled at her from across the table. "How'd you know that?"

"I didn't really," she said, and softly brushed her pinkie finger across the top of his hand. "But I know you. And I know that you would only bring me here if you were in a nostalgic mood. I've been with you for sixteen years, Donnie. Remember, I'm the only one who knows about that gentle, romantic side."

"You're the only one who knows about a lot of things," he mused, and curled his baby finger around hers. "And you're right. I was thinking about that night. About how amazing it was. How beautiful you looked in that red dress. Pregnant with my baby."

She smiled tenderly at him.

"And now here we are, all these years later and you're still as beautiful and pregnant with my baby all over again. And I just…I don't know. Sitting here like this with you, alone, it's just making me realize how happy I actually am. With my life. Despite everything we've been through, all the really bad times and all the really great times, we made it Sammie. We've come a long, long way together."

"We have," she said with a nod. "And there were times I never thought we'd make it that far. After what happened to Kieran when he was a baby and then your shooting and us separating and…"

"But we did make it this far, baby. And we're going to make it even farther. When I said forever all those years ago, I meant it. So face it, there's no getting rid of me now. You're stuck with me."

"Such a horrible lot in life," she said and gave a dramatic sigh. "I don't know how on earth I'll ever survive another sixteen years with you."

"Just sixteen? I was thinking about forty, fifty."

"Fifty? That's just pushing it," she laughed. "I doubt I'll be around when I'm ninety-seven."

"Well I hope you are. 'Cause I plan on living until I'm a hundred and there's no way in hell I can let you go before me. We made a pact, babe. Remember? We either go together or I go first. That way I don't have to stay behind, miserable and lonely without you. You're stronger than I am. You'd be able to cope better. And me…well remember that Brad Paisley song years back? Andy Griffith was in the video. About how his whole life, from day one, he always had to wait around for his woman to get ready for something. And how if he went first, he was going to park his ass on a bench up there in heaven and wait for her."

"Waiting on a Woman," she said with a smile.

"Well that's me in that song," he told her. "If I go first, trust me, I'll be waiting for you."

"Jesus, you can't let me alone even in the afterlife?" she teased and sipped her cider.

"Sorry, Sammie," he said with a grin. "You landed me sixteen years ago. Nothing's getting me away from you now."

She smiled softly at him and he leaned across the table to press a delicate kiss to her lips.

Only to be interrupted by the buzzing of his cell phone as it vibrated as it sat clipped to the waist band of his khakis.

Sam couldn't help but laugh at the intrusion. "Nothing but work can get you away from me you mean," she said. "And don't you even dare try and tell me that that isn't whose calling you."

"It's probably just Scagnetti needing to go over a few things," Flack told her, and slipped his phone out of its carrying case. Checking the call display, he groaned inwardly at the sight of their home number. He tried to keep the annoyance, and the slight concern, off of his face as he slowly pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. He wasn't going to ruin her night by telling her that it was one of the kids. Not unless the little brats had either burned the house down, or they'd managed to slaughter each other.

"Everything okay?" Sam asked, looking up at him worriedly.

"Yeah…just work stuff like you said. And I don't want to bore you with it. So I'm just going to take it somewhere else, okay?"

She nodded as he walked around the table and stood at the back of her chair.

"I'll be back in a few," he assured her and kissed her cheek softly. "Order something. Feed my kid, would ya?"

"Yes, daddy," she said, tilting her head backwards and smiling up at him.

Grinning, he pressed his lips to her forehead and ran his hand along her face before turning on his heel and heading for the exit of the patio.

Still smiling, Sam turned back to her menu. Her gaze captured by the sparkling of the diamonds in her engagement ring and eternity band.

I love my life,she thought.

Just as long as my life is with him.

* * *

"Who is this?" Flack, his cell phone pressed to his ear, asked in greeting as he stepped through the wrought iron gate that led from Tavern on the Green's patio and directly into Central Park. "And what do you want?"

"Daddy?!" Liam shouted into the phone. "Daddy you have to come home!"

"Buddy…" Flack attempted to remain as calm and patient as possible. Not wanting to upset his already obviously emotionally fragile son. "…what did I tell you before I left the house? I told you that mommy and I are on a date. And it's been twelve years since we've been out of the house without kids tagging along. So whatever you're calling me about, better be good."

"I want to be a real Flack, daddy!" he cried. "I want to come from you and mommy too! I don't want to come from the unwanted baby place!"

"Liam, what…"

"I don't want to be adopted!" he wailed. "I want to come from you and mommy!"

"Okay…listen to me. Calm down and listen to me…"

"There's no baby pictures of me!" he continued. "I looked and looked and looked and didn't find any! Everyone else has pictures and baby books and I don't!"

"Liam, there's tons of pictures of you and you have a scrapbook. Just…"

"There's nothing daddy!" he sobbed. "Nothing! 'Cause I was never a baby! I came from a shelter!"

"Liam!" Flack snapped. "Be quiet and listen to me! Calm down and listen to me right now!"

The little boy sniffled.

"Are you calming down?" his dad asked. "Are you listening to me?"

"Yeah…"

"I have told you a million times not to listen to Kieran and Alannah when they start yapping about you being picked out at some abandoned kids place. You were not adopted. You came from mommy and I just like all of your brothers and sisters did."

"Uh-uh, daddy," Liam argued. "I didn't. It's why I look so different!"

"Liam…for the last time, you look like your mommy. Everyone else looks like me. But trust me, you were not adopted. You were once a baby in mommy's tummy too. I think I would remember stuff like that. And I remember when your mom told me she was having you. I also remember going to all of her appointments and seeing you inside of her. And I definitely remember, in great detail, the moment you were born. Are you listening to me?"

Liam hiccuped noisily. "Yeah…"

"You were not adopted. And I don't want to be having this conversation with you ever again. This is the last time I want to talk about this. You need to stop listening to K and start listening to me. Okay?"

"Okay…"

"Now I think Kieran's played a mean joke on you, so I want you to tell him to knock it off and give you your baby pictures back. Now I'm hanging up and…"

"I don't want to get killed daddy!" Liam blurted out. Then dissolved into tears.

Flack sighed heavily. Briefly closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "What are you talking about?" he asked calmly.

"Blessing of the Bikes!" Liam sobbed, managing words in between gulps of air and the hiccups that assaulted his tiny body. "Tomorrow…Uncle Danny…K said…he said…last kid…got killed! I don't…want…to get…killed!"

Flack sighed heavily and raked his hand through his hair. "No one is going to get killed," he promised his youngest. "Except for maybe Kieran. Put him on the phone."

"I punched him in the face and locked him outside," Liam sheepishly admitted.

"Well then open the door and give him the phone. Now."

There was a slight rustling noise as Liam got to his feet, shortly followed by the dull click of the sliding door being unlocked and the scraping of the screen as it was opened.

And then, Liam, announcing in a proud, sing-song voice: "Daddy wants to talk to you, K."

Flack heard the fifteen year old mumble something under his breath. Followed by Liam calling out, as he ran from the room, "I'm going to tell Daddy you were talking on the phone to Alessa!"

"Look, dad…" Kieran said quickly. "I don't know what…"

"No, you look," Flack angrily cut him off. "I am on a date with your mother. Do you understand the concept of a date? Me and your mom. Alone. No kids. No interruptions. I put you in charge because I'm attempting to rebuild my trust in you. You told me you could handle looking after your brothers and sisters for a few hours."

"I can dad! It's just Liam…he's…"

"Now I don't know what you did with his baby book and all of his pictures, and don't try and lie to me and say you didn't do anything to them. I know it was you. But I suggest you give him his scrapbook and the photos back. All of them. He's not even seven and he's going to end up with an ulcer or a breakdown. And seriously, Kieran. Grow up. You're fifteen and you're getting your kicks out of tormenting a little kid."

"Dad, he's just…"

"And what went on before you even existed between Uncle Danny and Ruben Sandoval is none of your goddamn business! You don't know the whole story. So do yourself a favour and shut your mouth. Am I making myself clear?"

Kieran swallowed noisily. "Yes, sir."

"And if I find out when I get home that you put the beats on Liam after we had our little talk, or if I find out you've gone against your mom or I and done anything you shouldn't be doing while you're grounded, you'll be in for a world of hurt, kid."

"I was just…"

"Do not call me back. And make sure none of your brothers and sisters call me either. Do not phone me unless the house is burning down. And even then, think twice."

"Fine…" Kieran huffed. "I didn't think us kids were such a burden to you. That we put such a damper on your sex life."

You little shit, Flack thought. If I could reach through this phone and strangle you with my bare hands, I would.

Patience, Flack. Patience. He's fifteen. He's fifteen and he's got some major issues. The more patient and understanding and tolerant you are, the farther you'll get with him. Threats and yelling are not going to work with him. It's what he wants. He wants the huge confrontation. The massive blowout. He's actually expecting it. So the calmer you are, the more effective as a father you're going to be.

"Look Kieran," his voice was quiet, yet firm. "I know you're going through some teenager crap, okay? I know that you've got these issues and we're going to get to the bottom of them. We're going to work through them. Together. And I know that it seems like your life sucks right now, but taking whatever shit your dealing with out on me and your brothers and sisters? I won't tolerate that. And if you even think about talking like that or acting like this with your mother, you and I are going to have serious problems, kid. Your mom? She's my wife. And no one, and I mean no one, treats my wife like that. I want us to fix things. But it's a two way street. I can't do it all. So cut me some slack here. Show me that you deserve respect and respect me and things will go a lot smoother between us. Okay?"

Silence eminated from the other end of the phone.

"Kieran?" Flack asked. "Did you just hear what I said?"

"Yeah…I heard you…"

"I know life sucks right now, buddy. And I know I haven't been the best dad with you. But I'm trying to make amends here. There's a lot I need to make up for. And not just with you but with your mom too. So do you think you could just back off the hostility a bit? Give your mom and I some time together? Show me that you're capable of being the man of the house?"

"I can do that," Kieran said quietly. Clearly humbled by his dad's words.

"Good. Now if you run into any trouble or you need anything, you call Uncle Danny or Papa Mac. They'll come over and help out if you need them too. Do you think I could get back to your mom now? Are we finished here?"

"We're finished," his son said.

"Alright. Now just lay off Liam. You know how sensitive he is. Just leave him alone. You'll get more out of him if you back off. Your mom and I shouldn't be too late. But I'm sure you can handle getting Liam and Mikayla off to bed at a decent time. The rest of you…just as long as you throw no wild parties, you can pretty much do what you want. Alright?"

"Alright, dad. I hope you and mommy have a nice time."

"I hope so too. No more calls, okay? Just give us this time. We deserve it, don't you think?"

"You do," Kieran agreed.

"We'll talk when I get home. I promise."

"Okay, dad. I'd like that. To talk. Just me and you."

Flack smiled. "So would I. Tell your brothers and sisters they better be good. I don't want to hear any more horror stories when I get home."

"I can't promise you anything," Kieran laughed, then disconnected the call.

Smirking, Flack pressed end on his cell and snapped it closed.

Finally getting somewhere, he thought, relief surging through his body at the idea of both getting his kid the help he needed, but getting his own issues back on track as well.

And with a renewed sense of empowerment and control, he turned on his heel and headed back onto the restaurant patio. To not only continue his date with who he still found the most beautiful, incredible, sexy woman he'd ever met, but to get on with the rest of their lives as well.

As a united front.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers! Please R and R! And positivity, folks! The hate really needs to stop. This is just for fun. Isn't it?**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**muchmadness**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**wolfeylady**

**GregRox**

**Forest Angel**

**ImaSupernaturalCSI**

**SpankyMcDoogleFace**

**Soccer-bitch**


	80. Guilty Girl, Golden Boy

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK KIDS**

**SPECIAL WELCOME TO 26HANNAH26**

**FINALLY, WE HAVE A 'VISUAL' FOR KIERAN! THANKS TO MY DEAR FRIEND RACHEL, KIERAN IS BASED ON BRITISH ACTOR CHRISTIAN COOKE**

* * *

**Guilty girl, golden boy**

"I've been roaming around always lookin' down at all I see,  
Painted faces fill the places I can't reach  
You know that I could use somebody  
You know that I could use somebody  
Someone like you

And all you know and how you speak  
Countless lovers undercover of the street  
You know that I could use somebody  
You know that I could use somebody  
Someone like you

Off in the night while you live it up I'm off to sleep  
Waging wars to shake the poet and the beat  
I hope it's gonna make you notice  
I hope it's gonna make you notice  
Someone like me."  
-Use Somebody, Kings of Leon

* * *

"You think I got my head up my ass when it comes to our kids?"

The question, posed to Samantha as she and her husband strolled leisurely through Sheep's Meadow in Central Park, both startled her out of the daze that she had so easily stumbled into. Since dinner, her mind had been on overdrive. Consumed with thoughts about how she had so easily and effortlessly quit her job. About how the meeting between Kieran and Mac had come earlier in the day. Of all the things that lay ahead of her now that she was expecting her seventh child.

The first visit with her OB and ultrasound had been booked for the following week. She had wracked her brain trying to come up with a suitable conception time, but with the insanity that had been her menstrual cycle and what she had thought was early menopause, there was no possible way that she could accurately determine when that seventh baby had been made. She had taken into considering the intimacy issues that had plagued them and how only a month and a half had passed since they had gotten back into the swing of things, love making wise. And there was no possible way she was only a month and a half pregnant. Meaning she would have had to conceive four months, if not more, before.

Too insane, she had silently mused over dinner. The thought of being halfway through a pregnancy and only knowing for a day and a half that she was expecting…it was daunting. And completely surreal. There was so much to do and so little time. A nursery to get set up. They had decided, although the baby would stay with them the first couple months of their, they'd eventually move Kieran into the basement -they'd have to create a room for him, but Flack didn't seem put out by, or daunted by, the thought of renovations- and then put the new baby in either Liam or Declan's room and move one of them into Kieran's old spot. It was all too confusing for Sam. Thinking of sleeping arrangements and all the baby necessities they needed to buy. A crib, stroller, car seat, clothes, monitor. The list went on and on and on with no end in sight. And it literally gave her a headache to think about it all.

After dinner, she'd made a brief call home. She had been expecting to hear utter pandemonium over the over phone. She was used to hearing the kids yelling at each other and fighting and music blaring in the background. Instead, she got a rather subdued Kieran and not a hint of trouble at the homestead. That alone had been enough to cause her eyebrows to raise in concern and curiosity, and she'd asked him, only half joking, if he'd either slaughtered his siblings, drugged them and knocked them out, or had locked himself in a closet where it was nice and quiet.

He'd given a small, tired sounding laugh that reminded her so much of his father. "Don't worry mommy," he'd said. "I haven't tied them up and tortured them," he'd paused, then added in a serious tone, "Yet."

_Mommy._

He was half little boy, half grown man. His voice deep and soothing, yet still using the term of affection for her that he'd been unable to abandon even as he sprouted well above six feet tall and tipped the scales at nearly two hundred pounds. He was a gentle giant. Or at least he had been. The kind of kid that while he towered over all the kids at school from grade one on, was the first one to bring home a wounded bird he found on the sidewalk or invite the loners and the disabled children over for dinner and sleepovers without consulting his parents first. The kid who cried easily if he was picked on, but who was kick to knock the shit out someone on the playground if they so as much bullied one of his friends.

She wasn't sure what had happened to Kieran along the way. Where all of the anger and resentment had come from. He certainly hadn't been raised in a home where his parents hated each other or their children. He'd never been physically or emotionally abused. He'd been witness to say nasty arguments between his mom and dad but he'd never come in the middle of one. Was the yelling and name calling he'd heard coming out of their mouths enough to mess him up? Scar him for life? To make him as furious and troubled as he was?

She'd pushed those thoughts aside and had told him to make sure that he called if anything came up he couldn't handle, to call her or his father right away. She could tell, by that heavy sigh he'd given her, that he was less then impressed by both the suggestion he needed mommy and daddy's help at his age, and that he couldn't handle the hell his brothers and sisters were capable of causing. And she knew that he was rolling his eyes even before he assured her, for the fifth time that conversation alone, that he had everything under control.

She'd hung up feeling slightly worried. It was uncharacteristic of her fifteen year old to sound so…down. Kieran was usually the life of the party. Boisterous and loud. The class clown for the most part. He loved to crack jokes and popped off sarcastic comments with ease. He was happy go lucky and made friends easily. People were drawn to his infectious personality. Guys wanted to be his friends, and girls wanted to date him. Hell, mothers wanted their daughters to date him. With his tall, strong build and his brilliant blue eyes and dimply smile, he was a damn good looking kid and he knew it. Even as a four year old, running around the twelfth precinct in his overalls and rugby shirts and backwards ball cap, he was constantly declaring to anyone who would listen:

"I'm smart like mommy, cute like daddy!"

She was worried about her son. Worried about the drastic change in his personality. From being part of a peer mentoring group to putting other students in the ICU. From a B, sometime A student to barely passing his courses. From talkative and loveable to brooding and serious.

And almost unapproachable.

* * *

She had attempted to push her concerns out of her mind and enjoy the walk through Central Park. Sheep's Meadow had always been her favourite area of the eight hundred and sixty three acre park. And with the sun setting and the horizon a stunning display of streaks of purple, pink and orange, she finally felt herself relaxing and her frantic brain slowly letting go of everything and anything that was troubling her. She was comforted by the familiar weight and feel of her husband's hand protectively and affectionately resting on the small of her back, his other hand holding a paper bag with jute handles that bore the restaurant's name and carried three boxes of Tavern on the Green's legendary black forest cake and the remains of her massive steak dinner. She felt secure and at ease as she walked tucked into Flack's side, an arm around his waist while she carried a strawberry banana bubble tea she'd bought off a vendor in her free hand.

But the question he'd popped off had caught her off guard. And she now looked up at him, her eyebrows arched.

"Where did that come from?" she asked. "What's going on inside your head that you'd ask me something like that?"

Flack shrugged. "Just something I've been thinking about," he said. "You know, considering Kieran's gotten as out of control as he is. How'd I let that happen? Why didn't I see he was having some issues? I mean, am I that absent that I don't realize what my kids are up to?"

"Donnie, you're job is extremely important," she gently reminded him. "You're Deputy Inspector. That comes with a staggering amount of responsibility. Both on the clock and off. No one is expecting you to be able to donate a hundred percent to your family. We all get it. You know that."

"You shouldn't have to get it," he argued lightly. "You and the kids shouldn't have to come second."

"We shouldn't," she agreed. "But we do. And it's not all of the time, baby. I went into a marriage and a life with you fully knowing the stresses of the job. The time constraints. And each time you were up for a promotion, we talked about it and weighed the pros and the cons. Like any mature couple would do. You're away from home a lot. It happens. I've accepted that. So have the kids. For the most part, anyway. So why…"

"I fee like our kids are the way they are because of me," he admitted. "Because I'm not around as much as I should be. Because I'm not there to control things and…"

She glared up at him. "Are you doubting my ability to take care of our children?" she asked. "Are you questioning how I handle things? The parenting skills I've shown for the past fifteen years?"

"What? No!" he answered quickly. "Jesus no. Babe…you're an amazing mother. You know that. Everyone knows that. You hold the family together. You've always been the one that made sure the bills were paid and the kids do their homework and help out around the house. That they have everything they need. Doctors and dentists appointments kept on track. All of Declan's therapies scheduled and up to date. I mean, we have half a dozen kids. Another one on the way. Not many women could balance all of those kids, a workaholic husband and a career."

She stared up at him. Amused by his back pedalling. Then she gave a giggle and rubbed the small of his back affectionately before hooking a finger through one of his belt loops. "Relax Donnie…I'm just playing with you. I know how much you appreciate me. I know that you recognize everything I do for your family. You've never shied away from telling me or showing me how grateful you are. Just like I love and appreciate you for the things you bring to our marriage and our family. You're the rock. You keep me sane when it feels like I'm going to go crazy. You discipline the kids…"

"Not very effectively apparently," he grumbled.

She frowned, and releasing her hold on the back of his khakis, let her hand drift lightly over his ass before stepping in front of him. "Where is all of this coming from?" she asked. "You've never been on to doubt yourself like this."

"I don't know…I guess all of this drama with Kieran just has me thinking about how I obviously completely fucked up as a father somewhere along the way."

"That's bullshit and you know it," she scolded.

"Think about it, babe. Think about all the times I've haven't been there for the kids when they needed me. That I've…"

"And think about all the times you have been there for them," she interjected. "Times you've skipped out of meetings early so you could go to their soccer games or swim meets or gymnastic lessons. The triple shifts you've pulled just so you could have a weekend off to take them camping or just stick around town and do things with them. The skinned knees that you've cleaned and bandaged up. Monsters you've chased out from under beds and out of closets. Tears you've dried. Donnie, those are the moments you should be concentrating on. Because you've done so much that you've never given yourself credit for."

"But Declan, Sammie. Look at how far behind he is. Look at how bad his speech is."

"Don, he isn't behind in things because you haven't been around as much as maybe you feel you should be. His speech isn't horrific because of the lack of time you've spent with him. He's behind because that's just the way it is. He has Down Syndrome. He doesn't have Absentee Father Syndrome. Look at the money we've spent on speech therapy for that kid. It's a staggering amount, right?"

He nodded.

"Declan is the way he is because of what he has," she said. "Because of some goddamn extra chromosome. He's not like that because of anything you've done or haven't done."

"Okay…" Flack conceded. "So he's a bad example. But Kieran…"

"Don't even think about blaming Kieran and his teenage angst on yourself." Sam snapped.

"Sammie, I took off for eight months out of his life, We lived in separate houses. I wasn't around like I should have been. I kept telling him that one day he'd come to live with me and each time I let him down. Each and every time. He hates me for that. I hate myself for that."

"Don…listen to me. You…"

"I what?" he asked. "I wasn't there, Sam. You know it, I know it. I took off and.."

"No!" she snapped. "You did not take off! I asked you to leave. You left willingly because it was what was best for us and our kids at that time. And it didn't do our kids any long term damage did it? Or us? Christ, Donnie, we got back together. We fixed things. We had more children…" she paused and laid a hand on her stomach. "We're having another baby. At our ages! You leaving did not screw Kieran up. He's fifteen. He's got issues. And we're going to get to the bottom of them and help him. Together. As his parents You did not mess up with him."

"But…"

"You didn't!" she insisted. "He's a teenager. And being a teenager is not easy. Think about what you were like at fifteen. Would you honestly want to go through being fifteen all over again? All the changes going on not just with your brain but your body too?"

"I don't know," he said with a grin. "I didn't do too bad at fifteen. All the ladies seemed to love me."

She rolled her eyes.

"But you love me most of all," he chided and leaning over, pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "And you're the only one that matters."

She stared at him, eyebrows arched.

He winked and pecked the tip of her nose. "You're right, baby," he said. "Being a teenager sucked for the most part. And I wouldn't want to go through it all over again. But I can't help but wonder if things would be different with K if I'd just been around more."

"And I can't help but wonder if things would be different with Kieran if I hadn't left him alone in our apartment and let some pedophile grab him," she argued. "He was a baby. My baby. And I left him there. Alone."

"Sammie…" he laid a hand on the side of his face. "You never…"

"I never what? Meant it? Of course I didn't mean it. I didn't leave him alone because I wanted someone to take him. Because I wanted Jack Doyle to molest him and split him open for twenty stitches and rupture his bowel. Because I wanted Dean Lessing to turn him into some soldier of his."

"Baby…relax…what happened to K wasn't your fault. It happened. We can't take it back. But none of it happened because of anything you did. I've always told you that. It was not your fault."

"I know…" she said, fighting back tears. "But that doesn't mean I haven't blamed myself every day for fifteen years. Or forgiven myself."

"Sammie…" Flack shook his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Slipping his hand from her cheek to the back of her neck, he pulled her into him and brought her head to rest on his chest. "What went down with Kieran was not your fault. You didn't know what Lessing was up to. That our neighbour was a convicted sex offender. No one knew. Those things just…happened."

"I know that…I do…I just…he was my baby, Donnie. It was up to me to protect him and I let…"

"You didn't 'let' anything. Understand me? You didn't allow anything to happen."

"Every day since then…every day for the last fourteen and a half years I've looked at him and thought about what Doyle did to him," Sam admitted. "I've thought about what I could have done to prevent it."

"Sam…babe…listen to me…"

"And now that he's having these issues…well now I think about how maybe what happened to him made him the way he is."

"Samantha, he was a baby. He doesn't remember anything."

"But he knows about it," she argued. "We had to tell him about it when he got older and started hearing things. He deserved to know. But maybe knowing…Donnie, he feels disgusted with himself sometimes. He's told me that. And I'm worried that he hates me for letting all of that happen to him."

"Listen to me…" Flack cupped her face in his hands and tilted her head up so she was looking directly in his eyes. "Baby…what happened to our son was not your fault. You made a simple mistake when you left him in the apartment. You'd done it before when you've run up to grab the laundry while he was napping. Shit, I used to do it too. But you always locked the door. How were you suppose to know that Jack Doyle was going to break in and snatch the baby? You couldn't have known that."

"But I…"

He ran his thumb over her lips to silence her. "You just made a mistake. Kieran doesn't blame you for anything. And he definitely doesn't hate you. He adores you. There's nothing that kid wouldn't do for you. To him, the sun rises and sets on you. He loves you and you know that. He loves his mommy."

She gave a small smile.

"I love his mommy," Flack added and kissed her. "And I hate seeing you like this. It's been fifteen years, hun. And trust me, I know the memory and the disgust never fully goes away. But still beating yourself up over it after all these years? Why didn't you tell me you were feeling like this sooner?"

"What was I suppose to say?" she sniffled.

"Oh I don't know," he said sarcastically. "How about, 'Donnie, I've got all this residual guilt eating away at me and it's driving me crazy. It makes me depressed and I feel like shit. I need someone to talk to about it. Can I talk to you?'. I don't know, Sam. That sounds pretty damn good to me."

"Life is just so hectic for us," she reasoned. "I just didn't…I didn't want to add to that. I didn't want to burden you."

"Burden me?" he asked incredulously. "Are you serious? You thought that talking to me about how your feeling and what you're going through would burden me?"

"You have a lot on your plate, Donnie. You've been not only being doing your job, but serving as acting Chief of Detectives because of Scagnetti's health issues. You've had nothing but bullshit with the commissioner to put up with, budget issues to worry about, lay offs to consider…"

"Samantha, I've become pretty damn good at multitasking. I could have handled all of that and still listened to you. And I'm not just talking about the last couple of years here. I'm talking about the last fifteen, babe. I thought after we went to that shrink Lake hooked us up with that you'd gotten past that guilt."

"I thought so too," she admitted. "But after the triplets were born and I was so despondent about Declan…I guess it just made everything creep up again."

"So then why didn't you come to me?" he asked. "Why didn't you just say something to me?"

"Because I didn't want to…"

"Burden me," he finished. "I heard that crap the first time. And honestly, it pisses me off to think that you'd honestly be thinking that listening to my wife and her issues and taking care of her would be such a burden. What? You didn't think I could handle home stuff on top of work stuff? You thought maybe I'd brush you off? Ignore you?"

"I don't know what I thought," she responded. "I just…I guess I didn't think."

"No shit," he said with a smirk. Then kissed her. "You've never been a burden, Sammie. You're my wife. The mother of my kids. You have never been, and never could be, a burden. My loyalties lie with you, babe. Don't ever doubt that."

She gave a much brighter smile and sniffled noisily.

"You think you need to talk to someone about all of this?" he asked gently, clearing tears off of her cheeks with his thumbs. "A therapist? I'm sure if you talked to Gussie she could recommend someone. Or maybe you could just sit down with her and tell her how you're feeling?"

She shook her head. "I don't need a therapist. I just need….you. I just need you."

He smiled and covered her lips with his in a long, slow kiss. "You've got me," he whispered, resting his forehead against hers. "You've always had me."

She gave a content sigh and melted into his embrace as he wrapped his arms around her and held her securely. She relaxed at the feel of the soft cotton of his golf shirt, cool and smooth against her cheek. The tension and worry flooded out of her body at the smell of his cologne and the warmth of his body and the strength of his arms. Everything that was so familiar and so comforting and yet so…perfect.

She had grown accustomed to his smell and the feel of his arms around her and to the taste of his kiss. She knew him inside and out. What made him tick. What made him happy or furious. What made him smile. What made him cry. And she may have been used to his presence and the sound of his voice, but she still felt light headed and tingly whenever he kissed her or touched her. Her heart never failed to beat a little faster when he looked at her a certain way.

And she still continued to fall more and more in love with him each passing day.

* * *

"Still say you've been slipping drugs in my coffee from day one." Flack joked. "I mean, there's gotta be some method to your madness. Some secret potion you've been concocting and putting in my food for sixteen years."

She gave a laugh and pinched his stomach playfully. "Yep…you've found me out, Donnie," she looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. "I've been drugging you all this time."

"Thought so. 'Cause I mean, no guy would willingly put up with you AND half a dozen kids."

She frowned and attempted to wriggle away from him.

He just chuckled and tightened his hold on her and kissed her once more. Much longer this time. And much more intense. Much to the chagrin of an elderly couple strolling by, hand in hand.

"Aren't they just the cutest?" they heard to woman say. "He's so tall and so big and she's just so…adorable and wee!"

Both Sam and Flack laughed. Bringing an abrupt end to their passionate moment.

"I don't think a time will ever come when someone doesn't say that about us," Sam said. "We've been hearing that since day one."

"And we'll hear until the very last day," he assured her. "There's a lot worse things that people could be saying about us."

"People **have** said worse about us," Sam laughed.

"Let them," he said. "Let them say whatever they want. All that matters is me and you. That's all that has ever mattered."

"God I love when you go all sappy bastard on me," she teased.

He grinned and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Think you're up for some good news?" he asked. "Or what I think you might find good news?"

"Good news is always welcome," she replied. "Let me guess! Your dollar and a dream theory finally paid off and we're millionaires?"

"Sorry, babe. I said good news. Not faint and later swing from the chandelier naked kind of news."

She pouted dramatically.

"Scagnetti's retiring," Flack told her. "Next month. He's finally decided that his health and Mari and the kids are more important then all the departmental bullshit. He mentioned it to me a couple weeks ago that he was thinking of leaving. I didn't think he was actually serious about it. But he called me today. Conference call actually. Me, him and the commissioner."

"The commissioner? Why…?"

A slow grin spread across his face. "Baby…you are looking at the next Chief of Detectives for the NYPD."

"Really?!" she squealed, her eyes and face lighting up excitedly as she tossed her arms around his torso. "Donnie! That's so amazing! I'm so proud of you! You've come this far and you're still so young! It's…incredible! I'm so proud of you."

"It's not like they had any other candidates babe," he laughed. "I'm just the next guy on the totem pole."

"Bullshit," she declared. "They gave it to you because you deserve it. Because they have faith in you and you'll be great at it. If they didn't want you or think you were ready, they would have looked for other people in different cities. They didn't settle for you. They chose you."

He grinned and ran his hands up and down her back. "You always were my biggest fan," he mused.

"Well…" she said and smoothed her hands along his shoulder and down his chest, her fingers resting lightly, and teasingly, on his belt. "That would be because I happen to have a really big crush on you Inspector Flack…or should I say Chief Flack."

"Man…I must be becoming a horny, perverted old man," he said. "'Cause hearing you call me that? That totally did something for me."

"Maybe you're just easy to please," she reasoned, and stepping closer to him so her tiny body shielded his, boldly unbuckled his belt.

"You're bad," he told her. "Very…very…very bad."

"You love it," she said with a giggle and did his belt back up. "You always have, always will."

He nodded in agreement. "Hard to believe you've managed to put up with me for this long," he commented.

"Oh it's been **extremely** tough," she teased. "It nearly broke me a few times and a couple of times I actually came close to killing you with my bare hands. But.." she sighed. "For the most part, you've been half decent to be around."

"For the most part?" he smirked.

"Well, even after sixteen years of nagging, you still could use some lessons in how to be more romantic."

Flack rolled his eyes.

"I'm just saying, honey…"

"I think I have something you might find totally romantic," he told her.

She arched her eyebrows and giggled.

"I said romantic. Not perverted. Although trust me, I would kill to call someone over to the house to stay overnight with the kids so me and you could spend one wild, kinky night in a hotel. But…"

"Always a but," she sighed.

"But I can do the next best thing and do something incredibly romantic," he assured her. "Well something incredibly romantic coming from me at least."

He set the paper bag down on the ground, and reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulled out a small, blue velvet box.

"So now I know why you were guarding your coat with your life all night!" she cried. "Donnie…what…."

"Bear with me here, Sammie. Just…I've never been good at words or grand romantic gestures. But…" he sighed and proceeded to drop down onto one knee in the middle of the path, drawing curious stares and smiles from other people mingling in the park. "I wanted to do this the right way. I know I got a second chance in the carriage that night a long time ago. But I always wanted to do the whole down on one knee things for you. And I was thinking, seeing as we never had a proper wedding, that maybe we could have one a second time around."

Tears sparkled in her eyes. "I'd like that," she whispered.

"So here it goes…Samantha…I love you. I've always loved you. And I always will love you. You've given me an amazing life. You've given me yourself, six incredible kids," he paused and leaned forward to press a kiss to her stomach. "Seven," he corrected himself. "And I know we've had some really, really, really shitty times."

She nodded in agreement.

"But we've had even more incredible times. And there's never been a time I didn't love you. That I didn't want you. That I didn't need you. And I'll always love you, want you and need you. So will you marry me? Again?"

"Donnie…you could ask me a million times every day for an eternity," she said. "And the answer will always be the same. Of course I will."

He smiled and she bent down to kiss him gently. "Guess this is yours," he told her, and snapped the box open. Revealing a past, present and future ring -three brilliant cut diamonds, the middle the largest-set in a thick white gold band. "Finally getting your right hand ring." he teased, and slipped the piece of jewellery onto the third finger of her right hand. "Only took me about fourteen years to get on the ball after you first brought it up at your folks' place."

"Better late then never," she reasoned. "You're getting very sappy in your old age," she teased.

"I'm like a fine wine baby," he declared, and pressed a kiss to the top of her hand before getting to his feet. "I get better with age."

"Oh I thought you were going to say stinky and fermented," she joked, then laughed as he pulled her into his arms.

"Sixteen years later and you still have to be mean to me," he teased, nuzzling her neck gently. "You could never learn to be nice to me, could you."

"Never," she giggled. "It's just not in my nature."

"I would have thought that after all these years, I would have managed to turn you into an honest, sweet, tender woman," he continued, his hand settling on her hips, his breath warm and sweet on the side of her neck.

"Guess you haven't tried hard enough," she joked.

"How about you give me a chance to finally succeed? Let me make a phone call to Danny and Lindsay…Mac even…and we'll just run away from home for the night and do all the crazy, intense, dirty things we haven't been able to do in years with all of them kids in the house."

"We can't tonight. You know that. Liam has that whole Blessing of the Bikes thing tomorrow…"

"Danny's taking him to that," Flack reminded her. "We don't need to see them off."

"Declan has baseball," she added.

"So? That's at four in the afternoon. We'll be home way before four."

"You promised Kieran you'd have a talk with him when you got home tonight," she said.

He sighed heavily and laid his forehead on her shoulder before pulling back from her and kissing her. "We suck, you know that? We're boring. Extremely boring."

"We are," she agreed. "But lets face it. If those kids weren't around, we'd miss them."

"Speak for yourself," he said, and received a playful punch in the stomach for his comment. "You're right," he told her, and dropping the now empty ring box into the paper bag, picked it up and took her hand in his free one. "I would miss them. They drive me insane and sometimes I question why hell I ever let myself knock you up that many times, but I would miss them. Now if we could just get Liam acting normal."

"Don't be like that," Sam scolded. "Liam's normal."

Flack stared down at her, eyebrows arched.

"Okay…" she surrendered. "So maybe Liam is a little…eccentric."

"A little?" Flack laughed. "He's like fifty little Adam Ross' running around. What do you mean a little?"

"So what if he's a little different then the other five?" she asked. "Life is never boring with him around, that's for sure. He's always the life of the party. I mean, you have to admit, Donnie. Liam provides at least ninety percent of the laughs around the house."

"Yeah…and he also causes about ninety percent of the disasters too. Like the time he declared he wanted to be Peter Pan and jumped from the top of the basement stairs over the railing? And he totally missed the pile of cushions he was aiming for and landed on the floor and shattered his left arm? Remember that? Or how about the time he thought it was a good idea to put popsicles on the bottom of his feet and skate around the kitchen and he smashed his forehead off of the stove? Or how about the time he asked that Robbie kid from up the street to hit a golf ball off a tee he held between his teeth 'cause Liam saw Johnny Knoxville do it on that Jackass movie?"

"That was totally yours and Kieran's fault for watching that with him around," Sam informed him. "You should have known better then to watch that with him around."

"I can go on. Every split lip, every stitch that kid has had put in his head, every bump and bruise and black eye. All caused because he had to be the poor little bastard that got the most Ross in him."

"You're mean," Sam pouted.

"I'm mean? It was your son that had called in the middle of our date because he believed Kieran's whacked out bullshit about being picked out at the abandoned baby shelter."

"Yeah…and it was your son that was tormenting Liam to the point that he felt he had to call you," she pointed out.

"Face it, Sammie. All the Flack genes went into the first five and then Liam…well let's just say he's…well…he's a Ross."

"Get out of here!" she laughed and pushed him away from her.

"I'm just teasing you," Flack declared, and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulled her into him. "And you're right. There's nothing wrong with our little Liam being the way he is. He keeps us young. And hopefully, by the time he's twelve he's gotten rid of some of that excess energy and he's not in juvee for hot wiring cars or B and E."

"You know, I think Liam will surprise you when he's older," Sam told him. "He's going to be some Nobel prize winning scientist or something. Discover a cure for cancer. Run for president. Something incredible. I just know it."

"A scientist huh? Like that Doctor Browning and his time machine years back? A mad scientist. Yeah…Liam is just the type to believe that kind of crap, too. He's going to be like Adam. Into all that high tech, science fiction crap. Are you sure you didn't have an affair babe? Maybe with some nutty professor or something? 'Cause that kid is both too smart and too nuts to be mine."

"Maybe Liam is actually the normal one and it was the first time out of six that your sperm did something right," she reasoned.

He frowned. "That is so harsh, babe."

She laughed and stuck her tongue out at him.

He grinned and leaned down to kiss her. Groaning against her lips when he felt his phone vibrate against his hip. "If that's one of your children calling me 'cause someone plugged the toilet and flooded the basement again…" he said, and pulled his cell phone out of its carry case. He checked the call display and immediately frowned.

"It's work," Sam concluded.

Sighing as Flack released her hand, she retreated to a nearby bench while he tended to his phone call. She tried not to listen to the conversation taking place less then twenty feet in front of her, nor did she try not to be bothered by the grave look that came over her husband's face as he listened intently to the caller. She was curious and concerned as he began barking out orders and pacing furiously. Raking his hand repeatedly through his hair, his lips pursed as he listened, shaking his head over and over again and then finally, just before disconnecting the call, looking over at her with furious blue eyes and his chest heaving as adrenaline coursed through his body.

"I'll be right there," he barked into his cell phone before hanging up. He closed his eyes briefly. Then took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"What did I do?" Sam asked nervously as he stalked over to the bench. She could see the sweat beading on his forehead and his entire body trembling. "Oh my God…what's wrong? Did something happen to the kids? Is our house a crime scene or something? What…"

"We gotta make a pit stop before we head home," he told her, motioning for her to stand up.

"The kids!" she snapped. "Are they okay?"

"They're fine," he answered. "It had nothing to do with the kids. It's just…my presence is needed at a crime scene. Right away. In Far Rockaway. I don't have time to drop you off and then head up there."

"What happened?" she inquired, taking his hand and standing up. "Are you okay? Why are you….?"

"Three uniforms were shot responding to a domestic call," he told her. "Ambushed as they were coming up the front walk. They're dead. All of them."

"What?" she gasped and laid a hand over her mouth. "Oh my God…how?…when?"

"About half an hour ago. They need me there. You're going to have to come with me."

She nodded and took his hand. "Do we know their names or anything?" she asked, as they hurried down the path.

"I only know one of them so far. That's all that's been confirmed," he replied.

"Who was it? A rookie? A veteran? Who?"

"It was Jamie Angell. The youngest of Jess' four brothers."

She blanched "Does…does Jess know?"

"I don't know. I don't know much baby. Let's just…let's just get there and see what the hell went down. Okay?"

She nodded and placed a quivering hand over her mouth. Fighting to keep back her emotion.

Silently they exited the park and journeyed out onto the busy streets of New York City.

Streets that were now bleeding blue.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate all of your love and support! Even all of you lurkers! So please R and R folks! Makes my day! Hope you're all having a great weekend!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**26hannah26**

**Laplandgurl**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**muchmadness**

**wolfeylady**

**Forest Angel**

**Soccer-bitch**


	81. Fallen Brothers

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK KIDS.**

**THIS CHAPTER CONTINUES WHERE THE LAST LEFT OFF. **

* * *

**Fallen brothers**

"I was watching the news tonight  
Anchorman said there was a fight  
And a young man died from his wounds  
They showed pictures of the battle  
And I almost turned the channel  
Like I always seem to do  
Then it hit me like a freight train coming through

That's somebody's son,  
Somebody's husband,  
Somebody's everything,  
Out there someone's coming undone  
It made me wonder if anyone really wins  
When every war has to be won  
With somebody's son

I walked down the hall to check  
On my youngest lying in bed  
And I stood there watching him dream  
I tried but I couldn't imagine  
how we would feel if something happened  
And I didn't have him here with me  
Then I cried for that dead boy and his family."  
-Somebody's Son, Aaron Lines

* * *

"I don't want to hear 'I don't know'!" Flack bellowed into his phone. His free hand trembling in fury and his knuckles turning white as he tightly gripped the steering wheel and speed and swerved through traffic. "What I want is some goddamn answers! Starting with how in the fuck this even happened!"

Sam glanced over at her husband as he expertly handled the SUV through the streets. Defensive driving training in the academy and years of navigating the city streets at break neck speeds had made him more then comfortable and confident behind the wheel while doing twice the speed limit. There was no one that she trusted more in that kind of situation. To be able to get both himself, and her safely from one place to the other. Whether it was in heavy traffic or on relatively empty streets. In inches of snow that covered up dangerous black ice, or a violent rain storm that left the asphalt slick. He had driven in every possible scenario and not once had he doubted his skills. Even when he did have a cell phone pressed to his ear and had to drive and conduct business.

"Well if you can't tell me Parker, I want you to get someone on the phone who can! NOW!"

She physically jumped as the last word boomed through the vehicle. She reached out and laid a comforting, soothing hand on his thigh and alternated between rubbing and squeezing softly. Hoping to calm him down at least a little bit. His entire body was shaking as he seethed from anger. His blue eyes were dark and furious as they remained intently fixed on the road in front of them. His jaw was tense and his nostrils flared. She'd seen him angry many a time in their marriage. They'd been embroiled in countless arguments that resulted in things tossed around the house in fury and holes punched in doors or walls. She'd been terrified and reduced to tears during fights. Not out of physical fear, but out of that loud, authoritative voice that would have even the hardest criminal quaking in their boots.

But she'd never seen him this angry. And it worried her. With the cardiac problems that had plagued his father the moment the elder Flack had hit forty five, and the warnings that the doctor had given that heart disease and stroke were prevalent in the family, the last thing she wanted was her husband falling victim to a heart attack. A trip to the cardiologist -she'd forced him to go the moment he'd begun experiencing tingling down his left arm that had later been attributed to a pinched nerve he'd suffered after being body checked during an NYPD hockey game- had showed that his heart was healthy and in perfect working order.

Still, it was better not to tempt fate.

"Fucking incompetent morons," Flack muttered, the phone still to his ear as he waited for someone to get on that knew what the hell was going on.

"Please calm down, Donnie…" she said, stroking his leg. "I know this is really, really, really bad…but please calm down…you're no good to anyone when you're this upset."

"How can I not be upset when…" his words were cut off abruptly as another party came on the other end of the line. "Whose this?" he shouted into the phone. "Well Detective Johnson, I want to know what the hell is going on over there!….You were the first on scene?…well then start talking and tell me what in the fuck happened…"

Inside her purse, Sam's cell phone rang noisily, startling her. She was anxious and terrified. Worried about the families of the fallen officers and concerned about the status of the crime scene. Lack of information was always a dangerous thing. What had prompted the initial 911 call? How had a single gunman managed to ambush three police officers? Where was the suspect? Was he alive? Dead? Holed up in the house heavily armed? There were so many questions and not enough answers.

She unzipped the small black and pink Kate Spade bag and pulled out her cell phone and flipped it open. She didn't realize, until she held the cell in her hands, that her hands were trembling as bad as they were. It was a tense, frightening situation. And the first and foremost thing on her mind was the phone calls that were soon going to be made to wives or girlfriends who'd kissed their husbands and told them they loved them as they left the house. Brave men who had left their homes smiling. Strapping on that gun and clipping on that badge. Willingly putting their lives on the line for yet another shift. All in the hopes of making the city a safer place to live. Husbands and fathers, brothers and uncles who would never walk through their front doors ever again.

She had been there. She was one of the lucky ones but she had been there. She'd sat by a hospital bed, holding her husband's hand as he lay intubated and in a drug induced coma. She'd listened to doctors giving the gravest of news. She'd cried and prayed each time a Catholic priest came to give the last rights because the specialist had told her it would only be a matter of time. It had happened seven times in total. Seven times she'd mentally prepared herself for her husband's death. She'd rehearsed time and time again what she would tell her very small children when their father did finally pass away. She'd taken his dress blues to the cleaners to make sure they were suitable for him to be buried in. She'd picked out what she and the children would wear. She'd written a small speech she'd ask someone else to recite for her because she knew that she'd never be able to do it. She'd said her goodbyes and her I love you's and I'll miss you's. She had accepted the inevitable.

And by the grace of God, the inevitable had never come.

Not then, anyway.

_But now it's someone else's grief,_ Sam thought, as she checked the call display on her phone. Someone else's pain and suffering. Someone else's everything, their forever so cruelly snatched away.

She frowned at the sight of her home number and flipped her phone open. "Hello?" she asked nervously, struggling to hear the caller over her husband's yelling and excessive profanity.

"Mommy?" Kieran's voice. Sounding anxious. Scared even. In the background she could Liam screaming hysterically at the top of his lungs. She couldn't make out any words other than Daddy and dead.

"K…what…?"

"It's all over the t.v.!" Kieran cried. "We were just watching some stupid thing on CBS and the news came on. I tried to change the channel but I was too late. All they're talking about is three cops getting killed in Far Rockaway! What's going on?"

"We don't know anything yet," his mother told him. Trying to remain as calm as possible. "Your dad is on the phone to a detective right now. Trying to get some answers."

"The guy on t.v that some guy went nuts when the cops showed up at his house 'cause he was beating the shit out of his wife," Kieran told her. "That he was just lying in wait and did them in as they were walking across the lawn. Is that true?"

"We really don't know, Kieran," she said. Letting the curse word slip by. "All we know is that three officers were shot and…"

"And killed!" her son finished for her. "They said that they're dead! That he shot them in the head! Three of them mom! How does something like that happen?"

"I don't know, Kieran…just please…just please calm down…we don't know the whole story and you're getting yourself worked up. Just turn the television off and try and relax."

"We're all freaking out here!" he exclaimed. "We heard it and everyone just went bat-shit insane! Reghan and Alannah and Mikayla are bawling their eyes out, Declan's doing that crazy ass rocking shit he does when he's upset. And Liam's…Liam's gone fucking nuts!"

"Kieran! I know you're upset but watch your mouth! I need you to be calm. I need you to keep it together. If you're freaking out then all of the other kids are going to freak out too. I need you to step up and be the man of the house, okay? I need you to stay calm and cool and collected. Can you do that for your brothers and sisters? Can you do that for me and your dad?"

"Yeah…I think so…I'm just freaking out, you know? 'Cause of dad being a cop and all…"

"I know it's scary. It's a tragic thing. But we really need you to take control, Kieran. I want you to turn the television off and calm everyone down. Then I want you to call Papa Mac and see if either he or Aunt Stell can come over and stay with you guys until daddy and I get home."

"What if they can't do it?" the fifteen year old asked, the confidence and strength slowly returning to his voice.

"Then you keep calling numbers until you find someone who can," Sam told him. "I don't know how long we'll be. But I am trusting you to keep things under control. Understand me?"

"Yeah…but Liam…he's just…can you hear him mom? He's going nuts here."

"Put him on the phone," Sam instructed.

"Well where's the fucking perp now?!" Flack screamed into his phone. "Alive? Dead? In custody? On his way to the morgue! What?!"

Sam sighed and laid her hand on his leg once more.

"Mommy?" Liam sobbed into the phone. "Daddy's dead!"

"What?"

"It's on the news," he cried. "The policemen that got shot. One of them is daddy!"

"No, Liam. One of them was not your father," she assured him, and noticed, out of the corner of her eye, Flack glance over at her, his expression of anger turning into one of concern as he listened to both her conversation and the detective on his own line. "Daddy's fine. He's right here and he's fine."

"He is?" Liam sniffled.

"I wouldn't lie to you, sweetie. Daddy is just fine. Nothing bad has happened to him. He's right here."

"I want to talk to him," the little boy said. "Just to make sure you're not fibbin'."

"Liam, I'm not lying. He's right here and he's on the phone. He can't talk to you right now, okay? He's very busy and he…"

"If daddy's not dead I want to talk to him!" Liam yelled. "Let me talk to daddy!"

"He is on the phone and he can't talk to you right now. When he's off the phone I'll get him to call you, okay?"

"Right now! I want to talk to daddy right now!" her son screamed.

"Liam, if you don't calm down right now…"

"Hang on a second," Flack barked into his phone and laying it in his lap, reached out and snagged the cell right out of his wife's hand. Taking a deep breath, he released it slowly and then gathered himself before putting the phone to his ear. "Liam?" he spoke in a calm, composed and gentle tone. "I'm here buddy."

"Daddy?" he sniffled. "You're not dead?"

"No, I'm not dead. What would make you think something like that?"

"'Cause it was on television," Liam responded. "That three policemen got shot. They're dead."

"There's a lot of policemen in this city, buddy. And I'm fine, okay? Nothing bad happened to me. Now I need you to do me a favour, okay? A big boy favour."

"I can do a big boy favour," Liam declared.

"I know you can. And this is what I want you to do. I want you to help Kieran keep an eye on the house okay? It's going to be a while before mommy and I get home and I need the two of you to keep everything running smoothly. To be in charge of the place. Think you can do that?"

"Yeah…I can do that, daddy."

"So it's important that you stay nice and calm and you help Kieran keep everyone else nice and calm. I'm counting on you, Liam. It's really, really important that you help K out. Think you can do that? Think you can give him a hand? Be his first mate?"

"I can!" the little boy declared proudly.

"Good. Now I've got to go, alright? I've got a lot of work to do. So I want you to be really, really good. Make sure you help your brother out. Mommy and I will be home as soon as we can. Okay?"

"Okay…please be careful, daddy. I don't want the bad guys getting you too."

"I promise you that I'll be fine. You make sure you listen to Kieran and you get into your pyjamas and brush your teeth and go to bed when he tells you to you I don't want to come home and find out that you gave him a hard time. I'll come in and kiss you goodnight when I get home."

"And read my a story?" Liam asked hopefully.

"If you're still up, we'll see."

"I'll wait up," the little boy declared and disconnected the call.

Sighing heavily, Flack pressed end on the metallic pink phone clutched tightly in his hand. His lips set in a firm line and tears brimming in his eyes as he shook his head slowly.

"Donnie…" Sam's voice was soft and gentle as she squeezed his knee.

"I can't do that ever again," he said, his own voice barely a whisper. "I can't…I just can't…"

"But he…"

"I just can't!" he snapped. "Alright? Just…" he tossed her phone in her lap and held up a hand to silence her as she opened her mouth to speak. Sniffling and clearing his throat noisily, he put his game face back on and picked up his own phone. "Johnson?!" he barked. "You still there?…give me the four one one on what's going on at this exact moment…I don't want what happened an hour ago or five minutes ago. I want real time on what's happening! 'Cause I get kids and a wife I need to stay alive for and I don't want to be walking into a goddamn bloodbath."

"Donnie!" Sam spoke in a harsh whisper and tugged on the front of his shirt.

He glanced over at her.

"It's going to be okay," she assured him, and gave a small, comforting smile.

He managed a smile of his own, and tucking his phone into his neck, held it to his with his shoulder and laid his hand over top of hers.

And hoped beyond hope that she was right.

* * *

Ridgeview Avenue in Far Rockaway was a hub of activity. Cordoned off with emergency vehicles and crime scene tape for two blocks in either direction, uniform a news helicopter buzzed over head while uniform officers struggled to keep back curious onlookers. Detectives in Kevlar and heavily armed members of the special weapons and tactical unit lingered in the street, cell phones pressed to their ears and walkie talkies clutched tightly in their hands as their attention was riveted on the modest two and a half storey red brick home where all hell had broken lose just forty five minutes before. Among the countless number of blue and whites parked with their lights flashing and the vehicles belonging to SWAT and K9, were two medical examiners vans with their back doors opened and two SUVs belonging to crime lab.

"Do they know anything about the perp?" Sam asked, as Flack parked their vehicle a hundred yards away from the secured area and killed the ignition.

"All I know is that she's still in the house," her husband replied.

Sam's eyes widened. "It's a woman?" she asked dumbfounded. Shootings were not usually the preferred MO of female criminals. Gun crimes were far too gruesome and seemed more of a 'guy thing'. Women preferred less messy ways of killing. Strangulation, smothering, poisoning, electrocution even. Of course, there were always exceptions to the rule. The occasional female perp that went Lizzie Borden on someone or walked into a workplace and shot everyone and everything in sight. But it was rare. Very rare. Bloodbaths just weren't…well they just weren't a 'girly thing'.

He nodded and removing his glasses, folded them and tossed them onto the dashboard.

"And she's still in the house? And you're going out there without a vest or anything?"

"I'm sure one of uniforms or one of the SWAT guys will have an extra one I can borrow. Apparently she's wounded. Self inflicted gunshot wound to an unknown area of her body. They're trying to talk her out of there."

"Fuck that," Sam declared. "Just let SWAT go in there and put her out of her misery. She killed three cops! Who gives a shit if she walks out this alive or dead."

"Calm down, babe," he reached out and ran a hand over her hair. "Just calm down…I don't need you getting all worked up…"

"What the hell were the officers responding to anyway? What was the original nine one one call?"

"Neighbours called saying that the husband was bashing her around. Guess he's a drunk and a common thing. She was apparently worried the cops were going to haul his ass off to jail so she decided to take matters into her own hands."

"And she kills the people trying to save her from that piece of shit? She sounds like a fucking nutter," Sam seethed.

"Babe…please…relax…you need to calm down…getting like this isn't any good for the baby…let's think of the baby, okay?"

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly before exhaling and giving a nod. "I don't want you going out there without a vest," she said. "She's still armed and you're going to walk out there completely unprotected. You want me to think about the baby, Don? You do the same thing. You think about our unborn baby and your six kids at home and me. I don't want you going out there without a vest."

"Sam, this is my job," he explained gently. "I'm needed here."

"And you're needed at home!" she argued. "You're needed in your children's lives! You're needed in my life, Don! Christ for sixteen years now we've had this same fight every time something from work comes up! And I support you and respect you for being so devoted to your career! I do! But I also love you and I'm devoted to you as my husband and the father of my children and I don't want anything to happen to you!"

Flack sighed heavily, and laying his elbow on the ledge of the driver's side window, pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Silence descended on the car. Metal and glass the only things separating them from the sheer pandemonium that existed on the street. Officers yelling back and forth, the news chopper looming overhead. It would be dark in a matter of a half an hour and soon the street would be awash with spotlights from the helicopter and the flashing of blue and reds. The longer the stand off continued, the larger the media circus would become. And it was that attention that perps craved. The desire to be immortalized.

To go down in a blaze of glory.

Leaning forward, his wife's words ringing in his ears and tugging at his heart, he grabbed his cell phone off of the dash and place a quick phone call to one of the detectives he'd spoken to earlier. Within minutes, a fresh faced uniform was rapping his knuckles on the driver's side window with his knuckles, a Kevlar vest in his free hand.

Flack rolled down the window and took the vest with an appreciative nod. "Scene secure?" he asked.

"As good as can be I guess, Inspector. The crazy bitch is still holed up in the back of the house. SWAT's getting ready to give the all clear for the CSI's and ME's office to start processin' the bodies. They're still on the front lawn."

"Well you tell whoever is in charge of SWAT to stand down. I'm the one in charge of this scene now and I'll be the one to gives the orders. Understand me?"

"Yes, sir…" the uniform said, and promptly got on his walkie talkie. He relayed the information -the Inspector's strict orders as he called them- then turned back towards the SUV. "I just don't get this," he said and swallowed noisily. Tears of grief and rage welled in his eyes as he glanced down the street. "I can't believe this happened…three of our brothers…how can someone do something like that?"

Flack had no answer for that. It had been a question that had plagued his own mind millions of times during his twenty-five year career. Two plus decades spent questioning the frames of mind of human beings who were capable of doing horrific things to each other. Of being in sheer disgust and awe at the depth of hatred and evil that could exist inside of people. Drug dealers that poisoned the minds and bodies of not only adults, but children as well. White supremacists that beat down and even tortured and killed innocent people or no other reason then they had the wrong colour of skin. He'd seen love triangles that took disastrous turns. Controlling and abusive husbands that pummelled their wives to death in a fit of rage. He'd been the one, on more than one occasion, to pull a dead newborn, its cord still attached, out of a dumpster or trash can. Left there by crack whore mothers who hadn't wanted to be pregnant let alone value the sheer miracle of life they'd managed to achieve. And he'd seen physically and sexually abused children that would need extensive therapy for the rest of their lives. Many of who would never be able to form normal, lasting personal relationships with anyone. Who would also become an abuser in the future and would end up not only in the system, but leave a horde of victims in their wake.

Many a night he'd gone home and crept into his children's rooms and stood at the side of their beds. Watching how the moonlight illuminated their innocent, angelic faces. Listening to their soft breathing and smiling at their murmurings and sighs. And he'd bend down and run a hand over their hair and press kisses to their foreheads and cheeks and whisper I love you. And promises that he'd never, ever let anything evil get them.

Then he'd retreat to his own room, and still fully clothed, he'd climb into bed beside his wife and wrap his arms around her and kiss her awake. She would never talk or ask what was bothering him. She could always see in his eyes and in how tense his body was that he was troubled. Years spent together had done nothing if not make their bond so strong that they knew what they were thinking, and feeling without having to ask. And how to comfort and console without a single word. They knew what the other needed and when it was appropriate to take things into their own hands.

She would lock eyes with him and her finger tips would gently explore every inch of his weary, scruffy face. And she'd kiss him, long and gentle and her soft hands would travel his entire body, divesting him off his clothes. Her lips would follow suit. Travelling a path along his jaw line and down onto his neck. Across his collarbone and down his chest. And for the next half an hour, he'd get lost in her. He'd forget about his day and the horror he'd seen. The slaughter of innocents would be pushed out of him mind as she made him feel human again.

As she made him feel alive.

Afterwards, as they lay in their bed, their chests heaving, their bodies sated and their sweaty lips entangled on top of equally as sweaty sheets, she'd kiss his face gently and stroke his hair and he'd open up to her. About his day. About his week. About his month. About the years he'd spent on the job. And he'd break down and sob and ask why. Why did people do things like that to each other? Why did good things happen to good people?

And why did he care so much about complete strangers?

"Because that's who you are, Donnie," she'd whisper. "Because you're a good man with a good heart and you have so much love inside of you."

Despite the fact, especially within the last five years, that he'd contemplated retirement with her, he still got out of bed every morning. He still kissed his wife and his kids goodbye and he still went into the office day after day.

"This is you, Don," Sam would say, as she stood at their front door in her slippers, pyjamas and robe. "And you'd be miserable if you weren't doing it and you know it."

She was right. She was right a lot, actually. Although it was something he rarely admitted to her.

But at that moment, his emotions and his feelings didn't matter. What mattered, as a superior officer, was the young man standing outside of his window. The kid's face was ashen and his body was trembling. Flack had been there many a time. And what had gotten him through it, what had stopped from handing in his badge many a time, was the advice, understanding and often tough love handed to him from veteran officers like Gavin Moran.

And as much as Flack hated to admit it, Stanton Gerrard.

He cast a glance at the young uniform's name tag. "How long you been on the job, Francis?" he asked.

The officer blinked and looked down at the highly respected and often feared man before him. "Sir?"

"How long have you been with the department?" Flack inquired.

"Just over a month," the young man replied.

"And in that month, how many times have you seriously considered handing in your shield over something you've seen or heard? Something you've had to do?"

Francis gave a shrug. "A few times I guess."

"A few times in a month? Well you're a stronger man then I am, kid. 'Cause when I first started? No lie, I must have wanted to quit at least three times a week for an entire six months."

"What made you keep going, sir?" he asked.

"I guess I kept going because I had some hope inside of me that every time I put on that gun and badge, every time I slipped into my uniform and hit the streets, that I was going to make a difference in at least one person's life. That if I could touch just one person, if I could bring one person back from the brink or save on life…then the job had meaning and purpose. I had meaning and purpose."

The young officer nodded in understanding.

"And then I became a husband and a father and that meaning and purpose changed. I suddenly had people that depended on me. People that I love more then life itself and I did the job solely because I wanted to make the city a better place for my kids. I wanted to make the parks safe and clean again to play in. I wanted my wife to be able to walk down the street at night and be safe. And that's why I still do it. They're the reason I get up in the morning and do this job. You'll find a purpose, Francis. We all do."

He smiled.

"You'll be okay, kid," Flack assured him. "You're going to go through tough days like this and you're going to see some things that are going to have you running for the nearest alley or trash can to barf you guts out. You're going to go home at night and drink yourself into a stupor and rant and rave about the injustice of the world. You're going to bawl your eyes out over a case and question where the hell God is and how he allows shit like that to happen. But you know what? You'll survive. I did. I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere."

The young uniform was silent for a moment, contemplating the Inspector's words. "I'd be honoured to escort you to the scene, sir," he said finally.

Flack gave a smile "Give me a few minutes okay? I just need to talk to my wife."

Francis nodded, and leaning down, looked into the SUV and tipped his hat in Sam's direction. "M'am," he said politely, then stepped back from the vehicle.

Flack rolled the window back up. Unbuckling his seat belt, he pulled the Kevlar vest over his head and reached for the Velcro straps.

Sam unclipped her own belt and turning, leaned across the seat. Pushing his hands out of the way, she proceeded to adjust the straps for him. Pulling them as tight as comfortably possible before smoothing them down. Then, laying her hands on his shoulders, pressed a feathery kiss to his lips.

"Please be careful," she whispered.

He nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Stay in the car, okay? Just stay here. Don't go anywhere. I don't…" he sighed. "I just don't want anything happening to you or my rug rat, okay?"

She smiled and catching his hand, brought it down to rest on her stomach. "Okay, daddy," she said and kissed him again. Longer but no less tender.

"I love you guys," he told her, patting her stomach gently before reaching for the handle on his door.

"We love you, too," she returned, and then watched, feeling scared and helpless, as he slipped out of the car, shut the door and headed towards the crime scene with the young uniform.

* * *

Speed, a dark, dour look on his face and his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the side of an ME's van, nodded in greeting as Flack arrived. Things hadn't been the same between them since Kieran had dumped Addie and immediately took up with Alessa. No father wanted to see their baby girl heartbroken, and Speed was no exception. And while he realized confronting Kieran and Sam at the Flack house had been the wrong thing to do, as had encouraging Addie to get revenge, he was too damn stubborn and proud to apologize. He had once considered Flack his best friend. They'd hit it off immediately from Speed's very first day on the job. He'd always admired Flack's 'take no shit, tell it like it is' attitude, and the devotion and unconditional love that the man had for his wife and his children. And he missed the talks they'd had over beers and the laughs that they had shared. Flack had always been able to make him laugh. The way the sarcasm dripped out of that man's mouth was enough to lift even the darkest cloud from over your head. But he especially missed those moments were Flack was quiet and thoughtful and compassionate as you spilled your guts to him. Flack didn't judge you. He didn't talk shit about you behind your back.

And Speed hadn't, starting with when Kieran had went missing as a baby, given him that same respect.

"This is some crazy assed shit," Flack declared, casting a glance skywards at the chopper. "What? Is photographing the bodies of three cops on the lawn a spectator sport? Is it gonna boost their ratings?"

"You know how it is," Danny gave a weary sigh from where he sat on the tailgate of his Avalanche. "They're fucking vultures, Inspector. Or should I call you Chief now?"

"Not for a couple of weeks," Flack told him. "Word travels fast."

"The Comish is spreading the word," Speed told him. "It's all over the department already. He's sent out memos and emails. I guess congratulations are in order."

"How about we save those for later?" Flack suggested. "When three of our boys aren't lying dead on the grass? So what's the low down, Tim? What the hell happened? All I got so far was that a call went in to nine one one from one of the neighbours for a domestic. And that the wife went sniper and took out three cops."

Speed nodded, and pushing himself away from the van, motioned for Flack to follow him. "She was all but lying in wait," he said, as Flack and Danny walked with him, one on either side, as he led the way to the front lawn. "Ambushed them as they came up the walk. Took them out one by one from that open window up there on the second floor."

"This scene better be secure," Flack told him. "I don't want her to be lying in wait for us."

"She's holed up in the back of the house," Speed said. "Wounded. Shot herself in the stomach. She's refusing medical treatment. We've got a counsellor talking to her on the phone."

"Let the bitch bleed out," Danny grumbled.

"Where's the husband?" Flack asked.

"He's in the house too," Speed replied. "Dead. She shot him after the cops. I guess he tried to disarm her and she turned on him."

"What weapons are we talking about her? A revolver, a rifle, what?"

"Two hunting rifles. Apparently the husband is…was…an avid outdoors men. And he'd taken her to the range and on trips a few times. Word has it she's like a female Rambo. One of my CSI's contacted her shooting instructor? Says she's one of the best shots he's ever seen. And he's seen a lot."

"Yeah…so have we," Flack commented, then shook his head at the sight that lay at his feet. Three officers, two bearing Sargeant's stripes, lying crumpled and broken on the blood soaked grass. Bullet holes to their foreheads. His eyes fell, and remained riveted on, the youngest of the three. His feet facing the front of the house, arms and legs spread-eagled and his eyes wide and staring lifelessly up at the sky.

Jamie Angell.

"That's Jess' brother?" Danny asked, his voice quiet.

"He was the youngest of the four boys," Flack told his friends. "Jess and him were really, really close. You would have thought they were twins instead of there between three years between them. From the time she was hold enough to walk they were inseparable. They had this bond…" he sighed and shook his head. "Words can't explain how tight they are. Were. He was the one that gave me the hardest time when we started dating. Threatened to kick my ass many a time if I so as much ruffled a hair on her head. We used to hang out a lot. Hit Sullivan's, have a few beers. Shoot some pool, play darts. He's a good guy. Hell of a cop."

Both Speed and Danny nodded.

"This is going to kill Jess," Flack said. "And her dad…" he shook his head. Then cleared his throat noisily as emotion threatened to get the better of him. "Danny, go and find out how secure this scene actually is. I want to know that we're not walking on a landmine here. Tell the negotiator to either get the shooter the hell out of the there. Alive or dead I don't really care. They can't do that, tell them to keep her back there as long as it takes so you guys can process and we can get these bodies out of here. This just isn't…it's just not right. Having them here. On display like this."

"I'm on it," Danny assured him, and clapped his best friend on the shoulder before turning on his heel and leaving the scene.

Flack sighed once more and stared down at the bodies at his feet.

"You alright?" Speed asked. Genuine concern in his voice and eyes.

Flack nodded. "I just…brings back some memories you know."

"Your shooting," the other man stated. "That was…that was probably the toughest thing I've ever been through. Professionally speaking. And seeing a friend like that…"

"I think about how I could have died that day in that cafeteria. How it could have been my wife getting that news. That's what bothers me the most. What their families are going to go through. I know what my family went through and I survived. All the times they told Sammie I wasn't going to make it. All the times she prepared herself to bury me. The hell that was put on her seeing me like that."

"You survived, Don. That's what matters most. It was a hell of long road to get back on your feet, but you made it. Both you and Sam made it. And it was a struggle and nearly broke both of you. But think about how strong it made you in the end. Think about how it made you two appreciate and love each other more."

Flack nodded. "Got a pair of gloves?" he asked.

Speed reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a pair of latex gloves.

Flack took them, and snapping them onto his hands, crouched down by the body of Jamie Angell. And, prepared to bear the brunt of the ME's office, reached out and with gentle fingers, closed the man's eyes.

"This is just not right," he whispered.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers! Please R and R folks! Makes my day!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**wolfeylady**

**Forest Angel**

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**Delko's Girl 88**


	82. In death there is life

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTRES. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK KIDS.**

* * *

**In death there is life**

"Tonight I cried the tears of a child  
Who knows what fear runs deep and wild inside  
But the river's in flood tonight  
I lay down and the light streamed across my face  
I felt the beauty of some deeper grace  
And I tried  
To find my way to the other side  
I feel your skin as smooth as silk  
Drunk like a baby on his mama's milk  
Take me down under the wishing tree  
Lay your healing hands on me  
Been a long time riding this deserted train  
There's no messiahs out here, baby  
But I found the holy grail all right  
'Cause I'm lying in your arms tonight."  
-Healing Hands, Marc Cohn

* * *

**1:17 am.**

Samantha sighed heavily and flopped over onto her back, carefully minding the two dogs that were stretched out across the end of the queen sized bed and the tiny figure sleeping so contently beside her. She couldn't sleep. Hadn't been able to sleep since retiring to bed shortly before midnight. When things had begun to show no signs of ending anytime soon at the crime scene, Flack had returned to the SUV and told her to go home. That he had hours of work ahead of him. Both at the scene and most likely at the ME's office as well as his own. And while she had avoided all news reports, keeping both the radio and the television turned off and not even bothering to flick on the computer to even check her email, her mind was plagued with the events of the evening. What had started out as a well deserved date night with her husband had turned into a nightmare. Three dead cops, a tense standoff with the shooter who had, from a phone call Flack had placed to her shortly after nine, had been taken down -literally- by the SWAT team.

Barbara Marshall, forty eight, born and bred in Far Rockaway, had been apparently suffering from paranoid schizophrenia for years, and she had told negotiators- after she'd allowed the bodies of the dead cops to be removed from her front lawn and after she'd climbed out onto the roof with a handgun in her possession- that she and her husband had fought after he found out she'd hadn't been taking her medication as prescribed. The argument had been so intense that he'd gotten physical with her while attempting to defend himself from her violent onslaught. And when the neighbour had shown up on the front lawn and yelled that they'd called the cops, she had simply snapped. Terrified that they'd take her husband away or commit her, she'd decided to protect herself, and the man she loved.

The three officers hadn't seen it coming. No one had expected her to be armed and she'd easily taken out all three from her perch in a second story window. When her husband, who neighbours had said they had heard yelling, "What did you do?! What the fuck did you do you crazy bitch!", had attempted to disarm her, she'd turned the weapon on him as well.

That was when the stand off began. The wound to her stomach had turned out to be minor. It wasn't a gunshot has everyone had initially assumed. It was a stab wound. An attempt at suicide. Although a rather pitiful one considering she had admitted to the negotiator she was terrified to die. In the end, a member of the SWAT team had successfully made it through the house and up onto the roof through a window at the back of the building. And had, without her ever suspecting a thing while the sympathetic and understand negotiator had managed to keep her distract her, managed to take her by surprise and disarm her. Only Barbara hadn't gone down without a fight.

She had however, after a brief tousle with the much stronger SWAT officer, taken a rather nasty tumble off of the roof and landed flat on her back on the blood soaked walk at the front of her house. Where just hours before three slain NYPD officers had laid. Initial doctors reports suggested the shattered vertebrae in her back would leave her a quadriplegic.

_What goes around comes around, _Sam had thought at the news. She had no pity for the woman. She felt bad that Barbara had lived the life she had with the mental illness she'd been plagued with, but help had been out there and she'd simply turned it down. She'd stopped taking her meds. She'd stopped going to see a psychiatrist. She'd pushed away everyone that loved her and refused their well meaning offers of help. Three good men had died that day. Three wives had had their husbands cruelly snatched away from them. Eight children would never see their daddies again.

As far as Sam was concerned, Barbara Marshall had gotten off easy.

_God, I am such a vicious bitch, _she thought, and rolled over onto her right hand side. Liam, who'd refused to sleep in his own, lay curled up beside her, his face towards her, his tiny body rising and falling with each steady breath that he took. She reached out and lightly combed her fingers through his thick, wavy chestnut hair.

_He looks so much like Adam, _she thought, remembering those moments, years ago when she was just a little girl, as her brother lay snuggled up beside her. Woken up from yet another nightmare of a beating their father had laid on them and terrified of the tree branches that were scraping noisily against his bedroom window. She would lie awake, stroking Adam's hair and telling him about Winkin' and Blinkin' and Nod and the Owl and the Pussy Cat. Sometimes she even made stories up. Where she always named the main character Adam. A shy, meek little boy that realized one day he was strong and brave when it came down to him saving the beautiful princess -naturally his sister- from a mean ogre holding her captive. She'd make up the tales and he'd listen with wide eyed interest, and slowly, ever so slowly, she'd watch him yawn and see his eyes growing heavy. He'd fall asleep with a peaceful, content smile on his lips and his arms wrapped securely around one of hers. It was the only time she'd ever seen him happy. When he was asleep and all thoughts and horrors had been abandoned.

And then her father, reeking of alcohol would come and push open her door and look in on them. And he'd clear his throat and crook a finger and beckon her to come to him. Into Adam's room. Into the basement. Anywhere that he could be alone with her to…

_Don't you dare think about! _Sam scolded herself, and squeezed her eyes shut. _You haven't thought about that for years. You dealt with it. You've put that behind you. You fought long and hard to deal with it. To accept it. To accept yourself. It doesn't do any good dwelling on the past when you've come so far in forgetting about it._

She would never forget. She knew that. It was something that would linger in the back of her mind forever. Five long years of her life that would haunt her in the darkest of situations. Kieran's kidnapping and molestation at the hands of Jack Doyle fourteen years ago. Her husband's shooting. Her step father's death. And now the senseless killings of three brave men who'd served the city so proud. The man who had claimed to be her birth father had no bearing on any of those things, but every time something happened that made her question the sanity of mankind, she never failed to think of all the monsters that had at one time invaded her life.

She ran a soft fingertip down the bridge of Liam's nose and along each nostril. He had her nose and her freckles. Her chin and her lips. Her ears. He was a sensitive, trusting little soul that loved everyone. Almost to a fault. Despite it having drilled into him from an early age to never trust strangers, Liam was the kind of kid that talked to everyone. That thought nothing of taking a piece of candy offered to him by someone on the street. Who truly believed someone when they said they needed his help finding their lost dog or carrying some groceries to their car. He'd been reprimanded, and harshly by his father at that, for leaving the playground with someone that said that his parents had sent him to collect him and bring him home.

He hadn't been the first kid that had been targeted at the school, but he would prove to be the last.

Thankfully, his father had been coming to pick him up at the exact same time Liam was leaving, hand in hand, with who would turn out to be a part time custodian at the school and a registered sex offender. The jackass hadn't expected that his target that day was the son of a cop. Or that said cop was heading straight for them. And he certainly hadn't know what had hit him until EMS was picking him up off the sidewalk after Flack had knocked him out with one punch and had to be physically peeled off the guy before he could do worse damage. When Don Flack Junior said he'd kill for his kids, he goddamn well meant it.

_Maybe we're cursed, _Sam thought, as her fingertip traced her son's delicate features. _Maybe bad things are supposed to happen to us for some reason. First Kieran, then having a disabled child, then the shooting, then almost Liam. Maybe we're just meant to be dealt all of the tough shit 'cause God knows we can handle it._

_Or maybe he just loves torturing us._

Liam gave a soft giggle in his sleep and reached up to scratch his nose.

Sam smiled and ran her fingers through his hair once more and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

_Life can't be that bad when you've been blessed with six beautiful angels, _she mused. Then, with her hand resting on the top of her son's head, she turned over onto her back once again and laid her free hand on her stomach. There was a definite baby bump there. There was no denying it, and soon there would be no hiding it. The mystery of the conception date was beginning to get the best of her. It was driving her absolutely insane not being able to pin down the exact time. And judging by the size of her stomach in comparison to what she'd been like with her last two pregnancies, she was convinced she was pretty damn close to five months.

_Four months to get everything done, _she thought, and suppressed a groan. There was so much to do and so little time. So many appointments to go to and so many people to tell and so many…

_Why in the hell are you even thinking about this right now? How can you be thinking about yourself with what's gone done tonight? Are you really that selfish? Do you honestly think the whole world revolves around you? That all that matters is having a baby? With bringing a child into this screwed up world?_

_Three people died tonight. Your dear friend's brother was one of them. How can you think of yourself when Jess is so devastated over her brother?_

Jess.

Sam had been fighting, and valiantly so far, to keep the images of her friend's grief stricken face out of her mind as she was delivered the news of her brother's death. She tried to keep the sounds of Jess' sorrowful, pitiful sobs as she collapsed to her knees in the middle of the sidewalk, out of her mind. She'd been ready to leave, buckled into the driver's seat of the family SUV when she'd seen, by sheer chance through the rear view mirror, her friend rushing down the sidewalk towards the crime scene. Jess had been frantic. Her hair flying madly and her entire body trembling and her face ashen. Sam had managed, after a mad dash out of the SUV, to intercept the other woman before she could get to the cordoned off area.

"Jamie!" she'd screamed, as Sam had fought hard, both arms around Jess' body, to drag her back towards the car. "Jamie's over there! I know he's there Sam! I know he's there!"

"You can't go over there," Sam had told her, her heart breaking at her friend's grief. "You can't go over there. It's not safe. Let me get Don and you can talk to him. He's in charge of the scene. You come with me and I'll get someone to get him. Okay? Please…just come with me and calm down."

She had managed, with great effort, to pull her friend back to the SUV. And had kept one supportive arm wrapped around Jess' quaking body while she'd placed a phone call to her husband's cell. Within seconds he was heading towards them, his mouth set in a grim line, his blue eyes dark and sullen. And he'd explained, while holding both of Jess' hands in one of his own, what had exactly happened.

And how her brother was dead.

It was the first time -save for moments on the job when he'd had to tell complete strangers of a loved one's demise- that Sam had ever seen her husband give that kind of news. And she'd been taken back by the compassion and the tenderness in his voice. She had seen that softer side of him many times when dealing with their own personal issues. When she'd lost their second baby just shy of the third month. When Kieran had had to undergo an operation to repair a rupture in his bowel that had been caused by Jack Doyle's assault but had gone unnoticed until three months later. When the doctor had sat on the edge of her hospital bed and told them both that their newborn son not only had Down Syndrome, but a heart defect that would need surgical intervention. And when he'd taken the phone call from her mother and then had sat her down afterwards and told her that her step father had passed away.

All personal moments where he'd showcased that enormous heart and incredibly empathy that he kept hidden so well inside.

But with Jess, he'd revealed that side to the entire world. And was neither embarrassed or ashamed about it. And, after she'd collapsed to the ground in a fit of grief, he'd down beside her and wrapped his arms around her slender body and held her tight against him. One hand stroking her hair as he rocked her back and forth. As Sam had seen him do many a time with their children needed the kind of comforting that they could only find in their father's strong, secure arms.

She had sought solace in those arms many a time in the past sixteen years. There'd been countless moments when she'd buried her head in his chest and inhaled his familiar, yet intoxicating scent. Where she'd relaxed at the sensation of him caressing her hair and listening to his deep voice as he whispered reassurances in her ear. But in those sixteen years, she'd also found so much more in not just those arms, but him as well. In him she'd discovered, and he'd quickly become, her best friend. Her protector. Her confidant. Her lover. All those amazing things all rolled into one.

Yet she had stood there in the middle of the street, feeling like an outsider, watching as Jess desperately clung to him. The front of his shirt fisted in one hand while the well manicured nails of her other hand had dug painfully into the back of his neck. And when the sobs that wracked her body finally subsided, Flack had stood slowly, an arm around Jess' slender waist as he assisted her to her feet. Then he'd taken her face in his hands and cleared lingering tears away with gentle thumbs.

It had been an almost intimate moment. Although their relationship had ended more then seventeen years ago, Sam had always wondered if there were still residual feelings on both Jess', and Flack's part. It was fleeting moments Sam had witnessed but never questioned. Looks that were exchanged, simple touches that seemed so innocent. And standing there witnessing her husband comforting another woman, friend or not, had left Sam feeling…uncomfortable. Like the third wheel. And she'd been left with tears threatening as her husband escorted his ex to view the crime scene without even so much as a goodbye or a glance back at his own wife.

A couple of hours later, after she'd returned home and successfully dealt with her traumatized and frantic children -ALONE- she'd called Hawkes only to find out that Jess hadn't returned home yet. Nor had she called personally to give him the news about her brother. He'd found out by watching CNN. When Sam had tried calling her friend, all she got was the voice mail. Suspicion nagging at her, she'd placed a call to her husband. Who by then was at One Police Plaza trying to quell the media storm with Scagnetti. Flack had been extremely agitated and upon seeing his home number on his call display, had answered with a gruff:

"I don't have time for this."

Sam had bit her tongue. Reminding herself that he was incredibly on edge and dealing with some pretty heavy shit. Snapping back at him would only make things worse and cause a massive blow out between them. Instead, she'd remained calm and gently ask if, by chance, Jess was with him.

"Yeah…she's here…I've got her in talking with a department counsellor in an interrogation room," Flack had answered. "Why?"

She'd explained how Jess hadn't bothered to call home yet. And that both she, and Hawkes, were worried.

"Well she's fine," Flack had barked. "Just fucking peachy. I guess you were the last thing on her mind considering her brother got his brains blown out earlier."

"Don…I just…"

"You just what? Called 'cause you're concerned? Bullshit, Sam. You're calling to check up on me. To see that I'm not shacked up in some hotel with my ex girlfriend. I have zero fucking tolerance for your immature, possessive, clingy wife bullshit."

And then he'd hung up.

At first she'd been stunned. Standing there, completely shocked by his outburst, staring at the cordless phone in her hand. Then she'd been hurt. And then she'd spiralled into a rage that had seen her throwiginthe phone across the room and calling him ever name in the book. Kieran, in his protective way, had heard her ranting and raving in the kitchen and had quickly shown up on the scene to find the phone in pieces and his mother in a state at the table.

"I'll fucking kill him," Kieran had declared, when she'd told him, through her blubbering, what his father had said to her.

She had, without even realizing she was doing it, completely opened up to her oldest son about the events of the last couple of days as they sat across from each other at the kitchen table. She rambled on about the stress of him getting in trouble at the school and the possible lawsuit the parents of his victim were considering filing. She talked about seeing his Aunt Jess in what she considered an affectionate moment with his father. She told him about how the shooting of the three police officers had brought back all the painful memories of his dad's shooting. And then, before she could stop herself, rattled on about her now ex boss being such a total prick she'd quit her job. All because he couldn't accept her two weeks notice gracefully and had something so mean to say about the baby she was expecting.

Kieran's eyes had gone wide at the mention of the pregnancy. It was probably the last thing, at fifteen, he was expecting his mother to ever tell him. Especially considering since the time he was old enough to ask questions and understand the answers he was given, he'd been told that she had had her tubes tied and there wouldn't be anymore babies joining the family.

"Please don't say a word to your brothers and sisters, Kieran," she'd pleaded. "Please…your dad and I wanted to tell all of you together…please don't say anything…"

"I won't," he'd promised once he'd managed to find his voice. And he'd sat quietly, watching as she sniffled and wiped at her eyes for several long minutes, before he finally stood up and journeyed around the table and stood in front of her chair. "It's okay…" he'd assured her. "Don't cry…." taking her face in both of his hands and cradling it gently, he'd leaned down and pressed a kiss to her head. "This just gives me another reason to protect you mommy," he'd whispered.

She'd retreated to bed shortly afterwards, leaving her oldest son in the basement playing the Nintendo Wii that she'd confiscated from him just three days before. She had felt emotionally drained and had barely been able to get herself undressed and into pyjamas. But had found, as soon as her head hit the pillow, that she couldn't fall asleep if her life depended on it. Liam had come knocking shortly after she'd climbed under the covers. Teary and sniffling and begging her to let him come and sleep with her. She hadn't had the heard to say no, and soon he was cuddled in beside her, quickly and effortlessly falling asleep as she softly stroked the bridge of his nose. A trick that had worked like a charm since he was just a wee baby.

_Insomnia is such bullshit, _she thought now, as the time slowly ticked on. It was nearing one thirty and still sleep remained out of reach. Her brain was consumed by the shootings and the thoughts of the grieving spouses and devastated children that had been left behind.

And of more selfish things. She just couldn't, no matter how hard she tried, get the image of her husband and Jessica Angell-Hawkes out of her mind. She couldn't shake the thought of them in such an intimate moment. Especially considering their history.

_You're being goddamn paranoid, _she angrily told herself. _You're just on edge and in shock over the whole thing. And when you're this tense, your mind tortures you. So just bloody well close your eyes and try and relax._

After several minutes, she realized the battle was futile. Sleep would continue to evade her. At least until the body that was meant to be alongside of her was there. His arms wrapped tightly around her, her head on his chest as she listened to his heart beat. Confirming to her that he'd once again made it home safe and sound.

Liam gave another giggle. Louder this time. And rolled over onto his back. "Mommy…" he breathed. "The kitty is tickling me."

Sam's eyes snapped open and she glanced over at her son. His arms spread out beside him, a gentle, content smile curving his lips and his eyes closed.

"Liam…" she whispered, reaching out to stroke his hair. "Shhhh…no talking."

"But the kitty is tickling me…" he said in a tiny voice. "Mommy….it tickles…the tail keeps hitting me in the face…"

She sighed heavily and settled her head into her pillow.

He giggled even louder. "The kitty is funny, mommy!"

"Here," she said, and laid her hand on his chest. Then took it away again. "Mommy took the kitty away. You can sleep now. Okay?"

"Okay…" he sighed and flopped back over onto his stomach. And promptly began snoring.

_Good Lord_, she thought and rolled over onto her side, her back towards her son as she put a pillow over her head.

She lay there, eyes open and riveted on the bedroom door.

Waiting.

* * *

It was quarter to two in the morning when Flack found himself journeying up the driveway of his home in Flushing, Queens. After dealing with the media and taking part in several small news conferences, he'd taking a trip down the street to the ME's office to observe all three autopsies on the fallen officers. Then he'd headed up to the crime lab to check on the progress of the final paper work before eventually returning to his own office at One Police Plaza and singed off on reports filed by the detectives who had worked on the scene. Jess, who hadn't wanted to head home and instead, following her talk with the grief counsellor had asked Flack if she could simply hang out in the peace and quiet of his office, had been fast asleep on the small leather couch when he'd returned. He'd left her there while he completed his tasks, then woke her up and personally put her in a cab and set her safely on the road home.

By that time it was after one. He was too damn tired to take the subway and had decided to instead recruit a uniform officer to drive him all the way to Flushing in his patrol car. Where he found the house in darkness save for the front porch light that his wife always left burning when he was working late.

He paused at the bottom of the front steps and turned and offered a wave to the young officer parked at the curb. The rookie -Clarkson…Carlson…Carter…Flack couldn't even remember he was so tired - had done nothing but talk his ear off the entire way home. He'd heard the kid ramble on about everything from how he'd excelled in high school football and hockey, how'd he'd demolished most of the times during training exercises in the academy, and how he was in complete awe of the Inspector and the Flack family history within the department. Flack would have thought, by the way he kept his head tipped back against his seat and his eyes closed, that the officer would have gotten the picture that he honestly didn't care about anything else other then getting home.

But the kid hadn't wanted to shut up, nor had Flack had the heart to tell him to zip it.

He waited until the patrol car pulled away from the curb before climbing the stairs and fishing his keys out of the pocket of his khakis. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more then to make his way upstairs and climb into bed. So tired in fact, that he would have done it fully clothed had there not been blood stains on the front of his legs from where he'd crouched down alongside of Jamie Angell's body. He'd caught proper shit from the ME's office for touching the deceased, then had had to tolerate Speed's yammering on about how he'd nearly compromised the scene by kneeling in the blood. He'd promptly snapped back at his former friend, reminding Speedle that he was the Deputy Inspector. Meaning he was in charge of the crime lab and that Speed and all his minions worked for him. And if he wanted to stay in charge, that he better learn to keep his mouth shut.

_Asshole, _Flack thought, as he unlocked the front door and pushed his way inside. There was a small night light plugged into one of the outlets in the foyer, giving him just enough light to successfully lock the door and set the alarm that had been left for him to turn on upon his arrival. Toeing off his shoes -also stained with blood and most likely a write off- he placed them in the hall closet and shrugged off his jacket and hung it open. Yawning noisily, he turned and flicked off the porch light and prepared to call it a night. Heading out of the foyer and into the living room and towards the stairs. Startling when he saw movement on the bottom landing.

"You scared the shit out of me Kieran," he whispered, surprised to see his oldest sitting on the bottom step, clad in a pair of plaid pyjama pants and a t-shirt. His feet bare and the Nintendo DS in his hands casting an eerie glow on his face. "What are you still doing up?"

"I was waiting for you," the fifteen year old replied.

"Look…I know I said that you and I were going to have a talk when I got home, but now is not the time," Flack told him. "It's been a hell of a long night and my head is pounding and I just want to get to bed. We'll do it tomorrow, okay?"

"No," Kieran answered angrily. "We're going to talk _now_."

Flack's eyes narrowed. "It's almost two in the morning. Get up and go to bed."

The teenager shook his head and shut off the game in his hands. "We're going to talk now, dad," he insisted. "I waited for you all night and we're going to talk. Whether you want to or not."

His father snorted and shook his head. "Get to bed, K. I'm not in the mood for any of your bullshit tonight."

"And I'm not in the mood for you to be bossing everyone around," Kieran shot back. "Especially mom. You were really, really mean to her earlier. And she didn't deserve that."

Flack smirked and pushed his way past his son. "If you think I'm going to stand here and talk about my problems with your mother with you, you've got another thing coming."

Kieran bravely reached out and grabbed his father by the upper arm. "You didn't have any right to be like that with mom. She's going through a lot too, you know. She's dealing with a lot of shit and you didn't have a right to talk to her like that, dad. Mom was so worried about you. She hasn't been able to stop crying or even get proper sleep. All 'cause you had to act like a complete ass and treat her like crap."

"And you have no right getting in my face about personal business that goes down between me and your mother. Personal means just that. I'm not talking about this with a fifteen year old. Now you let go of my arm and get your ass upstairs before I physically drag you myself."

"Why do you have to be so mean to her?" Kieran asked. "What has she ever done to deserve that? Mom just called you to find out where Aunt Jessie was and you freaked out on her. That wasn't fair, dad. It wasn't fair and it hurt her feelings. You were wrong and you know that."

Flack yanked his arm out of his son's grasp. "Kieran, I am telling you right now. Get your ass upstairs right now before I…"

"Before you what? What are you going to do, dad? Hit me? I love you but I can't let you treat mommy that way. She's my mom. And I won't let you talk to my mom like that. Can't you just admit you're wrong for once? You really, really hurt her feelings, dad. And she's majorly stressed out and that's the last thing she needs. What with the new baby and all."

Flack's eyes narrowed. "She told you about that?"

"It just came out. She was freaking out and crying after you were so mean to her on the phone and I was trying to make her feel better and it just slipped out. She didn't want to tell me and she asked me not to tell any of the other kids."

"And did you?"

"Mom asked me not to and I promised I wouldn't. I'm not going to break a promise to mom. She doesn't need all this stress dumped on her. I don't want anything happening to her. Or my new brother or sister. And I know you don't want that either."

Flack shook his head slowly, then laid a hand on his son's shoulder before stepping up onto the landing of the stairs. "It's really late Kieran," he said. "Let's call it a night, okay? We can do that talk we were supposed to have tonight tomorrow sometime. Alright?"

The fifteen year old nodded. "Just…can you just say sorry to her, dad?" he asked hopefully. "'Cause mommy didn't deserve the things you said to her. She deserves better then that."

"You're right," Flack agreed, then headed up the stairs. "She does."

* * *

Sam was still lying on her side, facing the door with her eyes closed when she finally heard him enter the bedroom. Relief surged through her entire body, quickly and easily overriding any anger and annoyance she had previously been struggling with. She heard the two soft yet distinct clicks as the door opened and then shut again. She was aware of the rustling of clothes as he tugged his shirt out of the waist of his pants and began unbuttoning it, then his footsteps as he crossed the hardwood floor and approached the dresser across from the foot of the bed. There was the sound of keys rattling as they were placed in a small, china dish she'd long placed on the dresser to be used for holding house and car keys and often cell phones and her husband's wallet. There was a slight jingling noise as spare change was dropped in the dish as well, then the sound of a belt being undone and a button popped open and a zipper being pulled down.

A minute later, she heard the footfalls on the floor once again and felt her husband's presence at the side of the bed. His familiar scent drifted over her and she heard his knees cracking as he crouched down alongside of the bed, followed by the soft touch of his hand as he ran it over her hair and down her cheek. His lips were warm and gentle as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. There was such tenderness in that simple gesture that she felt emotion tugging at her heart.

Her eyes flickered open. And in the moonlight that trickled into the room, they smiled softly at one another.

"You're really late," she whispered.

Flack nodded. "I had a lot I had to do. Statements to give the media, autopsies to watch, paper work I needed to sign off on."

"I'm just glad that you're home," she said.

"So am I," he told her, and covered her lips with his own in a tender, loving kiss. "I'm sorry," he said, placing his forehead against hers. "I never meant to freak out on you like that. I was just on edge 'cause of everything that went down. I was stressed and flipping out and I never meant to…"

She laid two fingers over his lips to silence him. "Just come to bed," she said. "I just want you to come to bed. It's been a long day and a horrible night and I…I need you to come to bed."

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her fingertips before standing up and walking around to the opposite side of the bed. "I think we've got a little issue here," he told her. He'd never been an advocate of co-sleeping. Under any circumstances. As far as he was concerned, the kids belonged in their own rooms in their own beds. Mom and dad's room was their sanctuary. The room place they retreat to in order to get away from it all. And he didn't like the idea of that escape being infringed on in any way.

Sam rolled over onto her back. "He was scared to sleep alone," she explained. "I didn't have the heart to say no to him. I know it's not your thing, but he was terrified Donnie, and I…"

"It's fine," he assured her, and lifting the covers, gently moved Liam closer to Sam before slipping into bed himself and pulling the covers up around the three of them.

"He was talking in his sleep again," Sam said, as her husband settled his head into his pillow. "And giggling. He was going on and on about the kitty's tail tickling his face."

"What kitty?" Flack asked.

Sam shrugged and grinned at him. "I guess instead of imaginary friends in the Flack house we have imaginary pets."

"I guess," he said with a chuckle, and ran his hands down his weary face.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, concern in her voice and in her eyes.

Flack nodded. "Just tired," he replied. "A bit sore. My back and my shoulders are aching."

"Maybe tomorrow we can find some time alone and I can take care of that for you," she suggested. "You always did say I have magic fingers."

A slow grin spread across his face. "You most certainly do," he said, then looked over at her and winked. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Sam nodded. "I was a little pissed off at you," she admitted.

"A little?" he arched his eyebrows and stared pointedly at her.

"Okay…so maybe more than a little. But I'm more relieved now. I'm just glad you're home. I was worried about you and when you never called after you hung up…"

"I should have called you back," he said with a heavy sigh. "I was just…pissed. Not at you. Just with the whole situation. And I was taking that stress out on you. And that wasn't fair. At all."

"Let me guess," she grinned. "Kieran waited up for you to give you a talking too."

"How'd you know?" Flack asked.

"Because he'd told me he was going to do it. Well, first he told me he was going to and I quote, kick your f'ing ass. I managed to get him to agree to a stern lecture."

Flack smirked. "He gives better lectures then I do. Imagine what he's going to be like when he's a father."

"God…let's not even think about that, okay? He's fifteen. He's still my baby. I don't want to think about stuff like that."

"He is fifteen," Flack agreed. "But he's definitely not a baby anymore."

"Just so you know…" Sam reached out and lightly combed her fingers through his hair. "Alannah's going to come to you tomorrow with some very disturbing news. I thought I'd prepare you for it."

He sighed heavily. "What kind of disturbing news?"

"Kieran walked in on her and that Joseph guy doing things…in her bedroom…"

Flack's eyes narrowed. "What kind of things?"

"Do you really want to know?"

He stared long and hard at her.

"Let's put it this way…it involves half nakedness on the guy's part and the girl being on her knees."

Flack's eyes widened. Then he took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and shook his head before looking up at the ceiling. "She's thirteen…she's still a baby…"

"I know…and I know it's incredibly disturbing and sickening, Donnie. When Kieran told me…when he told me I'm not ashamed to admit that I flipped out on her. That I came _this close _to beating the living shit out of her or strangling her with my bare hands. But I figured I'd do the next best thing. I told her that she was going to get the chance to come clean to you about what happened. Before I did it for her."

"And what did she say?"

"She begged and sobbed and pleaded with me to not make her do it. She apologised and said it would never happen again and told me that you didn't need to know. I guess she's worried you're going to flip out on her. Or kill the guy."

"She'll be lucky if I don't torture that little bastard and _then _kill him. What happened to him? Kieran kick him out?"

"Yeah…after he punched him that is. And I guess he physically removed him from our house."

Flack smirked. "Probably the one time I'll tolerate him knocking the shit out of someone."

"Promise me you'll stay calm when you're talking to her, Donnie. That you won't freak out on her. She's doing the brave thing by coming to you about it. And I told her you'd respect her more if she did that. But I also told her that she'd be punished. And that I was leaving the decision on how she'd be punished to you."

"That's fine," he said, then sighed. "What the hell is wrong with our kids, Sammie? Where did we go so wrong that they're like this? Kieran with his issues. Violence, booze, sex. And now Alannah? Now Reghan I could see. But Alannah?"

"I know. Totally the one out of the two I never would have expected."

"We need to get these kids back on track," Flack told her. "I don't know how we'll do it. I just know we have to."

Sam nodded in agreement and ran her hand over the side of his scruffy, unshaven face.

He smiled at her and pressed a kiss to her palm before reaching up to entwine his fingers with hers. Then rested their joined hands in the space between their pillows. He closed his eyes and silence descended on the bedroom. And he'd just began to drift off when Sam spoke once again.

"I do have a little bit of good news in the midst of all this madness," she said.

Flack opened his eyes and looked at her.

"I felt the baby kick earlier," she told him, her eyes sparkling in excitement. "I would say I think, but after four other pregnancies I know the difference between fetal movement and gas."

"That means you're farther along then we thought," he concluded.

She nodded.

He rolled over onto his side facing her. "How long ago did you feel it?" he asked, reaching over Liam's sleeping form and laying a gentle hand on his wife's stomach.

"About an hour ago," she replied, and taking his hand, moved it just under her navel and to the left. "Right there," she said. "That's where I felt. I think he's sleeping now but…"

"He?" Flack asked.

"Or she," she corrected. "Or both."

He frowned. "Don't even joke about something like that. We already have triplets. We don't need a set of twins, too."

"Imagine if we…" her words were cut off and her face light up at the faint, yet very distinct movement inside of her. "Did you feel that?" she asked excitedly.

He nodded, and immediately felt tears sting his eyes and a lump of emotion form in his throat. Maybe it was the intensity of what had gone down that evening. The deaths of three of his 'brothers' and the madness that occurred at the crime scene. Maybe it was the constant pressure of the media and the scrutiny he knew the department would be under for their handling of the shootings. Or maybe it was nothing more then simply feeling the miracle that existed inside of his wife. A miracle he had had a hand in making. Whatever it was, his emotions were raw and he was unable to stop the tears that escaped his eyes and trickled down his cheeks.

Sam smiled lovingly at him and laid her hand over his. "It's okay," she whispered. "We're okay…you're okay."

He nodded and sniffled noisily and closed his eyes. Relaxing in the feel of her fingers drifting through his hair and her warm, sweet breath on his face. He felt…alive. He'd managed to once again make it through another day. And when daylight arrived, he'd pull himself out of bed and get on with his life. He'd do it all over again.

For his wife and his kids.

For that baby that was thriving inside of her.

For himself.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you for making this story, and my others, as successful as they are! And thanks to all the lurkers too for giving this story, and me, a chance!**

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	83. If we could pick our families

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK, KIERAN (K AS WE ALL LOVE TO CALL HIM) AND ALL THE REST OF THE FLACK BROOD**

**THANKS TO ALL OF THOSE SENDING ME WELL WISHES DURING MY TIME IN THE HOSPITAL. I APPRECIATE AND LOVE ALL OF YOU. SPECIAL THANKS TO CASS, HEIDI, RACHEL AND MICHELLE FOR THEIR LOVE AND SUPPORT!**

* * *

**If we could pick our families….**

"He didn't have to wake up  
He'd been up all night  
Layin' there in bed listenin'  
To his new born baby cry  
He makes a pot of coffee  
He splashes water on his face  
His wife gives him a kiss and says  
It's gonna be OK  
It won't be like this for long  
One day soon we'll look back laughin'  
At the week we brought her home  
This phase is gonna fly by  
So baby just hold on  
'Cause it won't be like this for long

Four years later 'bout 4:30  
She's crawling in their bed  
And when he drops her off at preschool  
She's clinging to his leg  
The teacher peels her off of him  
He says what can I do?  
She says now don't you worry  
This'll only last a week or two

It won't be like this for long  
One day soon you'll drop her off  
And she won't even know you're gone  
This phase is gonna fly by  
If you can just hold on  
It won't be like this for long

Some day soon she'll be a teenager  
And at times he'll think she hates him  
Then he'll walk her down the aisle  
And he'll raise her vei

lBut right now she's up and cryin'  
And the truth is that he don't mind  
As he kisses her good night  
And she says her prayers  
He lays down there beside her  
'Til her eyes are finally closed  
And just watchin' her it breaks his heart  
'Cause he already knows

It won't be like this for long  
One day soon that little girl is gonna be  
All grown up and gone  
Yeah, this phase is gonna fly by  
So, he's tryin' to hold on."  
-It Won't Be Like This For Long, Darius Rucker

* * *

Kieran groaned noisily in protest as the buzzing from the alarm on his clock radio filled his bedroom and tore him from a peaceful, comfortable sleep. After waiting up for, and eventually confronting his dad just hours before, he'd retired to his bedroom and had struggled to fall asleep. All he could think about was the three cops on the news. Ambushed on what they had thought was just a routine call. By some crazy assed bitch that could have gotten help a long time ago and whose family could have easily prevented the tragedy by keeping a better eye on her and actually giving a shit about her problems. Three cops who'd served the city proud for six decades between all of them. Who gave their all protecting and serving and who had now made the ultimate sacrifice. And who had, as a collective group, left a dozen children between them. He knew that there'd be departmental funerals. The bodies would be carried through the streets in Manhattan on gun carriages, the coffins draped with American flags. The sidewalks would be lined with officers from not just New York City, but from all over the US. Even a smattering of cops from other countries. All in their dress blues and joined by members of the FDNY.

There'd be extensive media coverage and public memorial services. An arena or convention center would be filled to the rafters with all of the people who wanted to pay their respects to the fallen officers. He knew that his parents would expect him to go. That he'd have to put on a suit and a tie and make sure his dress shoes were polished and that he'd have to accompany to them to the services. He was at the age where he could 'emotionally deal' as his dad always put it. He was fifteen. Straddling the fine line between boyhood and manhood and in serious dangerous of toppling over into kid-dom. Dad was grooming him to be the man of the house. He wanted to make sure that he could trust his oldest son to take charge and handle things when he wasn't around. He wanted Kieran to know how tough growing up actually was. That becoming an adult was serious business. And that if he wanted to be treated with respect, he better damn well start handing it out himself.

He'd decided, after tossing and turning for what seemed like an eternity, that he was going to show his parents that he could be trusted. That they could rely on him to step up when they needed him to take the reigns. So he'd set his alarm for seven in the morning and decided he'd be the one to get up with Liam. That he'd let his parents, who'd been through an emotionally draining night, sleep in while he took control and woke Liam up, made him breakfast, got him cleaned up and dressed and ready and waiting for Uncle Danny when he came to pick Liam up at eight thirty to take him to Blessing of the Bikes.

Rolling from his stomach onto his side, Kieran reached out and slammed his hand down on the top the clock radio, bringing an abrupt end to the aggravating noise. Yawning noisily, he flipped over onto his back and rubbed his eyes vigorously with his fists, hissing in pain as he pressed a little too hard against his busted nose and black eye. He'd been in many a fight before. At school, out of it, on the ice. It was a lengthy list of places and people. Nine times out of ten he'd come out on top. He was over six feet and weighed slightly over two hundred pounds. Most people didn't want to run into him on a bad day. But there was the odd tool who wagged his mouth a little too much or got into face and Kieran took immense pleasure in putting them in their place.

David Truby had been a pretty good opponent. He had a good two inches on Kieran and more then twenty pounds. Rumour was it that while David frequented the school gym four times a week, he was also a 'roid head. Kieran himself worked out twice a week at school, and used the old Bowflex in the basement at home a few times a week. Playing hockey and football through school and organized rugby through the NYPD -the department had teams in nearly every sport for kids of sworn officers- helped to keep him bulked up as well. And when the bigger boy had started bad mouthing his dad, Kieran had simply snapped. He would not, and could not, tolerate that shit. He didn't care of the person was seven feet tall and three hundred pounds. He was getting knocked the fuck out. And if someone dared to say anything about his mom…

Kieran didn't how he'd be able to refrain from killing the sonofabitch that talked dirt about his mother.

Even if that SOB was his own father.

Yawning once again, Kieran propped himself up on his elbows and stretched his legs into his bad knee cracked noisily. He frowned at the noise and at the sharp pain that spread from the back of his knee and all the way down to his Achilles tendon. The orthopaedic surgeon who'd preformed the operation on his shredded ACL ligament had told his parents he was astounded at the horrific shape the then thirteen year old's knee was. On top of the injury, the doctor had noticed that nearly all of his patient's cartilage between the knee cap was obliterated. He'd never seen a leg in that bad of shape on someone so young. And he suggested that the damage was not only done by playing sports, but because of the rapid growth spurts that Kieran had begun experience as soon as he hit eight years old. By the time he was ten he was five foot seven. By thirteen he was hovering around five eleven. Two years later, he was sneaking up on six foot two. Growing so quickly, mixed in with 'extreme' activity as the doctor described it, had ended up rendering his right leg a total mess. And the prediction was that if he didn't wear a leg brace on a regular basis, if he didn't exercise it properly, he'd be looking at a knee replacement by the time he was thirty.

_This is going to seriously fuck up my chances of getting into the academy, _Kieran thought, as he rubbed his throbbing knee. It not longer startled him that his first thoughts weren't about his shitty health screwing up what appeared to be a promising career in hockey. Maybe not at the professional level, but he knew he was good enough to play at the college level. And playing at that level assured him an education as well. Getting into the 'show' had once been his ultimate dream. And while he still entertained fantastical thoughts of being scouted and eventually drafted by the New York Rangers, being named Rookie of the Year and eventually hoisting the Stanley Cup, he knew that those dreams were slipping further and further out of reach.

And he didn't even know if he actually cared.

The truth of the matter was that he neither cared if he ever went pro or got a college education. He was going to be a cop. The shooting of the three NYPD officers the night before had helped him make up his mind. There was no doubt about what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Being a cop was in his blood. It was his destiny. He was a Flack and he was going to follow in his father's footsteps. His grandfather's footsteps. There was nothing more he wanted then to one day be parading across that stage as he accepted his badge while clad in his dress blues. He wanted to be out on the street, helping to make New York City a safer place. He wanted to serve and protect, no matter how cliché it sounded.

Most of all, he wanted to be just like his dad. His dad had given blood, sweat and tears for the city of New York. For shitty pay and little to no respect. But his dad always got up out of bed every day and went to work with his head held high. His dad was a proud man. To a fault sometimes. He was tenacious and loyal and trustworthy. Strong and reliable. Fellow cops both admired him and feared him. And Kieran knew, if he was even half the cop that his father was, he'd be doing the city a great service.

_But first, _he thought, and tossed his blankets off of his legs, _I've got to do the family and my bladder a great service. _

_And not in that order._

* * *

"Why isn't mommy and daddy up with me having breakfast?" Liam asked, a massive pout on his face, his chin resting on his upturned palms as his elbows sat on the kitchen table.

His unruly brown hair was a horrific sight having just rolled out of bed. His NHL pyjamas were wrinkled and askew from tossing and turning -he'd always been a restless sleeper, even as a toddler- and one pant leg was down at the ankle while the other had rode up to his knee. He'd been grumpy from the moment Kieran had crept into his room and non so gently shook him awake. Liam had put up a good fight. Mumbling curses -that he'd learned from his older brother and from his father- and hiding under his comforter while kicking and squirming. Kieran had fought in vain for several minutes until he gave up and simply yanked the fitted sheet clear off the bed, sending Liam tumbling roughly onto the floor.

"Because mom and dad need their sleep," Kieran replied, as he stood at the counter next to the sink, waiting for the Eggos in the toaster to pop up.

"How do I know that daddy is even here?" Liam inquired. "How do I know that you're not lying, K? That mommy's not lying? That daddy isn't really dead?"

"'Cause if you go up the stairs and stand in front of their door you can hear him snoring. And didn't you talk to him last night?"

"Yeah…but…"

"Don't be a dope. Dad's fine. Nothing happened to him. You're just being paranoid," Kieran told him, and picking up a neon green plastic tumbler sitting next to the toaster, took a sip of the peach mango juice that was inside of it.

"Then how come he's not down here making me breakfast if he's fine?" his little brother asked.

"I just told you, squirt. Mom and dad need their sleep. Dad had a really late night at work and mom's not feeling very well."

"Is she sick?" Liam asked. "Is mommy sick?"

"No. She's not sick. She just…she just needs some extra sleep, okay? Now quit giving me such a hard time and stop asking me so many questions. Why do you have to be just like mom? Especially in the morning? Why you go to talk so much when it's so early?"

"Cause," Liam responded. "I just do."

"That answer isn't suitable for anyone over seven," Kieran mumbled.

"I'm not over seven, K," his little brother reminded him. "'Member? I'm not seven for two weeks! Isn't it so cool that we get to go to Chuck E. Cheese?"

"Yeah…that's just my ultimate dream…" the fifteen year old muttered. "A whole day with a bunch of whiny, screaming, spoiled brats."

"You're grumpy today K," Liam informed him. "You need to go and take some happy pills or something."

"You know what would make me less grumpy?" he asked, fixing a steely glare on his brother. "You know what would make me happier even quicker then happy pills? If you would just shut your gate. It is way too early to be listening to you go on and on."

"You're just pissy 'cause I'm a social butterfly," Liam informed him. "'Cause I'm a morning person and you're not. 'Cause I'm like mommy and you're like daddy. And daddy is big time grumpy in the morning. You can't talk to daddy at all. He just…he growls at you if you talk to him before he gets his coffee!"

"He's grumpy 'cause he doesn't know what he ever did to deserve you," Kieran said. "He's grumpy 'cause he knows he should have just stopped at one kid."

"Uh-uh…" Liam shook his head vigorously. "Daddy loves lots of kids. Mommy says we keep him young."

"Mom's full of it. All of you guys and her give him grey hair and ulcers."

"No way," the little boy argued. "That's not why he has grey hair and…what was that last word?"

"Ulcers. It means you make him sick to his stomach with all of your talking first thing in the morning. Can't you just be quiet, Liam? Can't you just not talk until it's time to leave the house?"

Liam shook his head and took a sip of his juice. "Impossible," he said, then let out a huge rib shaking belch.

Kieran smirked, then downing the last of his juice, released an even louder burp that had his little brother staring at him, wide eyed in complete awe.

"You are the king, K!" Liam declared, and jumping off of his chair, proceeded to drop to his knees and bow to his brother.

"What is wrong with you two?" Alannah asked miserably, a grimace on her face as she padded into the kitchen, a pale blue terry cloth bathrobe over the shorts and tank top she'd worn to bed the night before, her rod straight, waist length black hair pulled away from her face and put up in a high ponytail. "Were you born in a barn or something?"

"At least we didn't fall out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down," Kieran retorted.

Alannah glared at her older brother as she made her way across the kitchen. "Where's mom and dad?" she asked, as she yanked the fridge door open and peered inside.

"They ran away from home," Kieran told her, snagging the Eggos as they finally popped up. Dropping them on a plate sitting on the counter, he pried the lid off the margarine container sitting next to it. "They left a note. Said that they don't know when and if they'll be back and I'm in charge."

"You freaking wish," Alannah snorted and took out the container of juice.

"I do," he agreed. "'Cause if I was in charge, things would not be as messed up around here as they are. For example, you'd either have a chastity belt on or be shipped off to some ultra-strict all girls school in some foreign country where they enforce death if you're caught with a guy."

"You are so anal," his sister complained and carried the juice to the dishwasher. Opening the appliance, she grabbed a clean plastic cup, closed the washer up once more and retreated to the island to pour herself a drink. "And who the hell are you to talk, Kieran? You're the slut of this family. A total man-whore. You'll jump on anything that bats their eyelashes at you."

"Except for your frigid friends," he told her.

She glared at him. "Don't say that about Addie. You dumped her, remember? All 'cause she wouldn't put out fast enough. And then you put the moves on Alessa and you're in her pants every chance you can get."

"Addie's a cock tease," Kieran informed his sister. "She led me on. Opening her legs one minute and then the second I try anything she's clamping them shut. And why are you still friends with her anyway? How come you're on the Addie fan wagon and Reghan's on the Alessa one?"

"'Cause unlike some people in here, I'm a good judge of character," Alannah responded.

Kieran rolled his eyes. "Good judge of character, huh? Yeah…you were judging real well when you decided to go all knob gobbler on Joseph last night."

Alannah stalker over to the counter and slugged him hard in the shoulder. "You're not my father! You're my brother! So don't start this over protective bullshit!"

"You're right. I am your brother. And as your brother I have a right to be protective. Think I want my sister being known as the school slut?"

"Why?" she placed her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed as she regarded her brother with contempt. "Are you afraid it's going to upset your popularity as the school slut?"

"What's a knob gobbler?" Liam asked curiously.

"I'm glad that mom is making you tell dad," Kieran said, as he ignored Liam's question as he cut the Eggos in small sections and then carried them to the table with a fork balancing on the plate. "I can't wait to see dad just freak out. Go all medieval on your ass. You'll be lucky if you get to leave the house before you're thirty."

"Whatever," she snorted.

"Whatever," he mocked in a 'Valley Girl' voice as he dropped Liam's breakfast in front of him. "Dad's going to seriously beat your ass, you know," he told his sister.

"I can't believe mom went all psycho bitch on me about it," Alannah said. "If you had have just minded your own business…"

"My own business? My baby sister was giving some asshole jock head in our parents' bedroom. That is my business. My thirteen year old sister whoring herself out to some prick? And mom didn't go all psycho bitch. I guess she just doesn't think it's right that you're shitting all over her and dad and doing whatever the hell you want. You don't see a problem with what you were doing?"

"You don't see a problem with what you're doing?" Alannah shot back. "Like you're the innocent creature. All you and Alessa do is have sex. All the time! Why is it so different when I do things like that? Why does dad go all ballistic on me and all he does with you is buy you condoms and slap you on the back like you're some big man around the house? It's okay when it's you but it's wrong when it's me? That's bullshit!"

"I'm a guy and things are different with guys," Kieran reasoned.

"Like I said, that's bullshit. You should be in just as much shit as me for some of the stuff you do! Dad should be kicking your ass, too! And mom…well mom will always kiss your ass and you'll always defend her 'cause you're her baby. Her favourite. You're a mama's boy."

"Someone has to defend mom," Kieran told her. "Seeing as the rest of you shit all over her all the time. Don't say anything about mom, Alannah. 'Cause I'll drop you right here, right now. I don't give a crap if you're a girl. No skin off my ass."

"Kieran Flack…the bad ass," she rolled her eyes and smirked. "One day there's going to be someone bigger and badder and they're just going to hand you your ass. And judging by how you acted last night, it's probably going to be Joseph."

"Tell your boyfriend anytime, any place," Kieran said, as he took a seat across from Liam at the table. "He needs a good beating for taking advantage of a thirteen year old. He's seventeen! Seventeen and he's putting the moves on a thirteen year old. Guy's a pig. And worst of all, on Monday, all the talk in the halls at school is going to be about how Alannah Flack is a slut. Is that how you want to be known around there?"

"Better then being known as some rat cop's daughter," Alannah muttered.

Kieran frowned, snatched the fork out of Liam's hand and chucked it across the room, catching his sister off the back of the head.

"What the hell is your issue?!" Alannah bellowed, whirling around to face him. "You've got a major malfunction, Kieran! You need to be locked up! On medication or something!"

"And you need to shut your fucking mouth about dad!" Kieran yelled. "If it wasn't for dad you wouldn't even be here! If it wasn't for dad we wouldn't have a nice place to live! If it wasn't for dad busting his ass at work dealing with crazy assholes day in and day out, we wouldn't have the lives we have! He nearly died for his job you moron and all you can do is say shit about him?!"

"Dad walked out on his remember?!" Alannah shot back. "He left us 'cause he didn't want us anymore! 'Cause he didn't want mom anymore!"

"That's not what happened!" her brother informed her. "Dad didn't leave 'cause he didn't want us! He left 'cause him and mom needed some time apart! They needed to get their shit together for us. So don't be yapping about stuff you know nothing about!"

"You'll defend dad no matter what Kieran! It doesn't matter what he does or how much of an asshole he is! You always stick up for him!"

"Maybe 'cause he deserves it!" her brother argued. "Maybe 'cause we all walk all over him and take him for granted! What would it have been like had he died when you were a baby, Alannah? If he hadn't have made it? You never would have known him! And mom would have been destroyed! She wouldn't have been the mom we have now! We wouldn't have a mom or a dad! And how would you feel if he walked out the door and never walked back in? You'd feel like complete and utter shit for being the ungrateful, spoiled little skank you are!"

"You're an asshole Kieran!" she screamed, and bending down to scoop the fork up off of the floor, threw it at him. "I hate you!" she shrieked, as the fork clattered to the floor. "I hate you and I wish you were dead! I wish that that pervert never got caught and they never found you!"

With that, Alannah slammed her cup down on the counter top with enough force to send juice careening over the sides and onto the counter, and turning on her heel, stormed from the kitchen with tears streaming down her face.

* * *

Kieran sighed heavily and looked over at Liam. Arching his eyebrows, he stared at his little brother pointedly.

"She's a wack-adoo," Liam declared.

Kieran nodded in agreement and leaning over, scooped the fork off of the floor. Frowning as he inspected it for cleanliness, he popped it into his mouth, licking it clean before holding it out to his mortified looking little brother.

"That's gross, K!" Liam cried. "Now it's got all your cooties all over it! I don't want to share DNA!"

"Hate to break it to you, kid, but we already share DNA. Thanks to mom and dad and their ignorance of birth control."

"I'm just glad that there's no more kids around here," Liam declared, getting up onto his knees to properly reach the table. "That we don't have to share anymore stuff. There's not enough room for anymore kids."

"Well never say never," Kieran told him. "Mom and dad could surprise us all."

"Uh-uh…" Liam popped some Eggo into his mouth. "No more kids! There's too many kids in this house!"

"That's funny," Kieran said, and leaning across the table, tousled his brother's hair affectionately. "I said those exact words when mom and dad were having you. I wanted them to send you back to wherever you came from. And no…you didn't come from the unwanted baby shelter. You were inside mommy's tummy too. Just like the rest of us. I just love teasing you. You know that, right squirt?"

Liam nodded.

"I didn't mean to make you have a melt down yesterday. I was just picking on you. I didn't mean to make you cry. Sometimes big brothers just show how much they love their little brothers by teasing them. I promise I won't talk about the unwanted baby place anymore. Okay?"

"Okay…and I promise I won't punch you in the face anymore," Liam responded.

"That was a pretty good punch," Kieran praised. "You got a hell of a left hook there. I'm going to call you Liam Ali from now on. Just make sure when you grow up you don't start acting stupid and getting into fights okay? Mom and dad already have one juvenile delinquent on their hands."

Liam shook his head and swallowed a mouthful of Eggo. "I'm a lover not a fighter," he said casually.

Kieran's eyes widened at the brazen statement that tumbled so easily out of his little brother's mouth.

"What?" Liam asked innocently. "It's true. I am."

"You spend way too much time with Uncle Peanut," Kieran declared.

"Uncle Peanut is soooo cool," the little boy said. "You know what he said he'd buy me for my birthday, K? He said he'd buy me one of them huge science sets! The one that does over one hundred experiements! I asked him and he said that he'd get it for me. 'Cause daddy says there's no way he's letting me turn into a geek. So Uncle Peanut said he would buy it."

"Dad's delusional. You already are a geek."

Liam frowned.

"It's what happens when you're the low man on the totem pole. Mom and dad already hit the jackpot with me. Their first kid. Amazing good looks, boyish charm. Anyone born after me didn't stand a chance. Things just deteriorated with each kid that came along. You just happened to be the one that was born last. And…well…you're made of all the leftovers."

Liam's head tilted to the side and his eyes narrowed as he regarded his older brother. It was the 'don't hand me any bullshit' look that every kid in the family had seemed to inherit from their father. Liam may not have looked like his dad, but he had the same facial expressions. And had mastered them.

Kieran couldn't help but smirk. "Eat your breakfast," he said, pushing the plate towards his brother. "I don't get my butt out of bed this early for anyone. Consider yourself blessed. Means you're one of my favourite people."

"Well pin a rose on your nose," Liam snorted and went back to his Eggo.

Kieran gave a small laugh, and pushing his chair away from the table, stood up and headed back to the counter where he'd prepared breakfast. Picking up his cup of juice, he sipped at it as he grabbed the dishcloth and began cleaning the mess Alannah had made.

"K?" Liam asked.

"What squirt?"

"If mommy and daddy both died, what would happen to us?" his brother asked curiously.

"Mom and dad are not going to die," Kieran answered.

"But what if they do? What would happen to us? Would we get to live here still?"

"Probably not," the fifteen year old responded. "We'd have to go somewhere where people could take care of us."

"But where? And how come you couldn't take care of us? You're big enough. How come we couldn't stay here and have you take care of us?"

"Because I'm just a kid, too. I wouldn't be allowed to take care of you. We'd need to go live with someone."

"But what if no one wants us?" Liam asked fearfully. "What will happen to us then?"

"Well…" Kieran chose his words carefully. "Maybe the same person won't want _all _of us, so we'd have to go and live in different homes. And then see each other on weekends and stuff."

Liam's lower lip wobbled as he fought tears. "But I don't want to see each on weekends and stuff," his voice shuddered with emotion. "I want us to see each other all of time."

"Why are you even worrying about this?" Kieran asked. "Nothing is going to happen to mom and dad. And if anything did, trust me, it wouldn't be both of them at the same time. It would be one or the other. Mom dies, dad takes care of us. Dad dies, mom takes care of us. Simple as that."

"I don't want anyone to die," Liam sniffled. "I don't want anyone going to heaven like Papa Clint and Grandpa. I want mommy and daddy to live forever so they can take care of us. I like mommy and daddy taking care of us."

"So do I," Kieran said. "But no one lives forever. That's just the way life is, squirt. Remember that poem that grandma Ross has hanging up in her kitchen? The one on the fridge? Everything I Need To Know I Learned in Kindergarten?"

Liam nodded.

"Well there's a part in there that says, 'Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup - they all die. So do we.' So dying…it's just the way things are, Liam. It's what happens. And hopefully, no one around here will die until they're really, really old. Especially mom and dad. And by that time, we'll all be older and have our own families and kids and what not and we won't be living at home anymore. We'll still miss mom and dad if something happened to them, but…it won't hurt as bad. Know what I mean?"

"I'll still be sad," Liam declared. "Even if I am old. If mommy and daddy died a long time from now I'd still be sad."

"So would I," Kieran told him. "But by then…well no one can live forever. And by then it will be mom and dad's time to go. But that isn't going to happen for a really, really, really long time. Trust me."

"How do you know, K? How do you know that mommy and daddy won't die for a long time?"

"'Cause mom and dad are still pretty young. And they're both really healthy. Nothing's going to happen to them anytime soon."

Liam sighed heavily. "I hope you're right, K."

Kieran shot his little brother a confident smile, then turned back to his cleaning.

_I hope so too, _he thought.

* * *

There was finally peace and quiet in the house once again.

Although Flack had set the alarm after he'd gotten home the night before and had had every intention of being the one to get up with Liam while Sam slept in, he had somehow had either slept through the alarm or didn't remember turning it off and falling back asleep. All he did know what that both he and Sam had been torn out of blissful, much deserved sleeps by the sounds of screaming and horrific profanity below them in the kitchen.

They'd remained in bed, listening to the chaos below. Biding their time until their presence was either requested or they felt it was time to step in. They frowned at each other when they heard Kieran's vicious words to his sister as he reamed her out for being caught in a compromising position with her boyfriend. Or whatever he was. Then they'd smiled at one another as their first born son staunchly defended him father to an irate Alannah.

Flack had been prepared to jump out of bed and toss some clothes on and head to his daughter's room when he heard her stomp up the stairs, sobbing as she rushed to her room, the slamming of her door echoing throughout the entire house, but Sam had beat him to it. Sliding out of bed, she'd grabbed her house coat off of the back of the bedroom door and shrugging into it, returned to the side of the bed and leaning over, kissed him and assured him she'd be able to handle things.

That was fifteen minutes ago. He had listened while Sam had headed down to Alannah's room, knocking on the door several times and pleading with their daughter to let her in. When the thirteen refused and told her mother in none so polite terms to get lost, Flack had heard his wife sigh loudly and tell their daughter that when she was ready to talk, both mom and dad would be ready and willing to listen. Then, instead of returning to the master bedroom, he'd heard Sam head downstairs and a minute later, her stern voice as she demanded from the boys to know what was going on.

"Alannah is a wack-adoo!" Liam had declared, and Flack had been unable to hold back a hearty laugh.

While the pandemonium had died downstairs and he could hear nothing more then the muted sounds of Kieran and Liam talking at a respectful volume, Flack found it impossible to fall back asleep. His mind and his body were exhausted, but rest was evading him as he lay in on his side of the rumpled queen sized bed, a forearm over his eyes as he listened for the sounds of soft footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hallway, indicating that his wife was coming back to bed. Quiet mornings were a rarity in that house, and he was hoping she'd return and they could have a precious moment to themselves.

He lifted his forearm and looked towards the door at the sound of the hinges squeaking as Sam slipped back into the room. Sipping a tall glass of milk and carrying a package of crackers in one hand, an unopened bottle of water tucked under her arm.

"Everything okay?" Flack asked, as she dropped the crackers and bottle of water on the bed.

"Alannah and Kieran just got into it over who was the bigger slut out of the two," Sam replied dryly, holding the glass of milk out in his direction. A silent request for him to hold it.

Flack's eyes widened.

"I shit you not," Sam said, as he took her drink from her and she climbed onto the bed, settling herself in the middle of it. "That is exactly what they were fighting about. Kieran told her that this Joseph was going to go to school on Monday and start shit about her and she'd be known as the school whore. And then Alannah got mad and asked Kieran if he was jealous that he was popularity as the school slut was going to upset."

Flack shook his head in disbelief. "Our kids have some serious issues," he declared, pushing himself up into a sitting position and picking up the bottle of water.

"I think Liam hit it on the head," Sam said, as she took her drink back and took a sip. "Only it's not just Lanni that's a wack-adoo. The whole lot of them are crazy."

"I don't know…I think Mikayla might be the only sane one," Flack yawned noisily and cracking the water open, took a large swig.

"Probably 'cause she's the one with the most Ross in her."

Flack snorted. "I think not," he said. "Liam is all Ross. From head to toe."

"Yeah? Then explain where he picked up the word wack-adoo and why he has all of your facial expressions. He just looks like a Ross. He's all Flack on the inside. And Mikki…well she's all her mommy on the inside."

"Poor kid," Flack muttered, and then laughed as his wife elbowed him playfully in the side. "You feeling sick, baby?" he asked, as she tore into the package of crackers.

She narrowed her eyes and stared at him, clearly letting him know that was the stupidest question in the world.

"I'm just asking…." Flack defending himself, rubbing her back soothingly as she popped a cracker into her mouth. "I'm sorry it's always so rough for you baby. That you go through this all day sickness and vertigo stuff and all that. But in all honesty, you would think you'd either get used to the torture or it would be telling you that you need to go and get fixed to avoid all of this."

"I had my tubes tied, remember? Only my body decided to rebel against me and decided that a seventh baby was a wonderful idea. And we were going to go through this again willingly? Remember?"

"Well now we know why our kids are so crazy," Flack laughed. "They obviously got a crazy gene from each of us."

"Obviously," she mumbled miserably.

"Alannah's okay? You went and checked on her?"

"I tried to check on her. She wanted me to leave her alone. She told me to fuck off actually."

Flack sighed heavily and sipped his water. "Yeah…I heard that. Me and her are going to be having an extremely long talk earlier. I don't care if her door's locked or not. I know how to kick a door down. She just doesn't want to have to face me if it comes down to that. But then again, she already thinks I'm a total asshole, so…"

"We all think our fathers are total assholes at one point in time," Sam remarked. "Don't take it personally, baby. She's just going through some teenage angst right now. She's making some horrible choices and she has to realize that she has to face the consequences of her actions. She's only rebelling against you because you're the disciplinarian. And she thinks you're too strict and too mean with her."

"Do you think I'm too strict and too mean?" he asked. "With all of them?"

"I think you can be harsh with the way you talk to them," Sam replied gently. "And that you can be a little rigid with the rules."

"Kids need rules, Sammie. They need structure and rules so they don't take over the entire house. And that's what's starting to happen around here. Her and Kieran, and sometimes even Reghan and Mikki, on a really bad day, are walking around here like they're the parents. Liam's even starting to get a smart mouth on him. Ask me, judging by the way they are? There's not enough rules around here. I'm not rigid enough."

Sam just nodded.

"I'm not," he insisted. "'Cause if I was, they wouldn't be acting like this. Things are going to change around here, babe. I'm sick of this shit with these kids. They're attitudes, they're laziness. The way they swear and talk back all the time. Enough. Starting on Monday, shit is going to change around here. Me and you are going to sit down this weekend and make up a game plan on how to deal with our kids."

"We are, are we?" she asked.

"We've got to get on the same page here. For years it's been my style of how to do things versus yours. We're working against each other, babe. The kids have been using us. Playing us against each other. Dad says no, go to mom. Mom will cave if we cry and bitch and moan enough. And then it makes you look like the saviour and me look like the bad guy. It's always been that way. And now look. Our kids are planning total domination."

"So what is the plan? We put them over knees and spank their asses more? Ground them more?"

"I don't know. We need to sit down together and come up with some rules we both agree on. Nothing too soft, nothing to hard. Just…we need to be a team, babe. That's all I'm saying. I'm not bad mouthing you as a mother or anything. I'm just saying that…"

She leaned sideways and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth to silence him. "I know what you're saying, Donnie. And for once, and don't let this go to your head or expect to ever hear it again, you're right. We do need to work together. We've been causing our own issues for far too long."

He nodded.

"In fact…seeing as we're talking team work…I'm going to pull a Danny Messer. Remember years ago when he got this Team Flack shirts made? I'm going to do the same thing. So we present a united front."

He grinned. "I don't think that's necessary, babe. I just think we need to get our shit together. Especially…" he laid a hand on her stomach. "…for this little munchkin here."

She smiled and resting her head against his shoulder, laid her hand over his and entwined their fingers together.

"Going to be weird," Flack said. "Going through all that baby stuff again. The crying, late night feedings, dirty diapers, sleepless nights. It's been seven years since we've dealt like that. We're going to need to put the training wheels back on for a bit."

"Just for a little while," she sighed. "All of those stages, and all the ones that come after, they don't last very long Donnie. At the time they seem like they're going to last forever, and the truth is, if you blink, you miss them. And then you spend the rest of your life wishing you could get them all back again."

He nodded in agreement and pressed a kiss to her temple.

"You know what I'm looking forward to the most?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Seeing you walking around all unshaven and rugged, carrying a tiny baby. There's something so sexy about it. You do that whole big, strong man with a baby thing well."

"I knew there was a method to your madness," he chuckled. "You just wanted to see me like that so it'll got you all hot and bothered."

She laughed. "Yeah…that's it…that's the only way you can get me all hot and bothered."

He grinned. "I miss those days I could get you all hot and bothered just by looking at you a certain way."

She pulled back to look at him. "You don't think you still do that?"

"We've been married for a long time, babe. My novelty is worn off. I don't do that for you anymore."

"You're delusional," she said and kissed him. Long and slow and deep. "You will always do that for me."

He smiled.

"Do I still do something for you?" she asked. "Or do I have to try harder in my old age?"

"No trying, Sammie. You've never had to try. You've always had that way about you. Whether it was before kids or after. You're my Sammie. Plain and simple. And there's always going to be that little thing that just gets me every time."

She winked at him and rested her forehead against his. "We've come a long way Don," she told him.

He pecked the end of her nose and reached up to run a hand over her hair.

"And we still have a long way to go," he assured her.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate all the love and support! And thanks to the lurkers too!**

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**Delko's Girl 88**


	84. Love in the twenty first chromosome

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND ALL THE FLACK KIDS.**

**THIS IS A FUTURE CHAPTER. AND I'D LIKE TO DEDICATE TO AXELLIA AND THANK HER FOR HER LOVELY REVIEW AND FOR HER EXPRESSION OF SUPPORT. IT MEANT THE WORLD TO ME AND ENCOURAGED ME TO CONTINUE WITH THIS STORY!**

**STILL TIME TO VOTE IN THE AWARDS FOLKS! HEAD ON OVER AND SHOW YOUR FAVS SOME LOVE!**

**OKAY, THIS CHAPTER IS DIFFERENT. BLAME THE MUSE.**

* * *

**Love in the twenty-first chromosome **

"When I am down and, oh my soul, so weary;  
When troubles come and my heart burdened be;  
Then, I am still and wait here in the silence,  
Until you come and sit awhile with me

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;  
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;  
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;  
You raise me up: To more than I can be

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;  
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas  
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;  
You raise me up, to more than I can be

There is no life - no life without its hunger;  
Each restless heart beats so imperfectly;  
But when you come and I am filled with wonder,  
Sometimes, I think I glimpse eternity."  
-You Raise Me Up, Josh Groban

* * *

_**Our Story: Don and Samantha Flack,Flushing, Queens. Proud parents of Kieran, 15, Alannah and Reghan 13, Mikayla, 10 and Liam 7. And last, but definitely not least, the incredible Declan, 13. Whose taught us what real love is all about.** _

_Five months shy of my thirty-fifth birthday, I found out that I was pregnant with my second child. It was Christmas Eve -and the night of my first wedding anniversary- when I surprised my husband ,Don, with the news that he was going to be a daddy again. I had just given him tickets to a Rangers game, and as a lifelong Rangers fan -is there such a thing as a fan boy? Because if there is, he is the quintessential one- he was convinced that there was no better Christmas gift he could ever receive._

_He changed his mind right quick when I handed him that pregnancy test. We were somewhat surprised that we were expecting again. Our son Kieran, was just two weeks shy of his first birthday and we'd only been consciously trying to conceive for a couple of months. On top of that, we had suffered the agony of an early term miscarriage -it had been a out of nowhere kind of pregnancy- and we were worried that it was going to happen again. _

_Don and I were dealt our first official 'blow' when it came time for my first ultrasound. He was out of town at a law enforcement conference, relegating my younger brother Adam to be the official hand holder and the one forced to listen to me bitch and moan about having to pee so badly. I mean a litre of water? I'm not a camel. The scan had been relatively mundane and predicable. Here's the placenta, here's the umbilical cord, here's the heartbeat and here…well look at that. There's two more of everything I just pointed out._

_Triplets._

_We were floored. No one on either side of our families had ever experienced a multiple birth and the doctor told us afterwards that we'd had a one in forty five thousand chance of conceiving triplets naturally. No use of fertility drugs, no in-vitro. Nothing but -as Don would later say- good old fashioned luck. _

_The thought of carrying, delivering and essentially caring for triplets was daunting. We had struggled the first time around just getting used to having one baby. How were we ever going to handle three? At once._

_Once our shock wore off and we were able to think properly, we also began to plan for the actual pregnancy itself. We made contact with the Manhattan branch of Parents of Multiples and began attending monthly meetings. We made new friends and received wonderful support through other families that had gone through exactly what we were just embarking on. Through the group we were put in contact with the proper professionals. An OB that had extensive experience in caring for women pregnant with multiples, and as the due date approached, a fantastic pedeatrician with an astonishing amount of twins, triplets and even two sets of quads in his practice._

_The pregnancy itself was routine. Well, as routine as it could be considering the problems I'd had the first time around. My incompetent cervix reared its ugly head yet again at the fifth month and was closely followed by gestational diabetes and the onset of pre-eclampsia. From day on, I'd suffered from all day sickness, constant heart burn and vertigo. And as with my first pregnancy, my triple screen blood work came back with a sixty percent chance that one -or perhaps all three in this case- had some kind of genetic or chromosomal abnormality. _

_While we were concerned, we reminded ourselves that we had received the same result when I was having Kieran and he'd been born perfectly healthy and, at the expense of not having a more appropriate word, normal. Don and I talked several times about what the news actually meant to us and our babies, and we decided -as we had the first time- that we wouldn't pursue any further testing to find out what, if anything, was wrong with one of all of our babies. And while an ultrasound at the twentieth week had spotted two 'markers' indicating a possible chromosomal defect in 'Baby C'- who we'd later find out was a boy- , we were quickly assured by a geneticist and a maternal-fetal specialist that shorter than average femurs and a two vessel umbilical cord weren't anything to be overly concerned about. That many 'regular' babies had those issues and they didn't see anything else that suggested there was a problem with 'Baby C'. We were told that we were making "much ado about nothing" and that we were to go home and "enjoy the rest of the pregnancy". _

_So we did. As much as you can enjoy constant dizziness and nausea and the fact that by the time I was six months, I had gained almost a hundred pounds and closely resembled a double wide trailer. At twenty-six weeks, I was admitted to the hospital so doctors could keep a close eye on me and the babies. They were concerned about my cervix and what they'd believed was the start of Inuterine Growth Restriction. I was but on strict bed rest and spent nearly twenty four hours a day hooked up to a fetal monitor and the plan was to be induced at thirty four weeks. If I didn't go into labour by then._

_A day past hitting my thirty two weeks, my water broke at 9:30 in the morning during one of my twice weekly scans. On the Fourth of July holiday, none the less. An hour later, while Don paced nervously in a nearby family waiting room with his parents and Adam there for moral support, our triplets were delivered via C-section. Two girls and one boy. All under three pounds and all blessed with huge blue eyes and thick, black hair. Tons of it. The babies were quickly taken to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit to be assessed. Because of my inability to have an epidural, I was given general anesthetic and put right under and I hadn't gotten the opportunity to see my children or even touch them after their delivery._

_It would be twenty four hours until I was able to head down to the NICU to see the babies. Don had been running himself ragged travelling back and forth from my private room on the third floor, to the nursery on the fifth. He was unshaven and dishevelled and had a permanent grin on his face. I don't think the backwards Met cap had been taken off his head since he'd arrived at the hospital the day before. He'd actually been at our recently purchased home in Flushing, Queens tending to outside chores and had the worst sunburn possible on his nose and the back of his neck. Not to mention permanent tan lines of where his sunglasses had been perched upon his face. I knew he was exhausted. And that he was running on nothing but pure adrenaline at that point. But he was determined to play both attentive and adoring husband, and proud papa._

_But there was something…something I couldn't quite put my finger on. As we made our way to the nursery, he was very vague when I asked him questions about the babies. Mostly about our son. While he chattered incessantly about the girls, when it came time to talk about the boy he seemed to close himself off. As if he was holding something back. Some piece of news that he knew would hurt me and that he didn't have the heart to be open and honest about. And that made me extremely nervous, and I began to wonder if just maybe those doctors twelve weeks ago had been wrong. If they'd misdiagnosed us and brushed a problem aside. If they hadn't taken things seriously enough and now I was about to have a bomb dropped on me._

_The triplets, despite their tiny bodies and their fragile states, were amazingly beautiful. They had bright pink skin and the most impossibly small hands and feet I'd ever seen. Severely jaundiced, they were encased in incubators and put under the bili-lights. They had on no clothing and even the smallest of diapers seemed monstrous on them. Hospital bracelets graced their thin ankles and the girls had little red bows in their hair. Their tiny bodies were invaded by tubes and wires and were being fed through nasal gastric tubes, although the nurses had said they were doing exceptionally well considering how premature they were. Taped to each incubator was a piece of construction paper. Pink for the girls, blue for our little boy. Each had Mickey and Minnie Mouse stickers attached to it, and each bore the corresponding baby's name._

_During my sixth month and after an ultrasound had told us we were having two daughters and one son, we had, after countless hours of arguments, picked our children's names. We had decided on Reghan and Alannah (who are identical twins) and Declan. We had picked Irish names with strong meanings to go along with Kieran, and to honour both of our heritages. _

_I knew, the second I'd looked at Declan that something was wrong. And it had nothing to do with the breathing tube that had been inserted down his throat. That was just plain startling. But it was the colour of his skin that had bothered me the most, and the way it looked as if his little lungs were struggling to draw a breath, even with outside help. His skin was blue and the skin on his chest was being sucked in between his ribs. And unlike his sisters, who even at their early age couldn't seem to sit still and flailed their arms and their legs constantly, Declan barely moved. He barely flinched and not once opened his eyes. Reghan and Alannah, when you stroked their hands, would open their tiny fists and wrap all five fingers around one of yours. But Declan…there was nothing._

_I knew he was sick without even being told. And the news concerning what exactly what was wrong with him, and what could still be wrong had hit hard. Don had taken me back to my room after an hour in the nursery. I was a complete basket case. I was furious at him for not telling me that our son wasn't well. I was anger at myself for not knowing that Declan had a problem and for not taking the doctors more seriously when they'd initially suspected something was wrong. Most of all, I felt guilty. I had thought that I had done everything right during the pregnancy. I'd never been a smoker and I hadn't touched a stitch of alcohol since I found out I was pregnant. I had eaten right, avoided stress as much as possible, and had gotten appropriate rest._

_So why the hell was my baby so sick?_

_That answer would come an hour later when the head of pediatrics, a geneticist and a pediatric cardiologist showed up at my room to talk to Don and I. I could tell by my husband's face that while he'd been aware of one of the problems our son was having, he had absolutely no clue why so many specialist were showing up all at once. I'd never seen him look that perplexed and startled in the three plus years that I'd known him._

_And that scared the shit out of me._

_The cardiologist went first. He explained that Declan had received a startling low Apgar score of four when he'd been delivered. That he'd been blue, wheezing and relatively unresponsive to stimuli. They'd rushed him first to the NICU, where a team of doctors were ready to take a look at him. A routine chest exam had alerted them to a serious problem and an emergency echo-cardiogram was ordered. _

_Declan was diagnosed, shortly after birth, with Tetrology of Fallot. A congenital heart defect that involves four anatomical abnormalities and is the most common cyanotic heart defect. His 'problems' could be corrected through open heart surgery, and the cardiologist was optimistic that not only could he survive what was considered a routine operation, but that our son would have a long, healthy life ahead of him. Many a child, if they hadn't developed congestive heart failure by their first year, never had future cardiac problems and lived long, productive lives. In Declan's case however, his pre-maturity was presenting a major road block. He was too small and too weak to survive any kind of operation. He'd be constantly monitored and kept on strict medications and a breathing tube, but until he gained weight and his lungs were more mature, the surgeon would not perform any operation._

_As if that news wasn't devastating enough, we were told that Declan was hypotonic. He had little to no muscle tone. And mixed in with low set ears, epicanthal folds in the corners of his eyes, a flat and short nasal bone, a single crease across the palms of his hands and what was known as sandal foot (an extra large space between his big and second toes), the doctors were convinced that our son had a chromosomal defect. Most specifically, Down Syndrome._

_We were floored. I remember a hush falling over the room as we struggled to come to terms with what we were being told. As if our newborn son needing a heart operation wasn't tough enough to accept, now we were being told that he had something that was chronic. Lifelong. Something that we'd been assured months ago that he didn't have. Something that we knew little to nothing about it and that terrified us. We didn't know how to take care of a special needs child. We didn't know if we had the strength to take care of one. I knew Don's brain was working overtime at the news, just like mine was. I knew all of the things that he was thinking because I was thinking them too. He was wondering what in the hell had ever gone wrong. He was questioning the doctors' findings and pissed off that it had been swept under the carpet months ago. He was worried about having a child that was different. One who'd be viewed as abnormal and teased incessantly all of his life. _

_It would take another week to find out for sure, via a karyotype test if Declan did indeed, have Down Syndrome. We had cried together and expressed our fears together. We'd even prayed together. We didn't want a baby that was different. Regardless of the many times we'd said we'd be okay with it, the trust of the matter was, we weren't. We just weren't prepared because in our hearts, we'd never actually thought it would happen to us. It was something that happened to other people. To older mothers. Not to someone not even in her mid thirties._

_And especially not to us. _

_When the same geneticist had showed up to speak to us while we were in the nursery visiting our triplets, it had confirmed our worst fears when she'd handed up us a copy of her findings. Baby boy Flack, it had read. No first name, nothing. He was just baby Flack with a patient ID number next to it. And there, at the bottom of the paper, was the final verdict. Our son was in possession of a third twenty first chromosome and was the beneficiary of several physical characteristics to go along with it. Our son had non-disjunction Trisomy 21._

_The geneticist had offered a small, "I'm sorry" and had quickly left the nursery. Leaving us in complete shock as we stared down at those results in our hands. I can't speak for Don. I don't know for sure exactly how he felt at that moment. We've been married for fifteen years and he still hasn't talked about how he feels or what it had done to him to hear that news. But I'd seen the way his eyes had teared up and the way he took in a deep breath and let it out ever so slowly. The way his jaw had clenched and his body had tensed. And how he'd stared down at that paper for what seemed like an eternity. Slowly nodding as the news kicked him in the gut and then settled on his heart like a ten ton weight. And then, clearing his throat noisily, he had calmly folded the paper and slowly stood up and went over to Declan's incubator. And as he looked at our son and stuck his hand into Declan's 'little home' a gentle smile had spread across his face and he was Don again. He was back to being the stoic one. The rock. The person who kept me from completely falling apart time and time again._

_For me, it had felt as if the ground had opened up and swallowed me whole. I had heard and read the words Down Syndrome and Trisomy 21 and my entire world seemed to end right there and then. Everything was gone. The baby that had carried inside of me for so long was gone. This wasn't the child that I had planned for. That I had been planning things for. I had been expecting the perfect baby. I had been dreaming the dreams that most expectant parents did. I had thought about what he would look like, what he would be like. How he would do in school, how popular he would be. How smart he would be. How I hoped he'd go to college one day and get married and have an amazing wife and children of his own. Fantastical ideas, of course. But it's hard not to think of all of that while you're feeling the miracle of life inside of you and buying all of those baby clothes. The future just seems to go hand in hand along with the booties and the onesies._

_And now, all of that was just gone. I didn't even know my own baby. The baby I'd planned for was gone. And in his place was a complete stranger that I feared. And maybe even loathed. I hated myself for doing something wrong, even though my limited knowledge of Downs told me that it was something that happened at conception, not something someone caused. And most of all, I hated my baby. I hated him for being different. For putting me through sheer emotional hell. For bring a lifetime of ridicule and persecution onto himself. For not being 'normal'. And part of me…a small terrified part that didn't want to let that tiny baby down…actually prayed that he would die. That the heart defect would claim him and I wouldn't have to put up with the anguish of raising a child that was different. For years I kept that inside. I'd never told anyone that I'd ever felt that way. I was ashamed that I'd thought that about my own child. And worried what people would think about me if I ever told them about it. It wasn't that I wanted Declan to die. I wanted the Down Syndrome to go away. And there was no way of taking it out of him or turning back the clock._

_I was angry. I blamed anyone I could. Myself, the doctors, my husband. I was scared and I was hurt and I was embarrassed. I was ashamed of my own child and that thought made me sick to my stomach. What had started out as routine case of post-partum depression had quickly spun out of control. I shut people out. I refused to have anything to do with my son. I would go into the nursery and spend time touching and talking to Alannah and Reghan, but I barely gave my son a second look. I was repulsed by him. By what he had. And I was worried about getting emotionally attached to him in case he didn't make it._

_Irrational thoughts of course. But depression plays horrible tricks on us. A week after the triplets birth, Don had gone ahead behind my back and contacted a representative from the Queens Down Syndrome Association. He was worried about my rejection of our son, and what it would do long term to both me and Declan. He had resolved himself to the fact that this was the way our lives were going to be. Declan had it and there was no way to get rid of it. He was here and that was that. We made him and now we had to suck it up and take care of him. Although I'm sure, behind that macho, Alpha male personality was a very scared and anxious man who wondered just how the hell he'd ever gotten himself into such a mess. _

_Judy, the head of the association was a phenomenal support to me during the darkest days. She assured me that I wasn't crazy. That I wasn't a mean, evil bitch for thinking such horrible things about my own flesh and blood. She promised me that acceptance -at least partial, because full acceptance never really happens- would be a long and slow road. And that I'd fall off the path time and time again and the love for my child would help me get back on it. I would one day wake up and realize that this wasn't the end of the world. I would one day look at Declan and not see him as damaged. That one morning I'd get up out of bed and give him his breakfast and Down Syndrome wouldn't be the first thing I thought of when I looked at my son. That I'd see a beautiful little boy with his father's eyes and smile. That I'd see the miracle that I'd had a hand in creating._

_She promised me, as we both cried and she held me in her arms and comforted me as a mother would a sick or injured child, that I would one day stop being so angry. That I'd stop laying blame and feeling so guilty. That I would smile again. That I would laugh again. _

_That Declan would see to that._

_That one night, as I was walking the floor with a colicky baby or patting up a burp, I'd realize that Declan needed me._

_And that I needed him._

_It has been a long journey. For our entire family. And even now, thirteen years later as I write this, I still hurt and I still cry. Declan is a wonderful, intelligent and loving boy. Who still has his father's smile and incredible blue eyes. Who has a sarcastic sense of humour and an uncanny ability to make you laugh even on the darkest of days. Who has a gentle, kind soul and an infectious laugh. Who is stubborn to a fault and who takes after his dad in every way, shape and form. He's well loved by his peers and hated by his siblings the majority of times. Not because he's different. But because he's a pesky little brother who snoops through rooms and reads diaries. Who loves to eavesdrop on the upstairs phone and listen to his sisters' conversations. Who lives to play practical jokes and who laughs uproariously at every corny joke he or his father tells. Who loves to sing and dance and play basketball and hockey. And who is the first person to comfort you when your hurt or upset. Who will bring you the Kleenexes AND a big bowl of ice cream when you're hurting._

_Declan has taught me that love is unconditional. He's taught me the true meaning of being a mom. And he's shown me how to be a more tolerant, better human being. That just because someone learns slower or looks a little different, they are no less human than any of their counterparts. Declan is a beautiful boy. He's tenacious and feisty and he never gives up. He tries and tries again and eventually, even if it is after a thousand attempts, he gets it. And every time he learned something new it was a massive deal in our house. We praised each and every milestone had manage to reach. While we were proud of your 'normal' children for reaching them, it was sweeter when Declan got there. Because he had to work twice or three times as hard to do a simple task. He was a year old when he learned to sit up on his own. Two and a half when he learned to walk. Almost five before he spoke an intelligible word. _

_Sure…way off of target when you look at the developmental milestones of regular kids. But at least he got there. He fought long and hard but at least he did it. And that's all that has ever mattered to us. Our son will succeed. He will have a productive life. He will love._

_And we will support him every step of the way._

_I'm not saying that it's going to be easy. It's a struggle. Day in and day out. It hurts like hell to be around 'normal' kids some days. To see them doing things that their parents take for granted and knowing that that is where your child should be but isn't. It's hard to take the stares and the whispers. It's going to kill you inside when they come home from school and say that someone picked on them. Or that a friend they've had for years has suddenly decided to not invite them to birthday parties anymore. You're going to encounter narrow minded people that will tell you that your child will never do something. That they're not welcome in certain activities. And as thick of a skin as you'll have years later, it will still kill you inside to see your child cry over being different. You will fight to find the right words when they ask what is wrong with them. And your child will surprise you with the depth of his understanding and his ability to forgive those who have wronged them._

_And they will charm you with their smile and melt you with their hugs._

_I have been exceptionally lucky. I have had the most amazing support system anyone could ever ask for. I lucked out when I married the most wonderful man fifteen years ago. Don has been an incredible source of strength for me. He's always been the one to keep me on my feet when I feel like my entire world is crumbling underneath me. He's been my rock. My heart and soul and my protector. He's chased away many a demon and kept them at bay. He's dried an immeasurable amount of tears and kissed away a lot of emotional pain. He's held me in his arms and stroked my hair and never said a word when I've needed to have a good cry. And he's been the first person to kick me in the ass when he feels like I'm dwelling on the negative too much._

_He's never judged me or questioned my ability to take care of not only Declan, but our five other kids as well. He's an amazing father. He works a hard, trying job and long, tiring hours. Yet he always finds the time to attend the kids' sporting events or help them with homework. He always takes the time to tell his kids he loves them and he always makes that extra effort to let me know how much he appreciates me._

_I haven't always given him the same respect. And that is my one regret of the last thirteen years. I've never sat down and told him how much all of his compassion and his patience has meant to me. He is irreplaceable in my life. And there are no words that could properly express the depth of love that I feel for him. _

_I only hope that one day, he'll realize how amazing he is. And I can only pray that I've made him even half as happy he's made me._

_Now take the time to get to know your baby! Outside of the diagnosis and the health problems that may, or may not, have come with it. Hold your baby, rock your baby, kiss your baby. Tell your baby that you love them._

_Extra chromosome and all._

* * *

Samantha took a deep, quivering breath as she finished reading through the page of typing on the computer screen before her. She had agreed, when approached by the local Down Syndrome Association with the idea, to write out her story. Her version of events following Declan's birth and diagnosis. So they could included as many families' stories as possible in a new parents package they planned to make and distribute at local hospitals. Make it as personal and compassionate as you can, she'd been encouraged. Put in as many feelings and thoughts as possible, no matter how bad it hurts.

And it had hurt. It had hurt a hell of a lot. It had taken her a total of two nights to get it finished because she'd cried so bad while working on the piece. She hadn't opened up to anyone about how she'd felt that day. About the fears and emotions that she'd struggled so hard with. Thirteen years had gone by and she'd never sat down with anyone and talked about Declan and the circumstances surrounding finding out he had Down Syndrome. She had bottled it all up and simply gotten on with things. She'd concentrated on being the best mother possible, on getting him everything that he needed to succeed in life. Her main focus had always been him. So much so that she'd long ago forgotten how to take care of herself emotionally and spiritually.

And now…now all of her fears and thoughts and emotions were laid completely bare. Complete strangers would one day read that and think one of two things. Either this woman is totally insane, or this woman is strong and tenacious and has triumphed over some of the darkest days in her life. She had no idea who would actually get a hold of the finished product. No families who'd just received the diagnosis, of course, would read it. Probably their family members and heath care professionals too.

But to her, only one person mattered. One person whose opinion and praise meant more to her then anything in the world.

She wiped the tears off of her cheeks with the front of her t-shirt and saved the document and then hit the print button. Leaning back in the black leather chair in her husband's home office -she'd always done her 'homework' at the kitchen table. The office was always his safe haven away from the insanity of having six kids- she closed her eyes and composed herself while waiting for the printing to finish. The house was blessedly quiet. Liam was still out with Uncle Danny. The latter had called an hour ago and told Sam that Blessing of the Bikes had gone well despite a two hour wait and that he was taking his little buddy out for the day. Kieran and Declan had, after lunch, taken off to their grandmother's after she'd phone and complained her grass in the front and back was a jungle. Reghan had taken Mikayla into downtown Flushing to spend their allowances at little shops that took up the main street. Alannah had, after getting into an argument with her father over breakfast -because she didn't understand why she was grounded and he was in no mood to talk about it at that point in time- had locked herself in her room.

The ink jet printer sitting on the desk finally quieted and Sam opened her eyes. Grabbing a hold of the edge of the desk, pulled herself across the floor and snatched the piece of paper out of the printer. Giving it a quick once over, she nodded her approval and pushed the chair away from the desk and jumped up. Heading out of the office, she journeyed down the narrow hallway that lead towards the front of the house. Her bare feet softly padding along the hardwood floors as she made her way through the living room and into the front foyer. The heavy wooden front door was wide open and the screen door unlocked, and the sound of a radio playing and the hissing of the garden hose filtered into the house.

_Now that's why I married him, _she thought with a grin, as she spied her husband in the driveway, clad in a pair of athletic shorts, a black wife beater and a pair of sunglasses on his face. His hair was wet and sticking up messily and his feet were bare as he walked through the puddles of soap and water as he washed both of their vehicles. The muscles in his shoulders and arms well defined and his skin bore a hint of tan.

_I didn't marry him for his compassion and his personality. I married him 'cause he's just plain goddamn hot._

She giggled to herself, and pushing open the screen door, stepped out onto the porch. "Don't shoot!" she implored, as she journeyed down the front steps

"Not in the mood for a wet t-shirt contest, babe?" Flack asked with a grin. "You may be close to fifty, but your girls still…"

"Don't even finish that sentence," she laughed. "And I'd much rather indulge your perverted, kinky side in doors, in private."

"Twice already today isn't enough?" he inquired, and released the handle on the nozzle of the hose in order to stop spray of water.

"I'm pregnant, Donnie. And you know what those extra hormones do to me. Remember? Incessantly horny when I'm not knocked up?"

"And enough to give any mortal man a heart attack or cause them to die of exhaustion when you are," he finished, and dropping the hose on driveway, reached up to take down the bottle of beer that rested on the roof of his SUV. "What are you doing out here, anyway? Thought you were working on that thing for the association."

"I was…" she told him, and tip toeing through the water, stood beside him and wrapped her arm around his waist. "But I'm finished," she said, and held the paper up for him to see. "Will you read it?" she asked hopefully. "Proof read it for me?"

"Me proof read for you? You're the brain of this union, babe."

"I'd just like you to take a look at it," she told him. "It would mean a lot to me if you read it."

"Alright…" he said with a nod, and taking the paper, folded it in half and tucked it into the pocket of his shorts. Then bent down to kiss her softly.

"Right now," she told him, pulling the paper out of his pocket and holding it out to him.

"It can't wait? I'm kind of busy here…."

"It can't wait," she informed him. "I really…I really just need you to read it, okay? It's important that you read it right now. You'll see why when you're finished. But you just have to…just please read it right now, Donnie. Humour me for once, okay?"

"Okay…."

"Thank you," she said, and accepted another kiss. "Mmmm…this is my favourite side of you, you know."

"What side is that?"

"The whole wife beater showing off your arms and you all tanned and sweaty," she told him. "It makes me…" she gave a little shudder and a bright smile. "Well hurry up and read that and finish out here and then come inside and I'll show you what it does to me."

He grinned as she released her hold on him, and watched as she headed back up the driveway. Liking the way her denim capris hugged her ass and her hips. And the way her simple red t-shirt clung to her and showed off that little baby bump.

I did that, he thought proudly, as she climbed the stairs. That was all me.

"Quit staring at my ass Donald!" she called over her shoulder,, then disappeared into the house.

He chuckled and shook his head. His wife had always been one of a kind, that was for sure. Grabbing his bottle of beer, he made his way towards the house and took a seat on the top step.

Unfolding the piece of paper she had presented him with earlier, he took a deep breath and prepared for the emotional journey the love of his life was about to send him on.

* * *

**A massive thanks to all of those who are reading and reviewing! And just lurking! I am humbled by the support!!!**

**Please R and R!!!!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Axellia**

**Hope4sall**

**CSINYMinute**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**26Hannah26**

**SpankyMcDoogleFace**

**xSamiliciousx**

**Forest Angel**

**wolfeylady**

**Delko's Girl 88**

**Soccer-bitch**


	85. It's all about them boys

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND ALL THE FLACK KIDS.**

**THIS IS ANOTHER FUTURE CHAPTER AND GOES OUT TO ALL OF YOU THAT LOVE THE FLACK KIDS SO MUCH! AND TO MUCHMADNESS, WHO ASKED FOR SOME DECLAN AND KIERAN. I COULDN'T TURN DOWN THE REQUEST!**

**ON A SIDE NOTE, I THINK ALL OF US COULD TAKE A LESSON FROM THE LYRICS CHOSEN FOR THIS CHAPTER. THE ONLY DISABILITY IN THIS WORLD IS THE INABLITY TO ACCEPT PEOPLE FOR WHO THEY ARE.**

* * *

**It's all about them boys**

"I'm a little boy with glasses  
The one they call the geek  
A little girl who never smiles  
'Cause I've got braces on my teeth  
And I know how it feels  
To cry myself to sleep  
I'm that kid on every playground  
Who's always chosen last  
A single teenage mother  
Tryin' to overcome my past  
You don't have to be my friend  
But is it too much to ask?

Don't laugh at me  
Don't call me names  
Don't get your pleasure from my pain  
In God's eyes we're all the same  
Someday we'll all have perfect wings  
Don't laugh at me."  
-Don't Laugh At Me, Mark Willis

* * *

Kieran was trying to keep a level head.

After he'd put David Truby in the hospital and received his suspension from school, his parents had been keeping a tight leash on him. They'd somewhat relaxed a little on some of the stipulations of his grounding. He was allowed to play video games only if he did so in the family room and for only an hour each day. His mom actually set the timer on the oven, and less than a minute after it sounded, she'd appear at the top of the basement stairs, announcing that time was up. He was permitted to go on the internet, but only if he used one of his parents' lap tops and he stayed in the kitchen with one of them present the entire time. And while he was allowed to leave the house, it was only to attend errands his folks had given him. There were still no visits into the city to see Alessa and she wasn't allowed to come to the house either. He couldn't talk on the phone and he couldn't leave the house after six in the evening.

And most importantly, with the prospect of a civil suit being filled against him, he was stay out of trouble. He was to avoid situations that had the propensity for violence, and he wasn't to get into any altercations with anyone. And dad meant _anyone_. Not even his brothers and sisters. Kieran was to keep his head in the game and fists at a respectable distance. He in turn, had vowed to be good. The last thing he wanted was to screw up his relationship with his dad anymore than it already was. They were both making a conscious and sincere effort to repair things, and Kieran was looking forward to the two of them spending time alone, just doing guy stuff, the following evening. He didn't want, or need, to find himself into any form of shit and risking flushing his life down the toilet.

But what was a guy to do when shit found him?

He knew there was going to be trouble the second he had stepped onto the bus behind Declan. His younger brother loved taking the bus. Or the subway. It was the two greatest joys of Declan's life. While at first, it had embarrassed Kieran to no end when his brother -just like a little kid- would kneel on the seat and press his face against the window, leaving perfect, moist impressions of his mouth and nose on the glass, Declan's sometimes bizarre, childish behaviour had long ago stopped bugging his older brother. As did the fact that their parents, since Kieran was old enough to be going places on his own, insisted on him taking his younger brother everywhere with him. In the beginning, he'd fought long and hard with his folks about it. He didn't want to be Declan's buddy or his chaperone. Declan was loud and obnoxious. He was annoying. Embarrassing.

He'd only gotten away with calling his kid brother that once. He'd made the mistake of saying it to his father and the shit had hit the proverbial fan. Dad was immensely protective of Declan. More so then he was with Kieran and his other siblings. And the rest of the Flack kids -save for Liam who was just too young to really care and Mikayla who possessed a startling amount of compassion- had quickly grew to resent their disabled brother because of all the extra attention he received from their parents. They had been -and still were to some extent- all about Declan. About his special needs and getting him whatever he needed to learn things. About keeping on top of his medical problems and making sure he was healthy. About educating ignorant people about Down Syndrome. And the other kids in the family had been jealous and ashamed of the way Declan was.

Now that Kieran was older and had done his own research about Down Syndrome, he found that he actually liked spending time with his brother. So what if looked a little different and talked a little funny and his voice was a little too loud? So what if he couldn't tie his own shoes and he was thirteen? Kieran refused to take Declan anywhere if he was wearing the Velcro runners mom had bought to make life easier. They made Declan looked exactly like the R word, and Kieran would rather tie Declan's shoes up a thousand times in one outing then have his brother look like _that_. He didn't care anymore that his brother was different. He hadn't asked to be born that way, and no one had done anything to cause it to happen. And nothing could be done to 'fix' him. God had made him the way he was and it was as simple as that.

Too bad that there were so many ignorant bastards out there.

Kieran could spot them from a mile away. The judgemental, obnoxious pricks of the world that got a kick out of picking on someone. Even someone that was half their age and vulnerable. There were three of them in total- greasy haired stoners who should have been the last people talking shit about anyone- sitting at the back of the bus. Annoying the several other passengers on board with their excessively loud voices and their continuous profanity.

Kieran, as he put the tickets into the fare box while Declan was busy chatting up their usual driver -Bill, as he'd long ago told them to call him after one of the many trips to grandma and grandpa's, was close to retirement and didn't mind telling you so every time he saw you- had seen the way the guys at the back of the bus smirked at the sight of Declan. Had noticed the way they'd nudged each other and then started snickering to each other as Kieran, a firm hand on the back of his brother's t-shirt, led him to a seat in the middle of the bus.

As usual, Declan insisted on sitting by the window and clambering up onto his knees to gaze out the window. And by the time the bus pulled away from the stop, the jackasses at the back were already tossing out mean comments about the 'retard' and his 'handler'. Kieran bristled at the teasing, but said nothing in return. Bill yelled at the guys to shut up or he'd kick them off, and the other passengers glared at them, but that only seemed to make things worse. And while Declan seemed oblivious to what was going on, Kieran also knew how sensitive his brother was and how easily his feelings got hurt.

"Sit down D," Kieran gently ordered, as he tugged on the back of his brother's shirt and forced him into his seat. "There's nothing new you need to see."

"B…b…but I like l…l…looking out the window K."

"You can look out the window on the way home," Kieran told him. "We'll sit on the other side so there's different stuff to look at. Or we'll take the 22 B home. It's a longer ride and goes through downtown. It's a longer walk home from the stop, but that would be cool."

"But I like t..t…this bus," Declan argued. "And this s…s…side."

Kieran sighed heavily. Trying to convince Declan to change his mind about anything was a never ending battle. Like most people with Down Syndrome, he dreaded changes in his routines and suffered great anxiety if things were upset in even the smallest way.

Pulling off his Mets cap, Kieran moulded the brim in his hands before returning hat to his head. Backwards this time. "When I go to the hockey game tomorrow with dad I'll bring something back for you, okay?" he tousled his brother's hair affectionately. "Like a t-shirt or a hat or something. Sound good?"

"R..R…Rangers suck," Declan declared. "D…Devils the best. Ev…ever."

"You're only saying that 'cause they're mommy's favourite team and you're a momma's boy," Kieran said. His body tensing as the bastards behind them launched another round of insults. Not stopping at the use of the R word and instead throwing in homophobic slurs as well.

He wanted nothing more than to get up and storm to the back of the bus and beat the shit out of the lot of them. Instead, he bit his lip and twisted his head from side to side until his neck cracked noisily as he fought to control his temper. Reaching into the pocket of his black and tan DC Shoes sweatshirt, Kieran pulled out his Ipod and unravelled the earphones from around it and flicked it on.

"Here…" he said to his brother, and reaching around Declan's shoulders, gently tucked one of the bud's into the thirteen year old's left ear. "Music will make the bus ride go quicker," he reasoned, as he pushed the second bud into Declan's right ear.

Declan's eyes widened in surprise. "B…b…but th…that's your's K!" he exclaimed, staring down at the Ipod in his brother's hand.

"I know. And I don't let anyone use it, do I."

Declan shook his head.

"Well now, I'm letting you use it," Kieran said. "But only you. Got it. Only 'cause you're my favourite brother."

"Not Liam?" Declan sounded, and looked, shocked.

"Liam?" Kieran asked with a laugh. "Are you kidding me? Liam's a pest. A total pain in the ass. You're my fav, D. You always have been. You know that."

"You're my fav too, K!" Declan declared, and pressed a noisy kiss to his brother's cheek.

Although mom and dad faced the ongoing struggle of teaching their son what was and wasn't appropriate behaviour for his ass, hugs and kisses from his brother weren't normally a problem for Kieran. It wasn't like the kid was going it to be disgusting or anything. But as the group at the back of the bus roared wit laughter, Kieran felt his cheeks flushing with both embarrassment and rage.

He pressed play on the Ipod and cranked the volume, then glared over his shoulder at the morons who had the gall to make fun of his brother.

"Got a fucking problem cake boy?" one of the losers asked. "What the hell you think you're looking at?"

"Nothing much," Kieran replied. "I was just wondering when pieces of shit grew legs and taught themselves how to walk and talk."

"Turn around you little punk ass bitch, or take your little homo retard there and go back to where you came from."

"Three bus stops isn't much of a trip," Kieran retorted. "How about you and your buddies there go back to the trailer park, smoke some more dope, drink a couple of forties and find your sisters to mate with. 'Cause only imbreeders can be that ignorant and that ugly."

The apparent ringleader - a tall, impossibly skinny kid with a blond mullet under a camouflage ball cap and clad in an olive green flack jacket and dirty and torn jeans - was on his feet in an instant and stomping down the aisle of the bus.

Kieran calmly got to his feet and met the bully half way. He had a good three inches and twenty pounds on the older kid, and noticed the way his eyes -and his buddies' for that matter- widened as they got a good look at size of the kid who fearlessly stood chest to chest with their friend, a hand firmly planted on the back of a seat on each side of bus.

"Not so tough now, are you," Kieran smirked. "Bet I didn't look so big from all the way at the back, did I. Or is that you didn't think I'd actually stick up for myself and throw you a beat down in front of your buddies?"

"Looks like you've already had beat down put on you," the other boy acknowledged the bruises on Kieran's face. "Don't make me blacken your other eye, pretty boy. Hate to have to mess you your face and upset your little retard boyfriend there."

"First…" Kieran took a step forward, knocking the bully back with his chest. "He's my brother. And second, he's not a retard. He has Down Syndrome, asshole."

"Tree twenty f…f…first chromosomes," Declan announced, clearly proud of himself for remembering that little detail. "Developmental d…d…disability. That's wh…what mom taught me."

"See what I mean?" Kieran asked the young man in front of him. "He's got a better vocabulary and a bigger brain than you do. So now who's the retard?"

"You got a smart mouth kid. Someone needs to teach you a lesson."

"Before or after they need to extract my fist from your face?" Kieran asked. "Now back off and sit your bitch ass down. 'Cause trust me, me and you? It'll only be two hits. Me hitting you and you hitting the ground."

"K…" Declan was on his feet and tugging frantically at his older brother's sleeve. "No fighting! Mom said no! Dad said no! No trouble."

"Sit down D," the fifteen year old ordered. "Just sit down and…"

"Mom said no!" Declan bellowed. "What m…mom says goes, 'member?"

"Looks like tough guy here is a mommy's boy!" the bully gave a chuckle. "Wouldn't want to get in a fight and upset mommy now, would you? Wouldn't want mommy to get mad at you."

"Back off my mother," Kieran warned. "Say anything else about my mom and I'll…"

"And you'll what? Run home crying to her? 'Cause someone was mean to you? You'll go crying to mommy and get her to kiss your boo-boo's better? Guess what? By the time you get there, I'll already to be at your house getting your mommy to kiss something of mine."

Kieran's jaw tensed. His hands tightly gripped the seat on either side of him. "Back off my mother…say any more shit about her…"

"Maybe what your mom needs is a real man. Someone who won't give her a retarded kid."

"I am not a r…r…retard!" Declan screamed, and before Kieran could react, found himself knocked off balance by his brother charging past him and then caught a brief glimpse of Declan's left fist connecting solidly with the bully's face.

* * *

The young man went down hard, and as pandemonium erupted on the bus - passengers screaming at the driver to stop, some of the men on board cheering Declan on and encouraging him to 'kick the mother fucker's ass!'- Kieran snapped himself out of his daze in time to see his brother sitting on his tormenter's chest and pummelling him mercilessly. And his buddies still in their seats, slack jawed and completely stunned by the turn of events.

As the bus finally screeched to a halt and Bill shot out of his seat and bounded down the aisle, hollering about calling the cops, Kieran wrapped his arms around his brother's waist and forcefully yanked him off of the older kid he was currently beating to a pulp. Mild mannered Declan, who'd never gotten involved in the many fights his siblings had waged against each other over the years and who had always happily and peacefully sat on the sidelines and for years had taken getting picked on by others, had simply snapped.

"You boys better get the hell out of here," Bill instructed Kieran, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to where the front doors of the bus stood open. "I'll take care of these morons here. They've been bugging people all trip. I've got a good mind to call the cops and have their asses hauled in for public mischief and harassment."

"Call the cops on him!" the bully on the ground, nursing his bloody nose and split lip cried as he directed a kick in Declan's direction. "He assaulted me!"

"You were tormenting him jackass!" the driver yelled. "How far are you going to get with that complaint? And how cooperative and friendly do you think the NYPD is going to be when you not only picked on a special needs kid, but a special needs kid whose dad just happens to be Deputy Inspector for the department?"

"Chief of Detectives actually," Kieran said smugly. "Just got promoted."

"How is that going to look?" Bill asked the injured young man at his feet. "Picking on the Chief's disabled kid? Think picking on special needs kids makes you a big man? Think it earns you respect? Just makes you look like the ignorant piece of shit that are! Now get your ass up and sit it down before I call the cops!"

Kieran watched, a satisfied smirk on his face, as the older boy stumbled to his feet, clutching the front of his shirt to his face in order to staunch the flow of blood that trickled steadily from his nose. It had felt damn good to see that kid get what he deserved, but it would have been even more gratifying had he been the one to kick his ass.

"Trouble…" Declan was moaning behind his hands as he rocked back and forth on his heels. "Big trouble…dad…big trouble…"

"Come on D," Kieran wrapped a protective arm around his brother's shoulders and gently turned him around and led him to the front of the bus. "Let's get out of here. We'll walk the rest of the way to grandma's okay?"

"Big trouble…" Declan sobbed. "Dad…trouble…"

"No one is in trouble," Kieran promised, and stepped off the bus first before turning around and taking his brother by the elbow and helping him down at well. "You did the right thing," he assured his brother, as he escorted him down the sidewalk. "That guy deserved to get the shit kicked out of him. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Fighting is wrong!" Declan bellowed behind his hands.

"Only when you do it for no reason," his brother said. "And you had a reason. That guy was picking on you and you taught him a lesson. Don't worry about it."

"No K!" Declan screamed, as he wriggled his way out of his brother's embrace. "Wrong!…trouble!….dad!"

"You're not going to get in trouble with dad!" Kieran retorted. "He's not even going to know. Who's going to tell him? I'm not. Why would I do something stupid like that?"

"Guy on bus!" Declan cried.

"That jackass doesn't know who we are or where we live. All he knows is dad is the Chief of Detectives. You honestly think he's going to tell the Chief of Detectives that his disabled kid beat the shit out of him 'cause he was picking on him? That guy isn't going to do shit."

Declan shook his head adamantly and promptly dropped down into the middle of the sidewalk and proceeded to gather his knees to his chest and commence rocking back and forth.

Kieran sighed heavily. Thankfully the sidewalk was deserted in both directions and he didn't have to deal with the rude comments or the quizzical and disgusted stares he and Declan would both encounter. Dropping down onto his knees on the cement, he moved into a sitting position and reaching out, wrapped both of his arms around his brother's trembling body. Resting his chin on top of Declan's head, he rocked in time with his brother.

Over the years, he'd witnessed his parents doing the exact same thing when Declan had a meltdown or an anxiety attack over something. With his sensory processing issues, there was a lot that set Declan off, that saw him sitting down wherever he was -in the middle of a grocery store, in the middle of a public parking lot, in the middle of the crime lab when mom worked there or in the middle of the busy precinct when dad was still just a normal cop- clutching his knees to his chest and rocking and moaning incessantly. A specialist had told them that although Declan was considered high functioning, he did show 'autistic tendencies'. The doctor had then shown them how an iron tight embrace put pressure on certain nerves and worked effectively to calm their son down. As did the weighted vest he sometimes wore at school and home and the weighted blanket he'd been taking to bed with him since he was a little kid.

Several minutes passed before Declan's sobbing and moaning finally subsided. Kieran drew away slightly and used the sleeve of his sweatshirt to dry his brother's face. Then grimaced as he had to use his cuff to clean Declan's runny nose.

"You okay now, D?" he asked, running a hand softly over his brother's hair.

Declan nodded.

"Mom and dad aren't going to find out about this, okay? I'm not going to tell them. Are you?"

The thirteen year old shook his head.

"We tell them about what happened and the shit will hit the fan. And there's been enough crap going on around the house lately, don't 'cha think? I sure as hell don't want to get into any more trouble with mom and dad. Especially dad. He's about ready to kill somebody, I think. He finds out we got into a fight and we're in deep shit. So let's just not mention it. Let's just keep it between us. Okay?"

"Okay," Declan agreed.

"Mom doesn't need the stress anyway with the new baby and all of that. She needs to stay nice and calm. We don't want anything happening to mommy or our new brother or sister, right?"

"Right…" the other boy sniffled.

"Now let's go to grandma's. She's going to wonder what the hell is taking us so long. Then she'll call the house and dad will wonder what's taking us so long and the next thing you know, he'll come looking for us. And who needs that kind of stress? So…" Kieran clambered to his feet and wiped dirt off of the back of his cargo shorts. "…let's get the hell out of here and pretend that never happened, okay?"

He stretched a hand out to his brother and helped Declan to his feet. Removing his ball cap, he settled it on his brother's head before peeling off his sweatshirt and tying it around his waist.

"I bet ya grandma will have some of them hermit cookies she always makes," Kieran said, as he slung his arm around Declan's shoulders and began leading the way down the sidewalk. "Those cookies are awesome. We're going to have to cut through some backyards and hop some fences to get there, though. We'll be walking forever if we take the proper way."

"Too far," Declan complained.

"It is too far. But it's a good thing in a way. 'Cause if grandma lived closer…well would you want her at the house all the time?"

Declan shook his head vigorously.

"Mom and her would fight constantly and that would not be good. Bad enough mom and dad fight all the time. Who needs to listen to her and grandma scrapping it out. And then there's Reghan and Alannah."

"Alannah in trouble," Declan declared.

"Big time trouble. Dad's going to seriously tear her a new asshole. Aren't you glad we're going to grandma's house? We don't have to be around to hear him freaking out."

"Good thing," Declan agreed.

"Say…where'd you learn to hit like that, D? You've got yourself a hell of a left hook. You been practicing or something?"

"It's a s…s…secret…" the thirteen year old said, and bringing his forefinger to his lips, make a loud shushing noise.

"A secret? Come on…I tell you my secrets all the time. Who taught you to hit like that? That's not something you just made up all on your own. Someone must have shown you how to do that. You can tell me, D. I won't tell anyone."

"Mom get mad."

"I won't tell mommy. I promise. I won't say a word to her."

"Pro…pro…promise?"

Kieran nodded.

Declan stopped walking and motioned for his brother to bend down. Cupping his hand around Kieran's ear, he whispered harshly, "Dad taught me."

"Dad taught you how to put the beats on someone?"

Declan nodded. "Mom d…d…doesn't know. Secret. Me and d…d…dad."

"So dad taught you how to lay the smack down on people and told you not to tell mommy about it?"

A broad grin slowly spread across Declan's face as he nodded once more.

"Dad's pretty cool, huh?" Kieran asked, as he led the way down the sidewalk once again. "Dad can be a really neat guy sometimes."

"All the time," Declan declared. "Dad always cool."

"Yeah…I guess he is cool all the time…when he's not yelling and freaking out about something. Don't you think he yells a lot?"

"Only when you're bad," Declan told his brother. "All the time."

"I am not bad all the time," Kieran argued.

"Yes K…you…always bad. You always m…m…mean."

The fifteen year old frowned. "I'm not always mean to you."

"No…but mean to other p…p…people. You're scary when you're mad."

"Are you scared of me?" Kieran asked. "And be honest with D. Are you scared of me?"

"Sometimes," Declan replied. "But I k…k…kick your ass."

Kieran laughed. "I wouldn't doubt it…look, how about I promise not to be so mean? Would that be good?"

His brother nodded.

"'Cause I don't want to be mean. I don't want to scare you. I'm a good guy, D. You know what. And you're my brother and I love you and I don't want you to be scared of me. Remember what I told you yesterday? About how when I'm older and I've got a good job that you can come live with me? I meant that. But you can't live with me if you're scared of me, can you?"

Declan shook his head.

"So that's something I'll work on, okay?"

"Okay…" the thirteen year old agreed.

"Good…" Kieran tousled his head. "I think I'm going to call you Declan 'The Natural' Flack from now on. You know, like Randy Couture."

Declan grimaced and shook his head. "Iceman," he said. "Chuck L…L…Lidell."

Kieran frowned. "You really are a mommy's boy, you know that?"

Declan shrugged and tapped a finger against his left temple. "M…mom's brains…dad's looks."

Kieran laughed heartily and pulled his brother tightly against him.

"You are definitely learning from the master," he declared.

* * *

The entire day had been nothing but a source of massive déjà vu for Danny Messer.

From the moment he'd picked Liam up at ungodly hours and headed into Manhattan for the Blessing of the Bikes, he'd been on pins and needles. That same church, that same priest -although he was now fifteen years old and had several understudies serving underneath and was in line to become bishop the last Danny had heard- and the same weather had easily and effortlessly transported him back to a day nearly eighteen years ago. When he'd been woken up to Ruben Sandoval banging on his door at seven thirty in the morning. When he'd stood by Ruben's side in the church when the priest had given his blessing and travelled down the aisle sprinkling each kid's bike with holy water. When he'd walked alongside of Ruben as the ten year old, decked out in his spring jacket and a helmet, navigated the busy sidewalks on his wobbly bicycle.

Danny had known it would be a hard event to get through. That it would bring back a lot of unwelcome memories of a day that he'd never fully gotten over. The grief and the guilt, although much more subdued now, still lingered under the surface and sometimes reared their ugly heads. And while Flack and Sam and even Linds had told him that he didn't have to take Liam to Blessing of the Bikes, Danny had insisted that he did have to. He didn't want to disappoint Liam. Liam was his buddy, little Flack as Danny had been calling him for years, and he loved spending time with the kid. Taking him to sporting events and to the park. Tossing a football around with him or keeping an eye on the kid as he climbed trees or made his way to the top of the monkey bars and dangled upside down from his ankles. He liked taking Liam to the zoo and to McDonalds. Liam was a fun kid to be around. Smart with a wicked sense of humour, he always said the most hilarious of things at the most inopportune times. Danny wondered if that was some of himself that had rubbed off on his honorary nephew.

There'd been no question in his mind that he'd attend the Blessing of the Bikes. He had insisted that he'd be fine. That he'd be able to handle it. And outwardly, he'd been a rock. He'd smiled down at Liam when the soon to be seven year old looked up at him with that huge toothless grin, happy as a pig in shit that his bike - a silver and blue kid's mountain bike that mommy and daddy had given him as an early birthday present- was the coolest one out of all the kids'.

Inside, Danny was an anxious mess the second they'd stepped foot in the church. He'd thought about Ruben constantly. He'd nearly called Liam by that name several times and had been unable to shake the memories that still haunted him. He had thought, by taking Liam to the Blessing of the Bikes, that he'd finally be able to exorcise the demons that plagued him. That he'd finally rid himself of the grief and guilt that had hung over his head like a dark cloud for eighteen years.

Danny was still waiting for that to happen as he walked down 112th street in the bright May sunshine, a cup of coffee in one hand and Cherry Coke slushie in the other, as Liam Flack, in his Nike hockey sweatshirt and baggy jeans and air walk running shoes and his silver helmet and black knee and elbow pads -Danny had refused to take him without the proper equipment and Liam had reluctantly went along with it- pedalled his brand new bike slowly beside his uncle. Three weeks ago, the training wheels had been succesffuly removed from his old bike, and Liam was yet to become a master on a two wheeler. But the kid was damn determined. Tenacious.

Just like his mother.

"Uncle Danny?" Liam asked curiously, wobbling unsteadily on his bike.

"What buddy?" Danny inquired in return, moving the slushie to the hand with the coffee cup already in it in order to grab a hold of the back of the bicycle seat in an attempt to keep Liam from swerving into a pedestrian.

"What does knob gobbler mean?"

"Excuse me?" Danny couldn't help but laugh. "Where did you learn that?"

"K said it this morning," Liam said. "What does it mean?"

"It means that your brother needs to watch his mouth around you is what it means. Also means I'm not going to tell you."

"Is it that bad?" Liam asked. "Is it a bad word?"

"It is. And you're not to repeat it. To anyone. When you're older maybe I'll tell you what it means. But definitely not right now. So don't you be going and saying that to anyone, okay?"

"Not even daddy? Daddy might know what it means. He might tell me. Can I ask him?"

"Are you insane? Under no circumstances are you to ask your dad what that means. He'll know what it means but no way do you go back and ask him when you get home. Understand me? You only say that to him if you want a mouthful of soap and a tanned ass. Got it?"

Liam nodded. "Is K in trouble? Are you going to yell at him for saying it?"

"I might wash _his_ mouth out and tan _his_ ass, yeah. Unless you want to keep it our little secret. You wanna do that?"

"I think that's for the best," Liam said.

"Yeah…me too," Danny agreed. "So? Did you have a good time, Little Flack? That was pretty cool, huh? Getting your bike blessed like that. You have fun?"

"Yeah…and I didn't even get killed and that's the best part!" Liam cried happily.

Danny blinked as Liam's innocent words cut deep.

"I was really scared, Uncle Danny. 'Cause Kieran told me that the last kid you took to Blessing of the Bikes got killed. And I didn't want it to happen to me!"

Danny swallowed noisily. Stunned by not only Liam's words, but the fact that tears threatened. That he was that hurt by a seven year old that didn't know the weight behind what he was saying. Who was too young to know the entire story and who honestly didn't realize that he was talking about was part of his uncle's past that was still so painful and raw. It wasn't Liam's fault that he'd never gotten over Ruben's death. Nor was it Liam's fault that he'd been told of the unfortunate incident that had happened long before the kid was even a tinkle in his mother's eye. Liam didn't know he was doing anything wrong, and Danny couldn't, in good faith, punish the kid for repeating something he'd heard.

But he was going to catch up to Kieran and get his hands around the kid's neck and shake some goddamn sense into the punk ass.

"Uncle D would never, ever let something happen to you, Little Flack," he said, after he'd finally found his voice and managed to shove the emotion to the back burner. "You know that, right? That Uncle D loves you and would do anything to protect you. You know that right?"

"Yep," Liam nodded vigorously. "I know that. I was just scared, that's all. 'Cause what if the bad guys did something to you first and then got a hold of you? What then, Uncle Danny?"

"No bad guys are going to get a hold of me, or you," Danny told him. "Nothing is going to happen to either one of us. We're both perfectly safe."

"Would you shoot them? If the bad guys tried to hurt me?"

"I wouldn't need to shoot them, Liam. Anyone tried to hurt you, I'd kill them with my bare hands. And that's the honest to God truth right there. Why you talking like this? Why are you talking about bad things?"

"Some bad guy killed some policemen last night," Liam said. "And you and daddy and Uncle Peanut are policemen. And long time ago something bad happened to you and Uncle Peanut. Right, Uncle Danny?"

"Long, long, long time ago," Danny told the little boy. "Long before you were ever even thought of. Before any of you Flack kids were thought of actually."

"And then daddy got shot and he was really sick for a long time and they thought he was going to die. And mommy got shot too. But she was okay 'cause the bad guy missed."

"Your mom had a bullet proof vest on it and it saved her life," Danny clarified. "This all happened a long time ago, Liam. Why are you….?"

"We all die Uncle Danny. All of us. Even the goldfish and the hamster at school. There's lot of bad guys out there."

"There are," Danny agreed. "But it's not up to you to worry about that, okay? Your mom and your dad will never let anything happen to you. And neither will I. So you've got nothing to be scared of. Okay, Little Flack? Nothing at all to be scared of. You just worry about whatever little boy things are going on in that head of yours and you let the adults worry about adult stuff. Okay?"

"Okay…" Liam chirped. Then quickly changed the subject. "Did you know it's my birthday next week Uncle Danny?"

"How could I forget?" he asked with a grin. "You've been reminding me three times a day for the last month."

"Uncle Peanut is buying me this really cool science set!" Liam exclaimed excitedly.

"Well Auntie Montanie and I bought you a totally rocking gift that's better then some science set," Danny told him, and taking a swig of his coffee, grimaced at its acrid taste and tossed the remainder of his drink in the nearest trash.

"Cool!" the little boy shrieked happily. "It's going to be so much fun! You know that we're going to Chuck E Cheese?"

"I know that too," Danny confirmed.

"And you know what mommy and daddy got me for my birthday?" Liam asked.

"Other than your new bike?" his uncle inquired.

The little boy's head bobbed up and down as he nodded. "Mommy and daddy got me a baby brother or sister for my birthday!" he shrieked. "Isn't that awesome?"

"Your mom and dad got you a what for your what?" Danny asked, shocked by the child's announcement.

"A baby brother or sister," Liam repeated. "Daddy and mommy told us this morning at breakfast. Me and K and Declan were really excited but Reghan and Alannah and Mikki were really, really upset. They said it was gross. That it was embarrassing. A baby isn't gross or embarrassing. Why would they say that?"

_Never mind that, _Danny thought. _Why wouldn't your parents say anything about it? Why wouldn't they tell people?_

"I think it's kinda cool," Liam continued. "'Cause I _hate_ being the youngest one. It's about time someone else can be the baby. I don't want to be the little one anymore. I'm sick and tired of it. I just hope that I don't have to share my room or any of my toys or anything like that. You think that will happen, Uncle Danny? You think I'll have to share any of my stuff?"

"Depends," Danny said. "On whether the baby is a boy or a girl."

"I hope it's a girl!" Liam cried. "'Cause I don't have any girls stuff!"

"When did your parents find out about this new baby?" Danny asked, carefully fishing for information.

"I don't know…long time ago, I guess."

"And they just told you guys this morning?"

Liam nodded. "Mommy's already getting fat!" he announced. "I saw where the baby is Uncle Danny. And you can see how fat she's getting already!"

Danny laughed. "Well take my advice, kid. Don't ever tell any woman, whether it's your mom or not, that she's getting fat. You want to make it to your birthday party, don't tell mommy she's fat. Got it?"

"Got it!" Liam cried. "But isn't it lying, Uncle Danny? If I don't tell her? Isn't lying bad?"

"It is bad. But…"

"Then how come every time mommy asks daddy if she looks fat he says no. How come he's lying?"

"Well…maybe your dad doesn't see your mom that way," Danny reasoned. "Maybe he doesn't see her as fat. Maybe he sees her as having a baby. So technically, he isn't lying. And he knows that it would hurt mommy's feelings to call her fat so he doesn't do it. He doesn't want to make mommy sad and he also doesn't want to sleep on the couch for the rest of his life."

"So it's okay to lie if you don't want to hurt someone's feelings?" Liam inquired.

Danny smirked. "Why do you wait until you're out with me to ask all the tough questions?" he asked. "How come you don't ask your dad stuff like this?"

"'Cause you're smarter than he is," Liam declared. "'Cause you're a policeman scientist so you've got a bigger brain pan."

Danny grinned.

"And 'cause Uncle Shelly isn't around to ask. He's smarter than everyone you know. Even the president. Even God."

"I wouldn't doubt it," Danny chuckled. "But how come you never ask me other stuff? How come your asking me about mom and dad stuff? Why can't you ask me about why the grass is green and the sky is blue?"

"I already know that," Liam informed him. "The sky is blue 'cause if it was green, we wouldn't know when to stop mowing."

Danny nearly buckled over from laughing so hard.

"Daddy told me that," Liam said proudly. "That's the smartest thing that daddy has ever said. Mommy says that his strengths lie elsewhere."

"She did, did she?" Danny howled, and managed to compose himself. "She's right you know. His strengths do lie elsewhere."

"Like where?" Liam asked curiously.

"Like…I don't know…" Danny contemplated his words. "I guess like being an amazing cop that people respect and go to when they need help. For being a great friend that always has your back and never lets you down. For being a really good husband to your mommy. And for being a fantastic dad to all you kids."

Liam beamed brightly. "Daddy's a pretty awesome guy," he declared.

Danny smiled and nodded.

"He definitely is," he agreed.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! And a thanks to all the lurkers too! Words can't express how humbled I am by the support that all of you have shown me and my stories! I am truly still shocked over the outcome of the awards and I could not possibly thank all of you enough! **

**Please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Axellia**

**CSINYMinute**

**Madison Bellows**

**ImaSupernaturalCSI**

**muchmadness**

**26Hannah26**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**xSamilciousx**

**wolfeylady**

**Forest Angel**

**Delko's Girl 88**

**Soccer-bitch**


	86. Oh, snap!

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA ROSS-FLACK AND ALL THE FLACK KIDS**

**I JUST WANT TO SEND OUT SOME THANKS TO ALL OF THOSE WHO HAVE HELPED ME COPE DURING THIS TIME OF IMMENSE PERSONAL LOSS. ESPECIALLY RACHEL, MICHELLE, CASS AND ERICA WHO HAVE KEPT ME SANE!**

* * *

**Oh, snap!**

"I could be mean  
I could be angry  
You know I could be just like you

I could be fake  
I could be stupid  
You know I could be just like you

You thought you were standing beside me  
You were only in my way  
You're wrong if you think that I'll be just like you

You thought you were there to guide me  
You were only in my way  
You're wrong if you think that I'll be just like you."  
-Just Like You, Three Days Grace

* * *

Samantha's breath caught in her chest and her body tensed slightly as she heard the screen door at the front of the house softly click open and then squeak as it swung closed. It had been half an hour since she'd presented her husband with the heartfelt, emotionally driven words neatly and lovingly typed on that single sheet of crisp computer printer paper. Thoughts that had been swirling through her mind and taking it residence in her heart for the past thirteen year and she'd always been afraid -irrationally, of course- of letting loose.

While she'd always struggled to fully accept the cards that they'd been dealt in their lives, her husband had simply led the news of their son's diagnosis roll off of his broad shoulders. He'd cried once. A break down in the neonatal nursery after his father had come to visit and had presented him with a copy of the poem Welcome to Holland and a handwritten version of the Creed of Babies with Down Syndrome, something that their long time parish priest had found on the internet after Patricia had told him about her grandson. Father O'Reilly had blessed the piece of paper before handing it over to Flack Senior, and had also asked the congregation to pray for the baby as he waited for his open heart surgery.

Flack Senior had always accepted Declan, no questions asked. He'd shown up at the hospital to visit his 'triple blessings' as he'd called his two granddaughters and solo grandson a week after they'd made their official appearance. He'd wanted to give the new parents time to adjust, he'd said, although Patricia would later admit years later that he'd also spent all of his free time doing every possible stitch of research he could regarding Declan's disability.

"I'm not going in there blind," he'd told his wife when she'd questioned what he was doing when she caught him on the computer at three in the morning. "I wanna know exactly what's going on and what to expect. Declan deserves a grandpa that cares enough to know all of this stuff. And Donnie…well Donnie deserves a father that loves him and his boy enough to not walk in there completely ignorant to what he's dealing with."

Senior had shown up, not with just those pieces of paper lovingly tucked into a manila folder, but a stack full of different coloured envelopes from various members of the parish and from his old cop buddies that he still hung out with at the Irish pub in downtown Flushing every Friday night. Pitchers of Guinness and games of darts and a lot of drunken, good natured teasing a staple in his life, once in a week, for nearly forty years. Every one of those cards had bore no mention of Declan's disability and not one had expressed sympathy for what had happened to Flack Junior. Something he'd been grateful for. Since the diagnosis had come down, people -including his closest friends- had either stayed away because of a lack of knowing exactly what to say, or had shaken their heads and clapped him on the back and told him how sorry they were.

Flack didn't want to hear how sorry people were. He didn't want them expressing their condolences as if the baby had died. The truth of the matter what, he felt like complete and utter shit about what had happened. Hearing his child had a developmental disability and that he was severely ill and needed a heart operation had knocked the wind right out of his sails. He felt as if someone had kicked him in the gut and were now holding his head under water and threatening to let him up. As is his lungs couldn't draw breath and he was terrified of drowning in the feelings of immense sorrow, anger and disappointment. It had been a blow to his ego. He had created a child that was far from perfect. And he couldn't quite grasp how the hell _that_ could ever happen.

Worst of all, he was terrified. Not only about the surgery that loomed in his infant son's near future, but for the years ahead of Declan as well. His mind couldn't help but jump ahead in time and he'd obsessed over how long it would take his son to learn things. If he would ever learn them. If he'd ever go to school and have friends. How badly he'd be picked on and what he'd looked like as he got older. At that moment he was just a baby. And even with the doctors always pointing out each and every characteristic, to Flack his son looked no different from any other baby he'd ever seen. But he knew, as Declan aged and those features became even more pronounced, that people would look at the kid and know. That it would be obvious and Flack honestly didn't know if he could bear the whispers and the scrutiny.

What he had needed at that time instead of the sympathetic looks and the apologies and the monotonous 'I'm sure you'll do fine' or the 'You're a strong person, you can handle this' or the one that burned his ass the most, 'God only gives special children to special people', he wanted someone to walk into the nursery where he spent nearly every waking moment of his departmental sick leave, shake his hand or clap him on the back and congratulate him. Tell him that his new babies -all three of them- were beautiful and had great futures ahead of them.

And his father had been the first person to grant him and the triplets that respect. He'd simply appeared at the side of the easy chair that Flack had been parked in for hours in front of the three incubators, all done up in a hospital gown and surgical boots on his feet -the garb anyone that came to visit the triplets, mommy and daddy included had to dress in before they were even allowed anywhere near the babies- and laid his hand on his son's shoulder and given him a swift nod before walking over to the incubators to check on his grandkids.

He'd gone to the girls first. Commenting on how tiny they were and beautiful they were with their thick, black hair, their wrinkled pink skin and the nose that grandpa announced, he was grateful they'd gotten from their mother. Kieran's birth had mellowed him. The arrival of his first born grandchild -and a boy at that- had opened his eyes to the multitude of mistakes that he'd made throughout his life. When that baby had been placed in his arms at the hospital, Senior had, much to the shock of everyone in the room, dissolved into tears. It was right there and then that he'd began to atone for the errors he'd made in regards to his wife and his children. Kieran Flack, just hours old, had unknowingly built a bridge between a long feuding father and son. And when his tiny fingers had curled around his grandpa's finger, an impenetrable bond had been formed between the two.

After that, Senior had changed remarkably. He'd quit the booze entirely and had put his energy into being a role model in his grandson's life. And with each member that had been added to the Flack family, he grew in love, tolerance and patience.

Flack hadn't been worried about his old man's reaction to a disabled grandkid. He'd been downright terrified. He knew his old man's inability to accept anything that was different. The way, during all his years on the job, he'd looked down on anyone that he viewed as remotely strange. He'd heard the off handed, disrespectful and plain nasty comments his dad made about people living off of the system, of single teenage mothers and of sufferers of mental illness. And shockingly enough, from time to time, he'd heard his father refer to minorities by obviously racists slurs. Flack had, somehow by the grace of God, escaped that kind of intolerance and hatred when he grew older. He could honestly say that he he'd never uttered an ethnic slur or put the beat down on a homeless drunk simply because he slurred his words. He'd never locked up someone just because they couldn't speak English and couldn't understand what he was saying when questioning them on the street. And he'd never, ever, even as a kid, made fun of anyone with special needs. He was like his mother in that respect. She'd taught him that all human beings were 'God's children' and deserved to be treated like respect.

His dad hadn't seen it the same way. And while Flack Junior befriended the kids with special needs, and later as an adult often volunteered with them at the YMCA, Senior had mocked his son for his 'unique choice in friends'.

So when Declan's diagnosis had come down, it had been a double kick in the ass to Flack. Not only had he'd never expected to have his own disabled child, he was frightened at what his father would say when he found out. That his dad would look at him and treat him as less of a man because he'd produced someone 'not worthy to carry the Flack name'. That Senior would start dishing out the blame to who exactly 'caused' Declan to be the way he was. And even worse, he was worried his old man would call his new grandson a handful of disgusting names and simply cut not only Declan, but all of his grandkids, out of his life.

So it had been a nervous moment for Flack as he'd watched his father sidle up to the incubator were Declan slept peacefully, his eyes protected from the bili lights, pads from the nearby EKG machine attached to his tiny chest and an IV in the bottom of one tiny foot and a NG tube down one nostrils. The girls had been in the same predicament, but they'd shown signs of life. They moved their arms and their legs and gave startled cries or curled all five fingers around someone's one when their palms were stroked. But Declan…Declan had looked sick. As ill as he had probably been feeling at the time.

"Declan, huh?" Senior had asked, as he peered into the incubator. "Good, strong Irish name for my grandson. Means full of goodness. And I tell ya, looking at him? He's damn full of more than just that. Kid's gonna be a handful, Donnie. Just like his older brother. Just like you. Gonna give you more grey hair than you already have. Break a lot of hearts, too."

"He's got Down Syndrome dad," Flack had blurted out. Those five words nearly bringing him to his knees as the admittance of his son's disability hit home. And hit home hard.

"I know…" Senior's face softened as he gave a nod. "But you know…what does that really matter, Donnie? Doesn't make a lick of difference to me if he's got one extra chromosome or ten extra. He's still my grandson. Just 'cause he's a bit different doesn't mean I'm gonna love him any less. If anything, it means I'm gonna love him more. 'Cause he'll need that little big extra care from his grandpa."

Flack had been shocked into silence by his father's words. And then, as he watched his old man looking down at that fragile infant with tears sparkling in his eyes, had promptly broken down. It would prove to be his own and only emotional meltdown. Standing there in the middle of the NICU, a thirty three year old man who dealt with the scum of society on a daily basis and who barely flinched in the face of fear, bawling like a baby with his face buried in his father's shoulder and his old man holding onto him and stroking his hair in comfort. Senior hadn't judged him or ridiculed him for his behaviour. He'd simply, and quietly, consoled his heartbroken son. Standing there until there were no more tears to cry and Flack finally managed to pull himself together.

"He's still your boy Donnie," Senior had said, as he patted him softly on the cheek. "He's still your son. No matter what's the matter with him. He's got your blood running through his veins. And you're gonna be okay. You're gonna do a fine job. And I ain't gonna stand here and tell you that it's gonna be easy. That it's gonna be a walk in the park. There's gonna be some tough times and you're gonna hear things about your boy and you're gonna wanna bust peoples heads for saying that shit. But at the end of the day, he's still a human being. And he's a beautiful baby and he's gonna make you smile more than he's gonna make you cry. I know it hurts like hell. I know it feels like it's never gonna get better. But you know what? You're gonna love him just as much as you love the rest of your kids."

Flack had nodded and sniffled noisily as he wiped his eyes on his forearm. Embarrassed by his outward display of emotion.

"Don't you ever be sorry for being a human being," his father had scolded him. "For loving your boy. Don't you ever be sorry for bringing him into this world. Yeah, he's got Down Syndrome. But you know what? He's here. He's here and you can't take it out of him. And right now you're scared shitless about raising him. But you're gonna do right by him. And you're gonna do it one day at a time."

And that was exactly what Flack had done. After that night, he'd accepted the cards he'd been dealt and he simply went about raising his son- all of his kids for that matter- one day at a time. He learned as much as he could about Declan's disability and he and Sam had made sure that their son got everything he needed. Occupational therapy, physiotherapy, speech therapy. Infant therapists had come into their house from the time Declan was two months old until he was three and he was handed off to another team of professionals that would follow him until he was eighteen. The baby sign they'd learned with Kieran had served them remarkably well when it came time to teach Declan how to communicate. They took him to twice monthly appointments with the cardiologist and made sure he received the meds he needed for his thyroid problem. He saw a developmental pediatrician that tracked his progress and made sure they received every ounce of support they needed within the community.

Most of all, they'd made sure from early on that their son did things 'normal' kids did. He took swimming lessons, played soccer, t-ball and basketball. He went to the same school as his siblings and was integrated into regular classes with not only able bodied children, but kids with the same disability as him. And those with much, much worse. They disciplined him the same way his brothers and sisters were. Declan didn't receive any special treatment in that respect. He was forced to make his bed and clean his room and do chores just like everyone else.

All in all, Declan was a 'normal' kid around there. And with his immense stubbornness and his penchant for practical jokes and a sarcastic wit, he was every inch his father's son.

* * *

As she heard her husband's heavy footsteps as they journeyed down the hallway towards the kitchen, Sam quickly went back to the task in front of her. Slicing up half a watermelon and removing it from its rind before cutting it into chunks and dropping it into a Tupperware container. A basket of strawberries and blueberries setting nearby, awaiting her attention as well. Tension causing her shoulders and neck to ache as she watched Flack enter the kitchen out of the corner of his eye. The papers she'd given to him folded in one hand, his now empty bottle of beer in the other. She heard him sniffle noisily, then clear his throat as he dropped the papers on the kitchen table and placed the bottle in a case of empties near the sliding door. Casting a glance at him, she was surprised to see his eyes rimmed with red. A clear sign of emotion.

"I'm just cutting up some fruit," she said, as he moved around the kitchen behind her. "The baby's hungry and the kids always like…"

All words escaped her as his strong arms encircled her waist from behind, pulling her tightly against him as he rested his chin on her shoulder.

"I'm proud of you baby," he said, his voice a near whisper as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I know it's not easy for you and that it bothers you still…but you've come so far and done so much for my son. And I'm proud of you and I respect you and love you for that. More than I could ever possibly tell you."

She smiled, and resting her head back against his chest, laid the knife down on the counter and reached up to wrap her arms around his neck.

"Thank you," he said, as she turned her face up at him and he placed a tender kiss to his lips. "For what you said in that thing you wrote. I needed to hear all of that."

"You shouldn't have had to wait thirteen years to hear it," she sighed sadly.

"Better late than never, right?" he grinned, and kissed her once again. "We've come a long way, you know. With Declan."

She nodded. "It still bothers me though," she admitted. "A lot. And that makes me feel…it makes me feel horrible. Because he's my son and I love him and I can't imagine my life, our lives, without him. And when I think how I still haven't accepted it…"

"Baby, sometimes people never do. It's not him that you're not accepting. It's his disability. And you know? That's okay. It's a damn bitter pill to swallow. Doesn't mean we love him any less. Or treat him any different. And it also doesn't mean that we ever have to be okay with the Downs itself."

She gave a solemn nod.

"Thirteen years later and I still feel like shit some days," he confessed. "Some times, when I sit back and watch him with Kieran…that's when I get down about it. 'Cause K's like the typical fifteen year old guy. Total jock. He'll play any and every sport and be damn good at it. And he's got girls all over him. And then Declan…well Declan struggles with everything and he thinks it's okay if he asks out the most popular girl in school and then doesn't get it why he gets shot down. And that's when it bothers me. When I see him trying to be his brother and then I have to tell him after he's gotten his feelings hurt and his heart crushed why he can't be like K. That's when I find it tough."

Sam nodded in agreement.

"But you know what?" Emotion played in Flack's voice. "He's my son. My boy. And I'd do anything for him. I'd lie down and die for that kid. All of my kids. And I think to myself about how I'd rather him have the guts to try everything and anything then be ashamed or embarrassed to do it."

She gave a smile.

"He's our baby," Flack pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. "We made him together. We love him together. All of them for that matter. Even…" his hand slid down to rub her stomach softly. "…this one here. Mortal shock and all."

"It was just a little surprising," she said with a grin.

"A little?" he chuckled. "Try massively surprising. Then times it by a hundred. No…a thousand."

"Okay now…" she laughed, patting the hand that stroked her tummy. "Don't be going and giving your son or daughter some kind of Oopsie Baby complex while still in the womb, alright?"

"A what complex?" he asked.

"An Oopsie Baby complex," she replied. "You know…like an Ooops, how'd that happen?"

"Oh…you mean a 'Shit, how in the hell?' or 'Holy fuck what have we done?' complex."

"Now you are just being a smart ass," Sam declared, as she wriggled out of his embrace and went back to her food preparation.

"The day wouldn't be complete without me popping off some sarcastic comment now, would it? You've been dealing with it for sixteen years now. You think you'd be used to it."

"It's growing on me," she grumbled, then laughed as he reached out to playfully tousle her hair.

"Yeah?" Flack asked, eyes sparkling playfully. "Same way that hair cut is growing on me. Why you got it cut like a boy is beyond me."

"It's a Pixie cut," Sam defended herself.

"It's shorter than mine," he teased and snagging a chunk of watermelon from the container popped it into his mouth. "So K and I are going to that Rangers game tomorrow," he reminded her.

"That should be fun. He seems really excited about it. Hasn't stopped talking about it since you came home with those tickets. It's been a while since you guys got to do something together. Just the two of you."

"Too long," Flack said. "I'm just kind of worried about it."

Sam frowned. "Why?"

"I just…I'm nervous about what he might to talk about," Flack told her.

"He talks to you about everything," she pointed out. "You're the one he goes to about things he know will give me a heart attack. Problems at school, problems with girls. Sex. You're the one he goes to."

"Because he knows you'll have a stroke if he talks about how he's having sex with you. You're his mommy. He knows his mommy doesn't want to hear shit like that. And honestly? I never talked about stuff like that with my mom either. She was the last person I went to."

"And your dad was pretty much ruled out so who'd you…"

"Gerrard," Flack told her. "I already told you about how tight he was with my dad. He was always around the house. From the time I was a baby. When my dad was too drunk or too busy with work to give a rat's ass about me, Gerrard was the one that stepped up. Made sure I had a father figure in my life. Someone to keep me on the straight and narrow. Keep me off drugs and off the bottle and out of detox or jail. People always think I became a cop to make my dad happy. Honestly babe, between you and me? I did it for Gerrard. To make him proud. Show him that he did a good thing by sticking by me. That he didn't waste his time. That I did good by him."

"And you did," Sam said. "You did do good by him, Donnie. And I'm sure he was proud of you. Even if he was so busy shitting on you all the time."

"Now that I'm older…" Flack sighed. "I don't know…I guess I see it differently now. I realize he rode my ass like that 'cause he knew I had potential and he didn't want me to fuck up. He wanted me to go far in the department. And if he saw me leaving the path he made sure to yank me back onto it. Guess it was his way of doing it. Tough love. Who knows. I just thought he was being a major prick when I was younger."

"Trust me, babe. You are not the only one that thought that way about him," Sam told him.

"Yeah…but no one knew him like I did. No one. He never once gave up on me. For a long time, all I remembered about him was the crappy things. The way he'd tear me a new asshole or pull me up on the carpet in front of all the guys. The way he and Sinclair made me feel like a worthless piece of shit that day in the courthouse when I was testifying in Mac's defence at that departmental hearing…"

Sam nodded in recollection of the story her husband had long ago relayed to her.

"I was so pissed at him for so long after that," Flack said, as he leaned back against the counter beside her. "And for the longest time, no matter what good things happened, it was that one moment that replayed over and over in my mind. Trust me babe, if there was ever a moment I could have kicked the shit out of those two, it was that one."

"I have had many of those moments with bosses of mine," Sam gave a laugh. "Mac included. But you know what? I loved working at the lab. With him. For him. And when he left…I don't know…when he left working there was never the same. Mind you, he made a damn good commissioner."

"You're only saying that 'cause you've always had a crush on him," Flack chided. "You've always had a thing for Mac. Especially Marine Mac."

She just smiled and popped a piece of watermelon into his mouth.

"And you were his favourite and we all know it," Flack continued. "It's why he rode your ass so much. Wanted you to push yourself. Challenge yourself."

"Maybe…but I don't know if he necessarily rode my ass. 'Cause Marine Mac?" her eyes sparkled devilishly. "I think I'd remember if Marine Mac rode my ass."

Flack frowned. "And you call me the perverted one," he said.

"Well what can I say?" she asked, and leaning sideways, pressed a kiss to his arm. "I have spent the last sixteen years learning from the master."

"And you have been a most excellent pupil," he told her, and bent down to peck her lips. "Grasshopper," he added, and laughed as she slugged his arm.

"I can't believe you stayed up so late watching that the other night," she shook her head in disbelief. "You and your Kung-Fu fetish."

"Just be thankful it wasn't a Star Wars or Doctor Who marathon," he said.

Sam rolled her eyes. "Now that I could not have tolerated. I mean who knew that my brave, big, strong, tough NYPD boy is actually a sci-fi geek deep down."

"No one," Flack told her. "And that is a secret you have to take to your grave."

"Yes sir," she saluted him playfully.

"Just like yours is how you actually like you brave, big, strong, tough NYPD to ride your ass."

Her cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of crimson.

"You are such a study in contradiction," Flack laughed. "You're so tiny and so quiet and so sweet. The quintessential soccer mom in her Banana Republic clothes, driving her Volvo SUV. And then you take off your clothes and there's all these tattoos and shit. And then I get you behind closed doors and you…"

* * *

Sam cleared her throat noisily to capture his attention. Then nodded in the direction of the kitchen entrance. Where Alannah stood in the doorway in a pair of bubble gum pink sweat pants, matching hoodie and white t-shirt. Her arms crossed over her chest and a sheepish, almost frightened expression on her pretty face.

"Finally decided to rejoin the human race, huh?" Flack asked.

"There's leftovers from lunch in the fridge," Sam told their daughter. "If you're hungry there's lots to eat."

"I'm not hungry," Alannah said. "I just wanted to…" she took a deep, quivering breath and let it out slowly. "I just wanted to talk to daddy."

Flack looked over at his wife, eyebrows raised.

"Can we talk?" the thirteen year old asked. "I really want to talk to you. Do you think we can talk? Not fight. I don't want to fight. I just want to talk to you, daddy."

He sighed heavily, then nodded as he pushed himself away from the counter. "We can talk," he told her. "I'm just going to go and take a shower and put some fresh clothes on, okay?"

"Okay…" Alannah said, the chewed at her bottom lip nervously as he approached the doorway. A habit she'd picked up from her mother. One each and every kid had also seemingly inherited.

"Why don't you have something to eat," Flack suggested. "You didn't eat lunch. And don't give me and your mom this crap that you're not hungry. Go and grab something, okay?"

She nodded.

"We'll talk," he promised, then taking her face in her hands, pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Then gave a smile as he ran a hand over her long black hair. "I'll be down in a few minutes, okay?"

Alannah gave another nod, then watched as her father stepped out of the room and headed down the hall. She waited until he disappeared into the living room before journeying farther into the kitchen, watching her mother warily as she chopped fruit at the island. Gripping the knife so tight her knuckles were white. Her mouth set in a firm, tense line.

"Mom…" she began nervously. "I…I just…"

"I don't want to hear any more excuses or bullshit from you," Sam informed her. "The way you acted this morning? When I tried to talk to you? That was not cool, understand me? And if you ever tell me to F off again…"

"I was just upset," Alannah said. "I just wanted to be left alone and you wouldn't listen to me when I told you that. You still kept trying to talk to me and I didn't want to talk to anyone. And you never stop. You just keep going and going and going. Even daddy says so."

"Well you know what? I'm your mother. And if I want to keep going and going and going, I will. You're thirteen years old and you won't talk like that to me. I won't tolerate that crap from you. From anyone in this house. I am your mother and you'll respect me."

"But what about you respecting me?" her daughter asked.

"You're thirteen young lady! I brought you into this world and I've I ever feel like it, I'll damn well take you out of it. You're my daughter and I love you. But I'm not putting up with that. I'm not letting you talk like that to me. You're not being the way you are around here. You're not going to throw these temper tantrums when you don't get something you want or you don't like to follow rules. You're not going to be all Mary Sunshine around here one minute and wicked witch of the west the next."

"You mean like you?" Alannah challenged. "You're not the easier person to get along with, mom! You never listen to anything I have to say! Anything anyone has to say! And you freak out over stupid crap! All the time!"

"Finding out you're giving some moron boyfriend of yours head is not stupid crap!" Sam fumed.

"Yet Kieran gets away with it! He gets away with a lot of stuff! You don't even know what him and Alessa are up to when they're down in the basement together! And you and dad think it's okay that he's having sex!"

"You know what?" Sam tossed the knife aside angrily. "I do not think that it's okay that he's having sex. I don't want him to be having sex. But you know what? He is! And your dad is taking care of that and he's making sure that Kieran doesn't knock someone up by the time he's sixteen. But you're thirteen, Alannah. Thirteen! And that's not right! You and whatever it is you're doing with this boyfriend of yours. Or whatever the hell he is."

"He is my boyfriend!" Alannah informed her. "And I can do whatever I want with him."

"Not in my house you won't," her mother snapped.

"Fine," the thirteen year old huffed. "Then we just won't do it here. We'll do it somewhere else."

"You're thirteen!" Sam shouted. "Thirteen year olds don't have sex!"

"You were having sex at fourteen!" Alannah retorted. "You had a baby at fifteen!"

"Which is exactly why I don't want you doing it! Do you think I'm proud of that? Do you think it makes me feel good about myself to know I got pregnant so young? Or that I was having sex at that age? Do you think I feel great about that? Well I don't! And if I could go back and time and change things, trust me, my life would be totally different. I love Sara and she's my daughter and your sister, but I would definitely make different choices in my life."

"Well we can't all be perfect like you," Alannah huffed.

"No one ever said that I was!" Sam shouted. "And I know I'm not! But I don't want you to be like me! I don't want you having the teenage life that I had! Not after your dad and I worked so goddamn hard to make sure your childhood wasn't like any of ours."

"Well that wasn't too hard," Alannah muttered. "I wasn't grandpa's fuck toy. Like you were with your dad."

Frowning, and with tears of hurt and rage burning her eyes, Sam stormed across the kitchen and before she could stop herself or Alannah could react, slapped the thirteen year old across the face. The sound reverberating through the room, and leaving both Alannah's cheek and Sam's hand stinging.

Alannah recoiled in horror and clamped her hand over the side of her face.

"Don't you ever, ever talk like that to me again!" Sam hissed. "Do you understand me?"

The teenager tearfully nodded.

"If you ever…" Sam winced as a sharp pain in her lower abdomen caused her to place a hand on her stomach and gasped.

"Mom?" Alannah reached out. "Are you…"

"Don't you ever talk like that to me again!" Sam snapped, then turning abruptly on her heel, snatched her car keys off of the top of the microwave. "I'm going out," she announced, and stomped through the kitchen.

"Where are you going? What do I tell dad?"

"The truth!" Sam yelled from the doorway. "That you and I…that I can't be here if you are!" she finished, and with tears flowing freely, hurried out of the room.

* * *

**_I know it's been a while for this one folks! But the muse led me here and I wanted to get something out for all of you! As usual, a huge thanks goes out to everyone that is reading and reviewing. And even just lurking!!!!_**


	87. Like Old Times

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY/CSI/CSI:MIAMI OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ALSO DO NOT OWN CARMEN. SHE BELONGS TO THE FABULOUS APHINA WHO, DESPITE OUR OCCASIONAL LAPSES IN CHATS AND SLIGHT DISAGREEMENTS, HAS BEEN A SOURCE OF TREMENDOUS SUPPORT OVER THE PAST YEAR AND A HALF OF WRITING. FRIENDSHIP DOESN'T STOP BECAUSE THE WRITING DOES. THERE'S MORE TO IT THAN A FICTIONAL WORLD.**

**HUGE HUGS GO OUT TO: CASS, MICHELLE, DONNA, RACHEL, HEIDI AND CHERYL, WHO HAVE KEPT ME SANE DURING THE PAST WEEK. THANKS GIRLS, FOR KEEPING MY HEAD ABOVE WATER AND HELPING ME THROUGH THE LOSS. **

**AND THANKS TO ALL OF MY WONDERFUL READERS WHO HELPED THIS STORY GET PASSED A THOUSAND REVIEWS ALREADY!**

**SEEING AS MY OB OG MUSE IS ON VACATION WITH MY DEAR FRIEND DORI (AFROZENHEART412) THE VFB MUSE HAS TAKEN HER PLACE!**

**ONE LAST THING: THERE'S TWO CHOICES FOR WHO WOULD 'PLAY' KIERAN. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU GUYS THINK! BRIT ACTOR CHRISTIAN COOKE OR GOSSIP GIRL STAR, CHACE CRAWFORD!**

* * *

**Like old times**

"Don't let 'em get where they're going to  
You know they're only what they think of you  
You heard of this emotional trickery  
And you felt like you were learning the ropes  
But where you're going now you don't know

And when the kids on the street say  
What's your problem girl  
And the weight of their smile's just  
Too much for you to bear  
When they all make you feel  
Like you're a problem girl  
Remember  
You're no problem at all  
You're no problem at all

Pride like promises can let you down  
You thought that you'd be feeling  
Better by now  
You worry all the things they could do to you  
You worry about the things they could say  
Maybe you're seeing things the wrong way."  
-Problem Girl, Rob Thomas

* * *

Carmen sighed heavily as she leaned back against the rear wall of the elevator as it made its slow ascent to the thirty-fifth floor. She despised working weekends. Long ago, before she became a wife and a mother, she was ready, willing and able to work whatever shift she was scheduled for. She excitedly accepted offers of overtime and never balked at the chance to stretch eight hours into a double or a triple. It was more the people around the lab that she had enjoyed, than the actual work itself. Years ago, when the 'original' team had been wandering the halls and fighting crime together in between good natured teasing and supporting each other through the trials and tribulations of their personal lives, the atmosphere around the lab had been…electric. Despite the blood and gore and injustice they witnessed day in and day out, the rapport between co-workers had been incredible. Everyone complimented each other well and backed one another no questions asked. And in the midst of working cases, there'd been a lot of light hearted moments. A lot of laughter and a lot of memories made.

Things had rapidly changed when the employee turn over began to take place. The familiar faces and the brilliant smiles and sense of family that accompanied them- had quickly disappeared. Sam had never been the same after her shooting. Her close brush with mortality had spooked her to the point she couldn't do the job effectively anymore. She was constantly on edge and suddenly less confidant in her skills. When Flack had narrowly escaped death -several times during his hospital stay- after his own shooting, Sam had used his survival and his brave struggle to recover as sort of catalyst when it came to her own work. If he could survive and he could -albeit slowly- recover, than she knew she could confidently carry on in the field. Months following his ordeal, when he'd been sent to the rehab facility and Sam had returned to work, everyone had expected the shooting to have a negative effect. On the contrary, her husband's shooting had only made Sam more determined and tenacious.

Her own however, had been the straw that broke the camel's back. And Sam had quickly realized that her fear and bad nerves were putting not only herself but her co-workers in danger. She didn't want to put that kind of stress on herself, or her family. Taking the job with DHS had been, in Sam's own words, 'a move of self preservation'. She could no longer remain in the NYPD and risk destroying her husband and kids if anything happened to her.

It had broken Carmen's heart when Sam had left the lab. Although they lived in close proximity to each other and saw one another on a near daily basis outside of work, not seeing her best friend in the halls or being able to grab lunch or dinner together, or working a case side by side, had hit Carmen hard. And so had begun a period of mourning that still lingered seven years later.

Stella, Mac and Hawkes leaving for greener pastures had also been bitter pills to swallow. Although Carmen completely understood Stella's desire to stay home and concentrate on her family, and Hawkes' sheer boredom with the job. He just hadn't been 'into' it anymore. He had no longer enjoyed being there and knew it was time to go. The teaching gig at Columbia had been perfect for him to rejuvenate himself. He loved it at the university and was adored and well respected by not only his students, but fellow profs. Mac in turn, had slipped confidently and easily into his role as NYPD Commissioner. The man who always swore he hated politics, had transformed the department.

And while Tim, with Danny as his right hand man, was doing a hell of a job manning the lab. And while Carmen would support him and his decisions no matter what and was immensely proud of him, things just weren't the same around there. She couldn't stand any of the new CSIs. They walked around the place as if they owned it. Especially the guys, who truly thought they were God's gift to every woman on the planet. The newcomers were nothing more than spoiled rotten little brats who thought they were better than the 'grey squad' as Danny called himself, Carmen, Speed and Adam. And he'd none to gently told them several times to spot telling the vets how to do their job and to simply step back and marvel in the brilliance that the old timers still produced in the field.

The short of it all, was that getting up in the morning and going to work was something Carmen loathed.

And now this, she thought, as her eyes surveyed the front page of the Times clasped tightly in her left hand. A breath of fresh air and a much needed escape from the bullshit of the lab had turned into a run for a coffee and a newspaper. And she know felt tears of both rage and grief brimming in her eyes as three coloured pictures of the slain officers stared up at her. Each photo had been taking following their respective graduations from the academy years before, and the young men smiling up at her were brimming with pride and looked so polished in their dress uniforms. They were so full of hope and promise after taking the oath to protect and to serve. At all costs. They'd accepted the dangerous that came with the job and knew that perhaps they'd one day have to make the ultimate sacrifice. And their untimely, tragic deaths had rocked the entire city. The citizens of New York City were horrified and saddened, and had flooded precincts with cards of condolences and were filling up My Space pages, Twitter accounts and blogs with messages of support for every 'boy in blue'. As well as the families of not only the fallen officers, but those of the men and women who put their lives on the line each and every day.

Carmen knew the new found respect and love for the NYPD wouldn't last long. When something bad happened, the public rallied around the department and expressed their sympathy and support. But it was always fleeting. Within a week, if that, something unsavoury would happen and everyone and their aunt would be slamming the NYPD once again. Someone would screw up and all the talk would be about how the department was stocked to the rafters with Neanderthals. Accusations of police harassment and racism were common. And within a blink of an eye, the city would go from mourning to going for the jugular.

She made a mental note to stop by Hawkes' house after her shift to check on Angell. She knew how close Jess was to her youngest brother. They'd shared a bond that was impenetrable. Rivalled only by the one that Sam and Adam had developed with each other when they were little kids relying on one another to help each other survive the torment their father rained down on them day after day. If anything ever happened to Adam, Carmen knew full well that Sam would be devastated. Adam had always been her best friend and confidant. Their relationship far surpassed a traditional brother and sister. They were each others protectors and secret keepers. The one person that the other had always been able to trust. To give it to them straight if the situation required. To drop everything they were doing and go running if the other needed them. Carmen had witnessed first hand the terror and worry that had nearly rendered Adam incapable of all thought, action and speech when Sam had been shot. But she'd also seen how mature and composed he could be in the face of adversity. When he'd stepped up to the plate after Flack had been so ill to be the rock that Sam had so desperately needed.

Carmen simply could not bear to think about how the Ross siblings would be affected if anything happened to either of them. She'd never gotten over the death of her older brother, Elliot. A firefighter back in their hometown of Portland, Oregon. His untimely and tragic demise -the roof of a burning building had collapsed on him while attempting to rescue someone trapped inside- had made national headlines. And had torn their family apart. Carmen hadn't been a detective for very long, and when it had been discovered that the fire had been set by teenagers as part of a sick dare, she'd managed to track down the young woman responsible for it. Until evidence had proved that it was an accident. A simple twist of fate. Her father and mother had never forgiven her, as they viewed it, letting the bitch get away. They had wanted justice for Elliot. But their version of righting a wrong was one Carmen could not get herself mixed up in. And from that moment on, when she'd refused to not arrest the girl or even kill her, her parents had all but written her out of their lives.

Two decades had past since Elliot had died. And there were moments that Carmen still grieved as if it were just yesterday. The death of Angell's brother had hit home in a way she'd never expected. From the moment Tim had called home the evening before to say what had happened, she'd been flooded with memories of her beloved older brother. Welcome thoughts. For once concentrating on the life Elliot had lived and not the way he'd gone out. Reminiscing on the fun times they'd had growing up. The laughs they'd shared. Even the tears. And she'd gone to bed that night crying into her pillow and dreadfully missing what could have been. Of what her brother could have done with his life. Would he have had a wife? Children of his own? What would he have thought of Tim and his nieces? Would their families have been close?

So many questions, but never any answers.

What if's were dangerous. Carmen had learned that a long time ago. They were capable of destroying you if you dwelt on them for too long. And for years, she'd managed to put on a brave face and go on, successfully, with both her professional and personal life.

But the piece of her heart that had crumbled the moment her brother had died would never be whole again.

_Enough, _Carmen scolded herself, and briefly closing her eyes in an effort to maintain her composure, folded the newspaper in two and stuffed into the already cluttered satchel style purse dangling from her left arm. _You've been dealing with this for years. Successfully. You're just letting your emotions rule your head. Push that all aside and concentrate on what you have right in front of you. The living, breathing people that matter most to you._

_Just breathe._

The elevator chime sounded, signalling that it had reached its destination, and inhaling deeply, Carmen released it slowly and mentally prepared herself for the hustle and bustle that she knew lay beyond the elevator doors.

And it was when they did open, when she got a bird's eye view of the craziness of life on the thirty-fifth, that she made the quickest and easiest decision of her life.

_It's time to go._

* * *

Her first stop was the corner office with the killer view of Manhattan. Since Danny had been promoted to second and command and he'd vacated his half of the spacious room, Carmen had been living a peaceful, solo existence in her own little slice of paradise. When the new recruits began arriving, she'd firmly put her foot down and defended her space. Efficiently and successfully playing the seniority card and assuring herself that no one was going to be underfoot annoying the hell out of her constantly with incessant questions or inane bragging about skills they neither possessed or had yet to begin to discover. She had no desire to serve as a mentor or become a friend. All passion for the job had long ago abandoned her, and she'd fought off the urge to quit many a time for purely foolish reasons. Because long ago she'd always promised herself that she'd never lose her identity. That even if she did venture into marriage for a second time and did ever become a mother, that she wouldn't be defined solely by those lifestyle choices. Being a part of the lab had been a way of keeping a firm grip on her independence. Of being known as Carmen and not Speed's wife or Addie and Sophia's mother.

And now…well now she was ready for an evolution. From CSI to nothing more than Speed's wife and Addie and Sophia's mother.

Her first matter of business, as she approached her office, was to sit down at her desk, finish her café au lait and check all of voice messages and emails she may have received while out. The second thing she planned to do, was put together a letter of resignation. Despite being married to the head of the lab, she still needed to handle things professionally. A simple, 'Honey, I quit' from across the dinner table just wouldn't cut it. She would deal with it as if Tim was just a boss and there were no personal feelings of history involved. Then she'd calmly deliver it to his office and place it on his desk and leave. And then prepare herself for the fall out when he got home sometime in the evening. Her decision to quit could honestly go one of two ways. He'd either love the idea of her spending more time at home now that their girls were both in their teens, or he'd be pissed off that she was leaving him short handed staff wise.

Not my problem, Carmen thought as she reached into the pocket of her khaki coloured linen pants for the keys to her office, a frown covering her face when she noticed that the door she knew for a fact she'd locked when she'd left forty five minutes before, was wide open and held that way by a trash can placed in front of it. She approached cautiously, first noticing the bronze coloured hobo style purse sitting on the floor next to the two seat leather couch alongside of the wall next to the door. Her eyes then taking in the left black flip flop dangling from tips of watermelon pink toe nails and the familiar tattoo of a lady bug that graced the instep of the right foot.

That was all the identification that Carmen needed, and a smile replaced the frown as she stepped into her office. Despite the tension that lingered between the two families since Speed's unfortunate comments during Kieran's disappearance and Carmen's devotion and desire to protect her husband at all costs, there was a bond that existed between her and Sam that could never be severed. A mutual respect and an understanding that no matter how many times they fought and wandered away from each other, they could always turn to each other for support. That despite differences of opinion and the problems that existed between their husbands, they could always count on one another to supply a shoulder to cry on or much needed advice.

"This is a pleasant surprise," Carmen greeted as she breezed into her office.

Sam held up her left hand, a Visa card perched between her middle and forefinger. "Works every time," she said.

"You can take the girl out of Brooklyn but not the Brooklyn out of the girl," Carmen grinned. "I would have thought once you hit forty-five a couple years back your B and E days would have been long behind you."

"Well I have to have some excitement somewhere," Sam told her. "I figured you wouldn't mind if I just let myself in. Trust me, I'm not here to rob you."

"I don't mind. In fact, I was just thinking about you earlier," Carmen walked to her desk and dropped her purse on top of it. "I was going to give you a call tonight and see if maybe Don wouldn't mind if I stole you next weekend. Drive down to Cape Cod and stay a little bed and breakfast. Have a girls weekend, just the two of us."

"Sounds good…I doubt he'd mind…especially seeing as we're locking that place down like Fort Knox."

"Lovely…what has my godson done now?"

"Surprisingly enough, this time it wasn't Kieran. Although he's been less than angelic lately and I am this close..." Sam held her thumb and forefinger a half an inch apart. "…to either sending him to a boot camp for asshole teenagers or killing him. Slaughtering him would actually be a hell of a lot easier I think. Not to mention cheaper."

"So which one of the girls has…" Carmen turned to face her friend, her eyes widening at the sight of Sam's tear streaked face. "Oh my God…what's wrong?" she hurried over to the couch and dropped to a knee in front of her best friend. "What the hell has Flack done now?" she inquired, as she held Sam's face in both of her hands and cleared tears away with her thumbs. "What kind of prick thing has he unleashed on you?"

"Nothing," Sam assured her, and sniffled noisily. "It wasn't Don. He's actually been a goddamn Saint lately. Which I know, is a miracle for him."

"Okay…so we've ruled out father and oldest son. It was Reghan, wasn't it? I knew that girl was going to be trouble sooner rather than later. She's too vivacious and pretty for her own good. I told Flack a long time ago that allowing her out into the general popular was not a good idea. That she was going to get herself into some serious trouble with the boys. What did she do? Get caught making out with someone? Sneak out of the house? Oh Christ…" Carmen gasped and laid a hand over her mouth. "She's not pregnant, is she?"

"What?" Sam couldn't help but laugh. "No. Reghan is not pregnant. And she wasn't caught with a boy or sneaking out of the house. I think she's too smart for all of that. Not to mention she's terrified of her father. It wasn't her. It was Alannah."

"The smart ass?" Carmen smirked. "What happened? She piss off the wrong person? Get herself bitch slapped?"

"I…" Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I hit her," she admitted, tears threatening once again.

Carmen blinked in surprise.

"And I never, ever hit my kids," Sam continued. "You know that. I have never once laid a hand on any of them even if they did deserve it. Don's always been the disciplinarian and I admit, he's smacked some of them on the ass once or twice when they got out of control, but we've never…"

"Take it easy, Sammie…" Carmen stroked her best friend's cheek softly. "Deep breaths."

"I just couldn't help it. She just…she just pissed me off so bad. She was running off at her mouth and I just snapped. I just snapped and I slapped her across the face. And I've never…I'm just not that kind of person! I'm not that kind of mother!"

"Which means it must have been something totally horrific that she said," Carmen concluded. "For you to get _that_ upset."

Sam nodded. "Kieran caught her with a boy last night. In mine and Don's bedroom. K was keeping an eye on the rest of the kids while Don and I were both at the scene of the shooting and he found Alannah and this older boy from school doing…she was giving him oral sex, Carmen."

Carmen sighed and shook her head, disgusted by the revelation.

"She's thirteen! And I know that kids even younger than her are doing things like that. But she's my daughter! And I didn't raise my kids to be like that! I've tried to teach them to be good people! To respect everyone. To respect themselves! And she goes and does _that_ with someone!"

"What did Kieran do?"

"He kicked the kid out of the house. Threatened to kick the shit out of him. And then he told me about it when I got home later. So naturally, I confronted Alannah about it. And she goes off on me about how controlling I am! About how there's too many rules at home and how she's a big girl now and she can handle herself and that was she does is not my business or her father's business. And I informed her that as long as she was under eighteen and living under my roof, that she couldn't even take a piss or shit or scratch her ass or pick her nose without getting permission from me or her father to do it."

"I'm sure that went over well," Carmen snorted.

"And I told her that she was going to tell her father about what she'd done. That if she didn't do, he was going to find out through me or Kieran. And that if she knew what was good for her, she'd tell her dad first. That he'd respect her more and not be as pissed if she admitted it to him. She agreed to tell. And then this afternoon…" Sam shook her head. "…this afternoon she gets up in my face again about how I can't tell her what to do and she'll do what she wants, when she wants. And I don't remember what I said or what I did, but she throws this comment up in my face about how my father used me as his personal fuck toy when I was a kid."

Carmen pursed her lips together. "I will personally go to your house and kill her," she declared.

"She's thirteen and she's just…I can't take her anymore. She's out of control. She's doing shit like that and she's doing it in my house! And the way she talks to me and her father…what did I do wrong, Carmen? Where did I screw up so bad that my kids are like this?"

"You didn't do anything wrong, Sammie. She's just…"

"I mean, we've always had rules and regulations. Firm ones. And up until about six months ago, she was fine. She was happy and outgoing and doing well in school and she helped out around the house and was respectful to me and Don. And now? Now she's an evil little fucker!"

"She's probably just going through a stage," Carmen told her, clearing the tears off of Sam's cheeks once again. "She's probably just going through some crazy ass shit at school. I mean, look at Addie. For the longest time she was the perfect child. Sweet, considerate, responsible. And now? Ever since she broke up with Kieran she's been like completely wild. We can't keep her inside the house it seems. And save for chaining her up in the basement, which believe me, Tim is considering, we are at our wits end."

"Jesus…what is wrong with our kids?" Sam buried her face in her hands and shook her head. "What is going on with them? This is all K's fault you know. Addie. The way she is. It's all because of him."

"Hey…I know he's not the most angelic boy around and that he's been making some pretty stupid decisions lately…"

"Stupid decisions!" Sam wailed, and removing her face from her hands, fixed her tortured golden brown eyes on her best friend. "He's acting like a total asshole! He's messed up! Totally messed up! And I don't know what to do with him anymore! He's just…Jesus Christ he's just like his father!"

"Well I wouldn't go that far," Carmen teased, and rising to her feet, took a seat alongside of her best friend.

"He is!" the petite brunette cried. "He's just like him! From head to toe! Inside and out! Every single inch of that kid is just like Don! And I just…I am so sorry for that! For what he did to Addie! I'm so sorry he's such a manwhore!"

Carmen couldn't help but laugh at that. "I don't think he's that bad," she said.

"He is!" Sam exclaimed. "Kieran is! He's bad, Carmen. He's plain evil. When it comes to girls…that kid just can't help himself. He's fifteen and he's probably had sex more times than I have in my entire life. I mean, he says it's only been two people, but I damn well know he's lying. I mean, Don had to go out and make sure the kid had a stock pile of condoms. Last thing we need is our fifteen year old son knocking someone up."

"Sammie, Kieran's a really, really good looking kid. He's tall, dark and handsome. Not to mention incredibly charming. And I know he's really popular with the girls. Of all ages. But…I don't know…something tells me he's telling the truth. I don't see him being the type to take advantage of that popularity, you know what I mean? He's a smart kid. He's sensible. And I don't see him being the type that bangs everything that walks with a wiggle."

"God…" Sam groaned in exasperation and leaned back against the rear of the couch. "…I don't know what happened to him! Where did my baby go? Where'd did that little boy with light up Diego shoes who loved to spin around in circles until he was fall down dizzy go? The little boy who used to love to snuggle with his mommy and sleep with his Caillou doll?"

"He became a young man whose over six feet and two hundred pounds," Carmen told her. "Who may not be the sharpest tool in the shed sometimes, but who knows right from wrong and respects and loves himself. And who respects and loves his mommy."

Sam sighed heavily and ran her hands over her face.

"Kieran is an amazing kid," Carmen said. "And I know he's struggling right now. I know he's got some issues that need looking at. With his anger and all of that. But he's a good boy, Sam. You and Don have done a great job with him. And things could have gone way down hill when he was little. After Jack Doyle did what he did. But as a family you guys got help and you made sure that Kieran didn't suffer any long term emotional effects. And as far as fifteen year old boys go? Shit, he could be doing so much worse."

Sam nodded in agreement.

"You need to stop blaming yourself for every fuck up he has. That any of your kids have. They're going to screw up. They're going to do dumb ass things, Sammie. You can't stop that. So instead of being so quick to blame yourself and ask what you did wrong, take a look at them and realize that things could always be worse and commend yourself for everything that you did right."

Sam stared long and hard at the woman sitting beside her. "Wow…you really need to quit your day job and become a motivational speaker or something."

"I watch a lot of Doctor Phil," Carmen laughed.

"Yeah? Well I'm still a Maury girl," Sam giggled. "Through and through. And Alannah would be perfect for one of those out of control teenage daughter shows. And Kieran…" she sighed. "..God I hope one day he doesn't get a call to go on there for some DNA test. My luck there'd be half a dozen girls claiming he fathered their babies."

"I think we totally underestimate that kid," Carmen said. "Or are we overestimating him?"

"Trust me, he's a girl magnet. And even sometimes, a guy magnet. A friend of his apparently came onto him. He told me last night. Hasn't told his father yet. And something tells me he probably won't."

"Might be best to keep that kind of information from Flack," Carmen suggested. "And let me take a stab at who this friend might have been. Aiden Messer?"

Sam looked over at her, an eyebrow. "How'd you…"

"I've suspected for a while," she said. "I don't know why. I just…I just used to notice the way that he'd check Kieran out when we were all together. And I always thought that there was more to it than just a best friend type of thing. Not that I think that way about Kieran…"

"Aiden came to me a little while ago and told me," Sam admitted. "He said that he didn't know who else he could go to with it. That he was afraid to tell his parents. And that he was terrified to tell Uncle Don."

Carmen just nodded in understanding.

"It doesn't change how I feel about him." Sam continued. "I mean, I love that kid like he's my own. And honestly? I wasn't entirely surprised to hear it. I think I was more surprised to hear that he'd tried something with Kieran. Who's about as alpha-male as his father."

"Well, like I said. Kieran's a good looking kid. Aiden can't help himself I guess. I mean if I was a teenage girl, I'd definitely hook up with K."

"Speaking of hooking up…did you happen to hear about what Daria Maxwell did to my son? When he was barely thirteen?"

Carmen shook her head.

"She was seventeen and decided it was a good idea to seduce him."

Carmen's eyes widened.

"I am not joking. And trust me, I wish I was. Kieran came clean to us about it. I guess he's got a little bit of a guilty conscience that he lost his virginity so young. But Daria? Not a remorseful bone in that girl's body. She doesn't think she did anything wrong. And judging by what Don told me about the talk he'd had with Max? She doesn't seem to think her daughter screwed up either."

"Well the apple doesn't far fall from the tree, right?" Carmen mused. "I mean, if the mother is the nutter that we know she is, should we really be surprised that the daughter is just like her?"

"Max isn't that bad," Sam said, then laughed when she noticed her best friend staring at her pointedly. "Okay…so she used to be the proverbial thorn in my side. But I don't know…she hasn't been so bad since she married Rick."

"True…but I think that's his love for the bottle and his heavy fists keeping her in line," Carmen commented.

"You think he smacks her around? I mean, I know he's always had a problem with booze. When Don and I were in therapy when I was having K, Rick was his sponsor for AA. It surprised us when he fell off the wagon. But I don't see him as the type to beat on women."

"It's just talk, Sammie. You know how word travels around here. I've just heard a few things about him. Probably just rumours. Or at least I hope they're just rumours. No woman deserves to be used as a human punching bag."

"Zack," Sam coughed noisily to disguise the name. "Matthew," she coughed once more.

Carmen couldn't help but laugh. "God…" she leaned her head back against the couch and closed her eyes. "Did we ever pick some real fuckers back in the day."

"No kidding," Sam snorted, and closed her eyes as well. "When we were young and stupid."

"Yeah…compared to now…now we're just…

"Stupid," both women said in unison. Then burst out laughing.

* * *

"You know," Sam mused, her hands slowly rubbing over her small baby bump. "I may bitch a lot about Don. Complain about how controlling and possessive he can be. But compared to Zack? Compared to Zack he's a Saint."

"Compared to Matthew, Tim's God himself," Carmen said.

"Jesus," Sam giggled. "Please don't ever tell him that. You'll give him a complex."

"Like he doesn't already have one? I can't believe how he acted when Kieran dumped Addie. There was no reason for him to go off like he did."

Sam shrugged. "She's his daughter. No daddy wants to see their baby get her heartbroken."

"He had no right going that nuts about it. Going to your house to confront the kid. Then getting into it with you. He had no right at all. And seriously? Our kids are fourteen and fifteen. And as moms, we both know that Kieran and Addie weren't going to be a long term thing. They weren't each others one true love and they definitely weren't going to be together forever and live happily ever after."

"Does anyone ever live happily ever after?" Sam wondered aloud. "I mean, it's one thing to be madly and crazily in love. I adore Don with every fibre of my being. He's the love of my life. My everything. But I can't sit here and say we're living happily ever after. In the true sense."

"True…I'd say we're are living happily ever…" Carmen considered her options. "Mediocrity."

Sam laughed at that. "Yeah…in our house it's definitely that. I tolerate him ninety percent of the time and I could slaughter him ten percent of the time."

"And you love him a hundred percent of the time," Carmen said.

Sam cracked an eye open and grinned. "You just had to ruin the moment by going all corny, Hallmark card on me, didn't you."

"Sorry…" her best friend giggled and made a zippering motion over her lips. "You're in a mood to bitch about Flack and I'm too busy reminding you how he's the best thing to ever happen to you. I'll stop."

"Thank you," Sam said and sighed. "And you're right," she admitted after a couple of moments of silence. "Donnie is the best thing that ever happened to me. But don't you are ever tell him I said that. His ego is big enough."

"Among other things," Carmen chided.

Sam snorted. "Don't even get me started on his…service weapon…okay? I swear, anything ever happens to him, I'm cutting it off and putting it in a jar of formaldehyde and sitting it on my night stand for posterity."

"That is so disturbing!" Carmen roared with laugher. "And so sick and twisted and so…so…so…you!"

"Trust me, I am not above it," Sam joked.

"There is something seriously wrong with you," Carmen declared, and opening her eyes, looked over at her friend. "In fact I…" her words trickled off as her eyes fell on that noticeable bump protruding from underneath Sam's red t-shirt. "Umm…excuse me?" she asked, and poked at her friend's belly with her index finger. "What's going on here?"

Sam blushed slightly.

"Do I need to be calling you Mary now?" Carmen asked.

The brunette looked at her, perplexed.

"You know…as in this is a modern day immaculate conception."

"There's nothing immaculate about it. Good old fashioned, passionate sex with the hottest guy in the world got me into this predicament."

"When did you have sex with Christiano Ronaldo?"

"It was Sidney Crosby actually," Sam corrected. "Last night actually. Twice. Best goddamn dream I've had in years let me tell you."

"You'd destroy Sid the Kid," Carmen declared. "I know he's in his thirties now, still single and most likely gay, but you would mess that poor boy up so bad."

"I so would," Sam laughed. "But seriously?" she stroked her tummy. "This is a bit of a shock."

"A bit?" her friend asked.

"Okay…so a huge shock considering…"

"You had your tubes tied seven years ago?" Carmen finished.

Sam nodded. "What can I say? Don and I never do things normally. Nothing is ever black or white with us. And my body…well my body went crazy on me and the scar tissue either unravelled the knot in my tube or formed another tube all in itself and then…well…BOOM."

"Someone say my favourite word?" Danny asked, as his his head suddenly poked through the door. "Hey, B!" he greeted his best friend's wife. "What are you….?"

"Get out!" Carmen bellowed.

"I was just…" Danny attempted to speak.

"You were just nothing!" she roared. "Girls only! Out!"

"But I need to…"

"Out, Messer! If you value you canolli!"

"But I…"

Carmen made to get up, sending Danny fleeing from the doorway and out into the hall, the case folder in his hands placed in front of the most sensitive piece of his anatomy.

"Men!" she huffed and returned to the couch. "Say…" she reached out and tousled Sam's hair. "You have to be home anytime soon?"

Sam shook her head. "What do you have in mind?" she asked. "Renting a hotel room and violating me?"

"Been there, done that," Carmen replied.

Sam flushed a brilliant shade of crimson.

"As great of a kisser as you are, Tinks, I was thinking of chocolate milk and pink sprinkle donuts."

The petite brunette smiled brightly. "You're speaking my language," she declared, and got to her feet. "You know…" her tone mellowed as they headed for the door. "Even though Linds and I got really close, I never…I never replaced you, Carmen. Not once. And I…" she sighed, then reached out and pulled the other woman into a tight embrace. "I've really, really, really missed you."

"I missed you, too," the CSI whispered, returning the hug fiercely. "And you know what?"

Sam shook her head and pulled back to look at her.

"I never replaced you either," Carmen told her.

* * *

**A huge thanks to all of those reading and reviewing, and just plain lurking! I appreciate all the support! And head over to the forums and check out the Rules of Good Conduct for the CSI:NY board. The level of hate is appalling lately. It's gone far beyond flames and stretched into personal attacks. And that is just not cool.**

**Special thanks to:**

**CSINYMinute**

**Axellia**

**Hope4sall**

**Madison Bellows**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Forest Angel**

**ParaCaerOuVoar**

**Hardylover 7477**

**26Hannah26**

**wolfeylady**

**Monoxide lullaby**

**xSamiliciousx**

**New-york-babeee**


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